14 - J. T. Ellison [8]
She nodded at the boy. “Thank you.”
“Do you want a tape? I can get you a tape.”
“Sure, that would be great.” The boy scampered off and Taylor stood, shaking the feeling back into her left leg. Like seeing the interview again would help.
Four vicious murders in two months, all black-haired, pale-faced girls wearing bright red Chanel lipstick. Snow Whites.
They needed to catch this guy, and fast.
John Baldwin stood with his arms crossed and one long leg propped against the wall behind him. He’d been avidly ignoring the receptionist for a good fifteen minutes; she’d been staring at him like he was a tasty dessert since he’d entered the building. He’d become entirely oblivious to all but the most blatant attempts to get his attention since Taylor had entered his life. He had eyes only for her, much to the chagrin of most of the females he came into contact with. Six foot four and sleekly muscled, his wavy black hair and Lucite-green eyes drew many admiring glances. Enough that women like the receptionist made him uncomfortable.
He saw the door to the studio open, watched as a kid rigged up with what looked like electrical wire escorted Taylor to the lobby. Sound tech, Baldwin thought to himself. As a profiler for the FBI, and as a well-regarded forensic psychiatrist, he was a veteran of television interviews. Media coverage like this was inevitable. This case was eating all of them alive.
Word had even come down from Quantico that he was to follow the Snow White case, intervening when necessary. He didn’t want to step on Taylor’s toes. He let her work through her theories, guiding only when necessary. That happened less often these days. His expertise was rubbing off on her. She didn’t need his help just yet. She would, but he’d rather she come to that conclusion herself.
Taylor elbowed her way through the glass door. She absently gathered her long hair into a fist, slipped a stolen rubber band off her wrist and captured the blond mass in a ponytail. The young technician stepped aside to let her through the door, gazing adoringly at her like a puppy, telling her his name was Sean and if she ever needed anything, anytime, he was the guy to call. He was fawning and the tips of Taylor’s ears were pink.
When she saw Baldwin, the blush extended down into her cheeks, flushing her with a healthy glow. Utterly charming. Beauty, brains and guts. He’d hit the trifecta when he met and fell in love with this stunning woman.
Sean the tech spied Baldwin. A furrow creased his young brow. Not quite a man, yet he still understood the implication. He gave a half grin to Baldwin, a “Hey, you can’t blame me for trying” and professionally shook Taylor’s hand, winking as he left her in Baldwin’s company. He greeted her with a smile.
“Went well, I thought.”
“As good as could be expected, I suppose.”
“You okay? About your dad, I mean.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She gave him a look that plainly said no, she wasn’t okay about it, but wasn’t willing to make a big deal. He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, then held the door for her.
They exited the building, walking toward the parking lot. Baldwin sensed the shiver that ran up Taylor’s spine, knew it wasn’t from the snowy night. The Channel 17 studios were nestled in behind the Ted Rhodes Municipal Golf Course, the northwest corner of downtown Nashville. It was dark and remote; a feeling of dread washed over them both. He knew what she was thinking.
Four girls dead on her watch. The nation paying close attention. And a ruthless killer who was having too good a time toying with her detectives. This wasn’t a happy Christmas.
They reached his BMW, and he dropped his arm to her waist. Punched the automatic unlock on his key chain. Opened her door. Leaned in as she sat down on the smooth gray leather, ran his hand along her cheek.
“We’re gonna get him. I swear, we’re gonna get him.”
“I know,” she replied. “I know.”
Three
Nashville, Tennessee
Monday, December 15
11:00 p.m.
Baldwin dropped