As she spoke, she ushered them out the door, locking it behind them. “See you in the morning.” She gave Marcus another smile and hurried off, humming quietly to herself.
Marcus was still speechless. Taylor started laughing, then found she couldn’t stop. The fit of hysteria was catching, and they ended up sitting on the steps of the building, trying to catch their breath. The rain had calmed to a heavy mist, and the overhang of the ornate edifice gave them enough shelter. Taking advantage of the dry spot, Taylor groped in her pocket and came up with a wrinkled pack of Camel Lights. She offered one to Marcus, who accepted sheepishly. “You’re a bad influence.”
“If the whole squad hadn’t decided to quit smoking at once, it would be a lot easier to cheat.”
They lit up, sat companionably for a few moments, smoking, not speaking, lost in their own theories about Jordan Blake. Without warning Taylor burst out laughing again. She stood and started to the car, giggling as Marcus walked slowly after her, impervious to the rain.
“All right, puppy. Let’s go talk to some of Jordan’s classmates. Give me a second, I’ve got to grab my phone—I left it in the car.”
Dan Franklin had left a message on her cell while they were in with Gladys. The press conference was in an hour.
All the humor fled. Just what she wanted—to face the cameras again.
18
Captain Price was getting ready to walk out the door when his phone rang. He hesitated; it was late, and he was caught between the desire to just clear the hell out and the knowledge that he had to take the call. He let out a huge sigh and walked back to his desk.
“Price.”
“Hey, man. How goes it in the land of make-believe?”
“Garrett Woods. How the hell are ya? It’s been a while. You in town?”
“Don’t I wish? No, I’m sitting here underground at Quantico, as usual. I think I’m becoming a vampire. The light hurts my eyes when I get outside.”
“Sorry to hear that. You still running the BSU up there?”
“Behavioral Science... Investigative Support. They can’t decide what they want to call us. Yeah, I’m still running it. Isn’t all it’s cracked up to be these days. Too many crazies and too little time. Speaking of which, I hear you guys are having a little fun down there yourselves.”
Price caught the note in his friend’s voice. Uh-oh. He really liked the man, but he didn’t relish the thought of the FBI trailing around his cases. He’d had many good experiences with them, but he’d also found when profilers get on the case, things could go a little astray.
“Fun times, always,” he said cautiously. “It’s been a while, Garrett. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can’t a friend call and say hi?”
“Not when that friend is with the FBI and I’ve got a popping case.”
Garrett started to laugh. “Okay, okay. I’d like to ask a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“Word on the street is you may have a serial on your hands.”
“We have two dead girls in a short time span, both of whom attended the same college, but we have nothing tying them together outside of proximity. It’s probably too early to start bantering around the serial theory, you know?”
“Yeah, I do. This isn’t an entirely official inquiry. But you know the drill. If you do have a serial, I’ll have to pull a field profiler in who has too damn many things going on with his own stuff to be a huge help, yada, yada, yada. I was thinking perhaps we could approach things a little differently.”
Price sat back in his chair. This was going to be interesting. He’d known Garrett for years, and trusted him. His instincts caught a little note of desperation in his old friend’s voice, which intrigued him. Garrett wasn’t a man who flustered easily.
“Go on.”
“I have an agent there in Nashville who’s not working right now. He’s been on a temporary sabbatical. I was wondering if you’d be willing to let him come in and consult, on my dime.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this?”
He heard Garrett heave a sigh. “Can’t put anything past you, huh? It is a special situation. His name is Dr. John Baldwin. He’s one of our best and brightest. He got himself in a little trouble here a few months ago, and it kinda screwed him up. He headed home to Nashville to sort out his head, so to speak.”
“What kind of trouble, Garrett?” Price’s tone was obvious.
“Nothing illegal or improper. He was involved in a shooting. Three of his teammates were shot and killed, and he’s been putting the blame on himself, big-time. I’m not sure I’ll ever get him to come back to the FBI. But I want him back, Price. He’s a damn good cop. One of the freakiest profilers I’ve ever had. He’s got this sixth sense that’s busted open a ton of cases when no one else had a clue. Really intuitive, on the ball...”
“So why’s he so torn up? He knows the risks.”