The grounds of the Parthenon were filled with squad cars. Blue lights shimmered in the midday sun. A knot of officers stood at the base of the Parthenon steps, looking highly out of place. During the day, this was a tourist destination as well as a favorite walking mall. People brought their dogs to run in the grass, ate picnics at the base of the gigantic oak trees, stared in wonder at the perfect replica of ancient Greek architecture and tribute.
The chill spread deeper into her body. Aside from the cops, Centennial Park was strangely empty. The sight of the Parthenon usually filled her with nostalgia; it was never a complete school year without a visit to one of the most recognizable landmarks in Nashville. She mentally reviewed the information that had been parceled to her on every field trip: built to impress travelers visiting Nashville for the 1897 Centennial and designed to reflect the city’s reputation as the “Athens of the South,” the building was originally meant to be a temporary structure. The sophisticated citizens of Nashville left it standing and by 1931 it was rebuilt as a permanent monument. The massive bronze doors guarded the largest indoor sculpture in the Western world: a replica of Phidias’s colossal statue of Athena, goddess of wisdom, warfare and the arts, sculpted by Nashville artisan Alan LeQuire. The Parthenon art museum was respected worldwide; Taylor had visited an exhibit only last month.
Now the columns held up a roof covered in friezes that seemed much too prescient. The structure stood lonely and bereft, defiled by unsanctioned death, the site of a modern day sacrifice. Taylor could barely force herself out of the car to meet Fitz, who walked quickly to the car when they pulled up.
He was carrying something.
She stepped from the vehicle and faced Fitz. “Who?” she asked.
She caught a glimpse of the photo he was carrying. It was a close-up shot of a naked torso, she could just see the outline of a collarbone above…
The temperature hadn’t risen a degree, yet Taylor felt the sweat break out on her brow. She turned her attention to the gathering of police officers twenty feet away. She forced herself to walk slowly, to seem indifferent. Inside she was paralyzed with fear.
The body was naked, artfully arranged to lean against the top step, so a passerby paying little heed might not take notice, would think that it was simply a scantily clad person taking a brief rest.
Closer inspection showed a shock of brown hair, eyes open yet unseeing, glazed already covered with the slightest tint of white. A silver wire, the ends twisted elaborately, was buried deep in the dead man’s neck. There was a flourish on the end of the wire that made Taylor think of leftovers dressed in tinfoil worked into the shape of a swan from a fancy restaurant her parents took her to when she was young. She fought back the bile rising in her throat.
Nailed to the naked, hairless chest of the killer she knew only as Aiden was a piece of paper. It was a scroll of parchment, aged and yellowed, a single trickle of crimson blood streaming down the paper. The handwriting was spidery, old-fashioned. As she read, she sucked in her breath in shock.
Dearest Lieutenant,
The world is a better place with you in it. Consider this minor service a token of my appreciation and everlasting admiration.
The Pretender
Fuck.
“How long has he been here?” she asked, impressed with the steadiness in her tone. She didn’t dare look at Baldwin, could feel the thoughts churning in his head from three feet away. She didn’t have to look at him. She knew he was stunned too.
“Not long,” Fitz replied. “The ME’s office has sent a team, should be here shortly. First officer on the scene reported that he checked the wrist for a pulse, said he was still warm. He’s been in the sun, but it couldn’t have been much more than an hour ago. Jogger was going to run up and down the stairs a few times and saw him. Called it in immediately. I’ve talked to her.” He pointed at a squad car, where a young woman in running gear stood shaky and pale. “Didn’t see anything. The park’s quiet today, she says she saw nobody around.”
Baldwin had been silent up to this point, and Taylor looked at him. There was a bizarre mixture of revulsion and relief on his face. He answered her unspoken question.
“I don’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified. Aiden was a terrible person, and I’m not upset that he’s dead. But Christ. The Pretender.”
“Staying with the program, I see. Copycatting. You said Aiden killed with a silver garrote, right? Seems our serial killer has turned vigilante.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Maybe we should hire him out.”
The forced bravado was costing her. The mere thought of a killer she failed to catch being back in her town, killing in her name, for her honor, for God’s sake, was terrifying.
Baldwin just nodded. The ME’s van pulled up, Fitz spoke to her, his voice low.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Go deal with the ME.” The youngest ME on staff, Dr. Fox, jumped out, eyes bright. The word was leaking out. Sure enough, her cell rang, Sam’s name popped up on the caller ID. Taylor took a few steps away and opened the phone.
“I heard. Is it true?”
“Yep. Seems our boy has resurfaced. Did quite a number on Aiden. Why aren’t you here?”
“I was in a staff meeting with the board. Couldn’t break away. Fox can handle the scene, can’t he?”
“Don’t know why not. It’s a bit cut-and-dried. The nails in his chest are a first for me though.”
“Well, I haven’t done a garroting in a while, so it should be fun. I’ll make sure everything is handled well. Don’t worry. I’ve got to run, we’re going back into session. Watch your back, okay?”
“Will do. See you later.” She hung up, turned to Baldwin, who was on his phone too. Talking to Garrett, she guessed. Calling off her tail.
