looked out the front window, took a lap around the downstairs, poured another glass of wine, then sat back on the couch. She continued going through the files, matching hers to the originals. There were a few other pieces missing, but for the most part, it was all there. The one thing that was in Kimball’s files that wasn’t in the main files was his notes. Sheet after sheet filled with his neat hand, speculation, ideas, drawings and doodles. Every ounce of paper that he’d generated over the course of eight years was included. Taylor read through them. She admired his thoroughness but found nothing else of note. All the rest was consistent with the files she had. The phone rang, and she jumped up to answer it. Fitz grumbled in her ear. “I’m covered in dust. There’s no ring.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely positive. There’s no ring in any of these boxes. Trust me, I went through one hundred and fortythree of them.”
“That’s what I was worried about. The page that would show it isn’t in the official files, either. Damn it, Fitz, why?”
“Little girl, it may be something as simple as one of the evidence jockeys took a shine to it, and figured after all these years, why let such a pretty thing go to waste. It’s happened before, you know that.”
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the case? This ring has something that can lead us back to the killer, I can just feel it.”
She heard the garage door go up. “Hey, Baldwin’s home. Let’s talk about this in the morning, okay? Fitz, thank you for doing that. I appreciate you spending your evening in dust.”
“Yeah, you owe me a beer. Tell the fed I said hi.”
“See you.” She hung up the phone, went to meet Baldwin in the kitchen. He was shrugging out of his shoulder holster, balancing a Starbucks cup and his briefcase in one hand and a bundle of roses in the other. He jumped when she entered the room.
“Hey, turn your back. I’ve got something you aren’t supposed to see yet.”
“I already saw them. You got me flowers? Aren’t you the sweetest man alive?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m sweeter.” He handed her the roses, white and red, intertwined with brick-colored gerbera daisies. She took them with her left, used her right to help him unhook from the leather harness.
“Special occasion?”
“Do I need a special occasion to bring flowers to my almost wife?”
“No, of course not.” She dropped the holster on the counter and buried her nose in the flowers. “Mmm, they smell great. I better get them in some water. Where’d you find gerberas this time of year?”
“A man must protect his secrets.”
She rolled her eyes at him, eliciting a laugh. It was all so comfortable, it didn’t feel right. She got the flowers into water, set them thoughtfully on the kitchen table. Baldwin watched her; she felt his eyes on the back of her neck. Jesus, what was wrong with her?
“How was your day?”
“Other than the fact that we’re missing a piece of evidence from the Snow White case? The old cases, I should say.”
“What kind of evidence?” He opened the refrigerator.
“Oh, good, you got dinner.”
“Like I’d let you starve.”
They bustled around the kitchen, getting their salads on plates, buttering bread, pouring wine, and Taylor told Baldwin about her afternoon. He listened with sympathy until she asked about his day. They sat on the floor in the living room, their plates on the coffee table, their backs propped with pillows, and talked while they ate. When they were settled and Taylor was a few bites into her salad, Baldwin answered her question.
“Well, it was interesting, I’ll say that. Tomorrow might be a little crazy.”
She just raised an eyebrow. As if anything could be crazier in this case, in their lives.
“Charlotte Douglas is coming to town.”
“And she would be…?”
“FBI Special Agent Charlotte Douglas. She’s a profiler. Deputy chief of the unit.”
“Well, that’s not
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely positive. There’s no ring in any of these boxes. Trust me, I went through one hundred and fortythree of them.”
“That’s what I was worried about. The page that would show it isn’t in the official files, either. Damn it, Fitz, why?”
“Little girl, it may be something as simple as one of the evidence jockeys took a shine to it, and figured after all these years, why let such a pretty thing go to waste. It’s happened before, you know that.”
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the case? This ring has something that can lead us back to the killer, I can just feel it.”
She heard the garage door go up. “Hey, Baldwin’s home. Let’s talk about this in the morning, okay? Fitz, thank you for doing that. I appreciate you spending your evening in dust.”
“Yeah, you owe me a beer. Tell the fed I said hi.”
“See you.” She hung up the phone, went to meet Baldwin in the kitchen. He was shrugging out of his shoulder holster, balancing a Starbucks cup and his briefcase in one hand and a bundle of roses in the other. He jumped when she entered the room.
“Hey, turn your back. I’ve got something you aren’t supposed to see yet.”
“I already saw them. You got me flowers? Aren’t you the sweetest man alive?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m sweeter.” He handed her the roses, white and red, intertwined with brick-colored gerbera daisies. She took them with her left, used her right to help him unhook from the leather harness.
“Special occasion?”
“Do I need a special occasion to bring flowers to my almost wife?”
“No, of course not.” She dropped the holster on the counter and buried her nose in the flowers. “Mmm, they smell great. I better get them in some water. Where’d you find gerberas this time of year?”
“A man must protect his secrets.”
She rolled her eyes at him, eliciting a laugh. It was all so comfortable, it didn’t feel right. She got the flowers into water, set them thoughtfully on the kitchen table. Baldwin watched her; she felt his eyes on the back of her neck. Jesus, what was wrong with her?
“How was your day?”
“Other than the fact that we’re missing a piece of evidence from the Snow White case? The old cases, I should say.”
“What kind of evidence?” He opened the refrigerator.
“Oh, good, you got dinner.”
“Like I’d let you starve.”
They bustled around the kitchen, getting their salads on plates, buttering bread, pouring wine, and Taylor told Baldwin about her afternoon. He listened with sympathy until she asked about his day. They sat on the floor in the living room, their plates on the coffee table, their backs propped with pillows, and talked while they ate. When they were settled and Taylor was a few bites into her salad, Baldwin answered her question.
“Well, it was interesting, I’ll say that. Tomorrow might be a little crazy.”
She just raised an eyebrow. As if anything could be crazier in this case, in their lives.
“Charlotte Douglas is coming to town.”
“And she would be…?”
“FBI Special Agent Charlotte Douglas. She’s a profiler. Deputy chief of the unit.”
“Well, that’s not
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