“Uhhh, that’s okay. Just give me a call when you get some free time. I’m sorry, babe, I know you didn’t want it to end up like this.”

“No, but I was expecting it. Time frame was right. You were about to ask me something earlier.”

“Oh, that’s okay, it can wait. I have to go anyway, I’m meeting Sam. Just call me later, okay?”

“I will, sweetheart. Love you,” he said almost absently. Once he’d determined Taylor was fine and needed nothing from him, his head had gone immediately back to the case. He hung up and shoved the phone back into its holster.

Roanoke, Virginia. The killer started in Alabama, went to Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee, then Georgia and now had ended up in Virginia. He flipped open his phone and made a quick call back to Quantico. His boss, Garrett Woods, answered on the first ring.

“Baldwin, are you on your way to Virginia?”

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“Yes, I’m pulling up to the private terminal in Atlanta right now, Grimes has a plane ready to go. Do me a favor, would you? Put the locations of the dump sites and kidnapping sites into the geographical database, see what it spits out. I want to see if this guy is flying by the seat of his pants or if he might be following some sort of geographical pattern. Have them try to find central locations he could be working out of, and put in the assumption that he’s not from any of the areas that he’s been working in.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“I’ll call you from Virginia. Until I get on the ground I want to hold off making any more judgments.”

“Okay then, but get back to me later and let me know what you think.”

“Will do, Garrett. Thanks.” He clicked off just as the taxi pulled up in front of the private air terminal. He jumped into the cab, juggling his cell phone and briefcase. His cell rang again, an unfamiliar number with a Georgia area code. He got settled in the cab and answered on the third ring.

“John Baldwin.”

“Dr. Baldwin, this is Sheriff Pascoe. I’ve gotten the report back from the lab on the note found in Marni Fischer’s car. There weren’t any discernible prints, just a couple of smudges. Could be from the victim, but I can’t guarantee that. There just wasn’t enough to go on.”

“Well, it was a long shot. He’s not making a lot of mistakes, there’s no reason for him to start now. Particular and precise, that’s our boy. Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate you working so quickly on that.”

“You’ll keep me up-to-date on what happens, right?”

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“Absolutely. You have my number, feel free to call anytime. I have to run, I’m at the airport now. You take care.”

He shut the phone, overpaid the cabbie and made his way through the glass double doors. Grimes was standing in the middle of the large room and looked relieved when he saw Baldwin.

“We’re wheels up as soon as you get on the plane. You ready to go?”

“Let’s do it,” Baldwin said.

Twenty-Two

Taylor was as hungover as she had ever been. She vaguely recalled the night before, crying into her beer, and later in the evening, Crown Royal. That had been a mistake, she hated whisky. It tasted like firewood soaked in grain alcohol, like she was chewing on wood chips. She’d thrown up almost as soon as she finished it. That’s when Sam had decided Kat should follow them home in Taylor’s truck. The ride was short, and Sam had poured Taylor into the bed. She woke with a headache, feeling nauseous, a gnawing certainty that something was wrong momentarily obscuring her thoughts. Then she remembered, and felt sick again. After her brief chat with Baldwin, she’d managed a shower and set off for work, dark-lensed Maui Jims on in an attempt to shield her eyes from an overly bright sun. When had the sun become so powerful, started giving off midafternoon light so early in the morning? She was sure that it had never glowed with such a vengeance. She opened the door of her Xterra and got in, gri- All the Pretty Girls 163

macing. She sat back in the seat, turned her XM radio on, flipped to Lucy, her favorite alternative-rock station, turned the volume to a bearable level and lost herself in the music.

She’d tried many times to figure the exact moment she’d fallen in love with Baldwin. It was his vulnerability that had attracted her in the first place. She had sensed the emptiness in him the moment she’d met him, felt it reflect in her own heart. Was it love at first sight? Was it the first time they’d touched, a casual grazing of the hands? She’d been drawn to his tortured soul, searching for her own forgiveness as she tried to help him achieve his.

She shook herself out of the reverie, her headache starting to lessen. Baldwin. He was her man now. She wished he were here with her. He would placate her with his strong hands, lift the hair on the back of her neck, murmur in her ear as he caressed her body. And she would let him. But now, so early into their happiness, she was going to blow the whole thing. Her hand went to her forehead as a wave of nausea pulsed through her. Shit. She turned the engine over and put the truck in gear. Driving toward West End, she tried to focus on the news she had received and failed. Things felt different this morning, but she chalked that up to her killer hangover. She glanced in the mirror and gave herself a lopsided smile. She’d figure her life out later. When her head didn’t feel like it was going to explode. She made her way through the traffic in West End and drove into the outskirts of Belle Meade. She had promised, before she was totally gone, to meet Sam at Starbucks this morning.

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Taylor pulled into the lot and parked her truck. Making her way past the high-school girls in their green plaid skirts, white socks and Birkenstocks that populated the outdoor seating area, she made it to the door. An older gentleman balancing a tray of coffees kindly held the door for her with his butt. Her southern training kicked in and she gave him one of her best smiles as she passed. He grinned back a little sheepishly. Taylor with a full-watt smile on her face could bring the best of men to their knees. She spotted Sam in a cozy corner with overstuffed chairs and a small glass table loaded with drinks, cinnamon buns, a slice of iced lemon pound cake and a lonely bran muffin. Taylor snickered back a laugh. Sam’s pregnancy was getting the better of her, she was wolfing down every sweet in sight.

“There she is, the woman every man wants and every woman wants to be. Sit yourself down here before your latte gets cold, girl.”

“I don’t envy anyone my position today. I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, you’re looking a little rough around the edges. Nice shades, though.”

Taylor reached over and gave Sam a hug. She searched her friend’s face hard, wondering if there was more from last night that she didn’t remember. Sam didn’t seem perturbed, so Taylor relaxed and sank gratefully into an overstuffed green velvet chair. She started to reach for her latte, and heard sirens. They were getting louder by the minute, and she chided herself for wondering if they meant she would have to be making a call to a scene.

“Hear that? Hope it’s nothing major.”

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“Yeah, probably a Belle Meade housewife with a hangnail.” They both hooted out a laugh, it was just too easy to make fun of Nashville’s elite community, to pretend that they didn’t come from that enclave of Nashville society. When they stopped guffawing, Taylor realized that Sam was about to explode with some kind of news. She knew right away what it was going to be.

“Went to the doc this morning for the ultrasound.”

“Ooooh, could they tell what we’re having?” Sam’s excitement was catching, they’d been waiting for the ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby. Simon hadn’t wanted to know, but Sam’s relentless begging had finally won him over.