J. Ellison - Judas Kiss

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 what 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.