She went back to Aiden’s body, the feeling of being watched making her shiver. Good grief. This had been one hell of a week. She was starting to get a complex; just how many serial killers could the city of Nashville have in one day?
Aiden’s gummy gaze seemed to look directly into her soul. Fitz and Fox joined her.
“It’s time to let them do their magic,” Fitz said. Taylor nodded. Fox was circling the body, making low clucking noises in his throat.
“Jeez,” he said. “This is going to be a fun one.”
“You ME folks sure are sick. C’mon, LT, let’s get you out of here.” Taylor let Fitz walk her back to her vehicle. “I’ll take care of this. You go back and work the Wolff case. You don’t need me for that, Lincoln and Marcus are handling things just fine. I’ll meet up with you later.”
She nodded again, numbly, and got into the sedan. Baldwin snapped his phone shut and came around to the driver’s side, sliding in beside her. He turned over the engine and Fitz carefully shut her door. She didn’t know why she was letting everyone pamper her. Snap to, girl.
Baldwin pulled away, eyes on the road. She could tell he wanted to talk. That was good, because she didn’t.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“I gathered. You’re practically humming.”
He cleared his throat, turned left onto West End. “There’s more to the Aiden story than I told you.”
She waved her hand in a circle. “Tell.”
He signed deeply. “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.”
“What, am I about to get assigned to Mission: Impossible?”
“Funny girl.” He pulled into an open parking space on the street and turned the car off.
“What’s this?”
“I’m not kidding.” He took off his sunglasses, looked deep in her eyes. “I’m going to get in serious trouble for doing this. But I can’t go on without you knowing the truth.”
Taylor’s heart skipped a beat. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, beginning and ending with staccato abruptness. She crossed her arms across her chest, better to shield her from whatever deluge was coming. “Can’t go on without me knowing what?”
“It’s about me. About wha
t I do. My…past.”
“You’ve fathered a love child.”
“Damn it, Taylor, I’m serious.”
The outburst startled her, she jumped. He’d never spoken to her harshly.
“Jesus, don’t bite my head off. It can’t be that bad. Just tell me what’s up.” She sat back against the door facing him, girding herself for the worst, though she couldn’t imagine what that could possibly be.
“I do some work on the side. Profiling work.”
“That’s it? That’s the big confession? You’re a profiler. Of course you’re called in to consult—”
“For the CIA.”
That stopped her.
“You’re telling me you’re a spy?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “No. Not a spy. A consultant.”
“I didn’t know the CIA did profiling.”
“They don’t. That’s where I come in. It’s a covert group called OA. A task force. Operation: Angelmaker. We follow the bad guys who work overseas. Predict where they might hit, give the people who watch them ideas about how to follow their moves, things like that.”
“And this is classified? It doesn’t sound like that big a deal to me.”
“It’s the nature of who we’re following that’s sensitive. The killers we track…they don’t get arrested.”
“Why not?”
She watched him struggle for an answer, and felt his intensity. The realization that he was worried that she would judge him for whatever role he played in this shadowy organization made her reach over and take his hand.
“Hey,” she said, the challenging tone gone. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”
He smiled at her. “You may not think so when I finish. We let them go. We track their moves, predict where they will strike, hell, even send them assignments to satisfy their desire to kill. All in the name of national security. If we were to arrest them, it would have a lasting effect on whatever political shit is going down. These people do bad things for us, and for other governments. I try not to get too far into the details, I have a hard enough time with it already. It goes against everything that I am.”
Honesty. She knew she could always count on him to tell the truth, whether she wanted it or not. Better late than never, she supposed.
“I can see that. How in the world did you get involved?”
“Garrett. He runs our side of the program. He set me up with a cut-out agent that I’ve worked with for over ten years. Sometimes they ship me overseas to have me track these guys down. Multiple countries, all over the world. We’ve always had a standing deal, though. If one of them comes here, I’m alerted immediately.”
“This is how you got involved with Aiden?”
“Exactly. He’s always had a hard-on for me, but I’ve never been vulnerable until now. Killing me wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to take everything from me, like he thought I did to him.” He squeezed her hand. “At least, that’s what I’m thinking. I told you we’re assuming he saw us in Italy, the timing is right. He killed his tracker and hightailed it over here. Just so you know that Aiden was capable of anything to get what he wanted. That’s why I had to go to Quantico, to try and track him down. If they’d told me the truth from the start, that he’d murdered the tracker in Florence, I would have never left your side. I’ve seen what he can do.”
“So have I.” The image of the dead security guards stood out in stark clarity as if they were right there in the car with them. She shook the thought off, then another crossed her mind.
“Your Italian is perfect. Is that where you learned, watching some Italian psycho?”
He grimaced. “My Italian, and other languages. It was part of why they wanted me.”
“Other languages? What, like German and French?”
He was getting visibly uncomfortable.
“More than those three?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Jeez, Baldwin, how many languages do you speak?”
“Thirteen.”
She caught her jaw before it hit her chest. She thought back a few moments. Honesty. Omissions weren’t lies, were they? Creative lies, white lies that were meant to protect, those didn’t count, right? She shoved that thought away. He was telling her now. Lord knows she’d held a few things back about her past.
