Judas Kiss. J.T. Ellison

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СКАЧАТЬ everything was in its place, the in-box and out-box were empty, and the desktop was completely clear. Now, it was overflowing. She spied at least four incident reports from the Wolff crime scene, a couple of red actionable items from upstairs, an empty threeing binder some kind soul had thought to provide, knowing she’d be collecting all the information for its innards, creating a new murder book labeled Wolff. Several multicolored sticky notes, a full call sheet, a brief scattering of pens and pencils. A shaft of moonlight peeked through the open blinds, illuminating a white sheet of basketball brackets with a hot pink postie reminding her to make her picks before Thursday at noon or else she wouldn’t be able to participate in the yearly NCAA pool. Away for a day and the desk bloomed like forsythia, one moment barren and empty, the next full of unruly flowers. With a sigh, she slipped around to her seat and started organizing. She couldn’t work in chaos, never had been able to tolerate a mess in her proximity.

      Her voice-mail light was blinking. She played the messages. The only one of interest was from Lincoln Ross. Oh, thank goodness. It was good to hear his voice.

      She never realized how much she missed being around her team until they weren’t there. She’d missed them all while she and Baldwin were away, and returned to the news that Lincoln Ross had been tapped for an assignment. A “Special Assignment.” That’s all she’d been told. She could guess what cases might be important enough to put a homicide detective on a full-time assignment, had made a few attempts to get information from her captain, Mitchell Price. He’d only smiled and nodded with each guess, not giving her the satisfaction of knowing which supposition was correct.

      Setting a sheaf of paper aside, she flipped open her cell phone and dialed the number. Lincoln answered on the first ring, his deep, honeyed voice tinged with irony.

      “Thank God it’s you, LT. I have a problem,” Lincoln said.

      “Talk to me. I miss you, by the way. Are you ever coming off this project?”

      “I hope so. I think things are about to break. This stupid confidential informant got me in a world of hurt, and I had to push back. That’s part of the problem.”

      “What happened?”

      She heard the deep, readying breath. “I had to partake.” He spat the words out as if saying them would ease a bad taste in his mouth.

      “Oh, Lincoln. You know that’s not—”

      The despair in his voice broke her heart. “Shit, LT, I know. Trust me, it was drilled into me a thousand times before I got involved in this case. I didn’t have a choice. This is getting dicey. I didn’t know what else to do.”

      “What was it?”

      “What else. Crack. Messed me up good, too, even though I barely had a hit. God, LT. It was terrible. You don’t think they’ll fire me?”

      Taylor laughed. “No, I don’t. My God, Linc, you’re one of the finest officers we employ. If you said there was no other choice, I believe you, and so will Price. He’ll go to the mat for you. How’d you get yourself stuck?”

      “The CI has been meeting me at a skeevy hotel, bringing me the information. Some of his cronies followed him to the meet. There was nothing we could do without blowing the whole thing. Thank God they didn’t recognize me, that would have ended it all right there, with me on the floor in a puddle of blood. No, they were all fucked-up and wanted to party some more. I’ve been feeding the CI drugs to sell to them. They insisted on trying the merchandise. I said no, the head dog said yes. Stuck a revolver in my face. I didn’t think I had much of a choice after that. I faked it best I could, but I still had to blow something out, you know?”

      It was the bane of undercover work, especially when the target of the investigation was into the drug scene. Balancing being a cop and not blowing your cover was difficult at best. Lincoln wasn’t undercover though, and she didn’t want to upset him further by telling him that it was likely disciplinary action would be taken against him. A suspension without pay, probably. That could wait until he was back with her.

      “You need to be careful, my friend. Write the whole thing up and we’ll handle it together. Okay?”

      “Okay. Thanks. I gotta go. We’ve got a meet in twenty minutes. See ya.”

      That just sucked. She hated that Lincoln had been forced into harm’s way by someone else’s stupidity.

      There was another message, this one from Baldwin. Just checking in, he said. He sounded stressed. Well, she could identify with that. She called him back, but he didn’t answer. She put her phone away and got to work. She had a suspect to catch.

      The sun was setting on Quantico, Virginia.

      Dr. John Baldwin stood. He’d been sitting in a chair that was too low to the ground for his long legs, and it screeched with the sudden movement.

      “Damn it, I don’t like lying to her.”

      “I know that, Baldwin. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, you know that.” Garrett Woods tried for affable, but Baldwin wasn’t fooled. He’d known the man too long to trust such a conciliatory tone.

      “You know karma is going to bite you in the ass for faking heart problems.”

      Garrett smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. “I could have gone into a diabetic coma instead. Would that have been more realistic? I am diabetic, after all.”

      “You should take better care of yourself regardless. But be warned, if we find out he’s heading anywhere near Nashville, I am out of here. How in the world did you let him slip the net?”

      “We’re still figuring that out. And don’t worry about your princess. She can take care of herself. Don’t delude yourself there, my boy. She’s managed quite well without you all this time. She’s not some weak-kneed little kitten that needs your protection. You’ll be back there soon enough. There’s work to be done here first.”

      Baldwin took a lap around the small room, stopping at the window that overlooked the parade grounds in front of the gate into the complex. Garrett had asked to meet him in an outbuilding, outside the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime offices, which housed both the Behavioral Science Unit and the Behavioral Analysis Units. It was a smart thing to do; that building was filled with perceptive people. This conversation didn’t need an audience.

      After spending the past year in Nashville, he’d found himself dreading the thought of the BSU walls closing in around him. He’d always hated being stuck inside, much preferred working in the field. He loved the work, just didn’t like having to share his workspace with forty other people.

      Garrett’s reach had been dragging him back to Quantico more and more often. After hearing this news, he was going to have to stick around for a while. Quantico was the last place he wanted to be right now.

      “I could give her a generic warning. Anything funny happens, let me know. Something so she wouldn’t be blindsided.”

      Garrett shook his head, a fine sheen of sweat shimmering along his closely clipped hairline. “No. Not yet. Let’s get some confirmation first. This may not happen. We don’t need to blow your cover over a maybe. Langley would not like that at all.”

      Eight

      When Taylor was deep СКАЧАТЬ