“Garrett’s heart?”
“Fine.” He looked like he expected her to fly off the handle. She didn’t like that he’d been forced to lie to her, but that’s how she saw it. He wouldn’t have done it voluntarily.
She grinned. “Okay. Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Tell me you love me. In…Polish.”
Now he was smiling with her. “It’s not one of my best, but okay. Kocham ciebie, Taylor. With all my heart.” He kissed her, leaving her breathless. When they stopped, her fingers were entwined in his hair and her ponytail had come down. Shit, the top button of her jeans was even undone. Making out in public, just so classy.
Setting herself to rights, she said, “I see we’re going to have a lot of fun with this little talent of yours.”
“You’re not mad?”
“About the OA? I’m not thrilled, but I know you. If you think it’s the right thing to do, I’ll stand by you. Just don’t be dragging any more of these wackos home with you, okay? I have enough to deal with.”
The thought sobered them up. “You realize that the Pretender is following your moves now. He’s calling himself an admirer, but he’s more of a danger to you now than ever.”
“Yeah, I gathered that. There’s nothing I can do about it at the moment. Fitz will work the case. We just have to see if there’s any evidence that can help us put a face to his little pseudonym.”
“We haven’t heard the last of him.” He turned the car on, put it in gear.
“No, we haven’t. But we’ve got bad guys aplenty to deal with this afternoon. Let’s go solve the Wolff case.”
They were quiet, following West End into Broadway, passing a rollicking crowd of tourists at Tootsie’s. When they got back to the CJC, she saw Baldwin scoping the parking lot before pulling in. The threat from Aiden may have been past, but the realization that he dealt with more people of the same ilk made her uneasy, regardless of the assurances she gave him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marcus and Lincoln had evidently heard the news, because they were both wide-eyed when she walked back into the homicide office. Captain Price was sitting with them, a bushy red eyebrow raised in expectation.
She covered the basics as quickly and as vaguely as she could. Baldwin came in and sat down, handed her a Diet Coke and let her tell the story.
“The Pretender seems to be back in Nashville. I don’t know what this means, but he’s just killed someone from the FBI’s wanted list. The man’s name was Aiden. Baldwin worked a case that involved him, and Aiden was seeking retribution. He was responsible for the killings at my house. But he’s dead now, and we’ve got bigger issues.”
She showed them the Polaroid she’d borrowed from Fitz. Lincoln passed it to Marcus, and they both got stern looks on their faces.
“So the Pretender thinks he’s your personal bodyguard now?” Lincoln asked. “What the hell?”
“Aiden was looking to hurt me. He went after Taylor, and the Pretender seems to have a sense of chivalry,” Baldwin said.
Price listened, then got up. “That’s it. There’s entirely too much bullshit flying around. I’m having a private security detail put on you, Taylor.”
“I’ve already done that,” Baldwin said. “I’ve had them on Taylor since yesterday. We’ll just keep up with the watchers, let them know what we know about the Pretender. They’re a good team, I trust them.”
So he wasn’t calling off the dogs while they were at the Parthenon, he was adding more.
“And how long are we planning to keep this up?” Taylor was shaking her head. “No. I don’t want them.”
“You’re going to have to live with it, sugar.” Baldwin’s
stance told her arguing was fruitless.
“I agree. We can’t afford anything happening to you, LT. Lincoln and I will start looking for more clues with the Pretender case. We’ll find the bastard. In the meantime, we need to keep you off his radar,” Marcus said.
“I can take care of myself,” she grumbled, but when faced with four glowering men, all intent on keeping her out of harm’s way, she decided discretion was the better part of valor and acquiesced. For the time being.
“Can we at least get back to work?”
Price patted her on the head and she narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve got a meeting. Fill her in. You should be proud of your boys. And be careful, wildcat.”
“Yes, Dad,” she said.
“I’m going to join the captain for a moment. Be right back.” Baldwin left the room with Price, their conversation quickly moving out of earshot.
Taylor rolled her eyes, then turned to Marcus and Lincoln. “Good grief. This has been a day. Let me have it. What’s the news on the Wolff case?”
Lincoln waved his hand to Marcus. “You go,” he said.
“Okay. To start with, we checked on the underage actresses. They’ve both split town, ostensibly for California. They had auditions today at Vivid Video, and we’ve got a call in to their ‘agent’ to get them to call us immediately when they get finished.”
“You mean when they come up for air?” Taylor said, making all of them laugh.
“Yeah. Then. So in the meantime, we’ve been looking at Todd Wolff’s files. We’ve confirmed he wasn’t in Savannah when he said he was. He used his gas card to fill up the day before the murder, Sunday, in Crossville. So Wolff was definitely in the state of Tennessee at least one day after the murder.”
“Doesn’t prove he did it.”
“No, but it does verify that he’s lied about several things. They’re arraigning him this afternoon, so we should get an opportunity to question him again late this evening. Julia Page and Miles Rose have already been informed that we want to have a chat.”
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 115
