unexpected. Are you going to be able to run interference?”
“She’s coming to see you, actually. And bringing one of her forensics team. They have the DNA results.”
Taylor let her fork rest in the romaine, shaking her head at that statement.
“Why the hell haven’t they called and given us the information? Or faxed the report over, at the very least. What’s the big deal? It’s either Snow White or it’s someone else.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s the problem with Charlotte. She’s a bit of a…how do I put this nicely? She’s a drama queen. She wants to swoop in and break the case. She wouldn’t give me the information, either. I told her how unprofessional she was being, but she told me to go to hell.”
“Why am I getting the feeling that there’s more to this?”
“Because you’re a very astute, brilliant, beautiful woman who’s made the incredibly intelligent choice to marry me on Saturday.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
Baldwin shifted. Taylor leaned away from him, plunged her fork into a piece of chicken and fed it into her mouth, watching him struggle with an answer as she chewed.
“So you slept with her. When?”
Baldwin tried for a chagrined smile. “Long before you, I’ll tell you that. Taylor, you have to understand, she means nothing to me. It was a thing, a heat-of-the-moment kind of situation. She’s a viper. A true bitch. I hate her, if that makes you feel better.”
“Why do I get the sense that Miss Charlotte doesn’t hate you?”
“Fair enough. There may be some tension with this. I’m sorry. She’s a piece of work, and the minute you meet her, you’ll understand why I’m with you and not with her. Will you trust me on that?”
“Of course. It’s not like I expected you to come to our marriage bed a virgin.”
She got up, picked up her plate and went into the kitchen. Baldwin followed.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Taylor set her dish down on the counter, carefully considering that question. Of course she was okay. My God, they were adults. It wasn’t like Baldwin was her first. But leaning against the counter, watching him watch her, it struck her how little she really knew about him. He was a complicated man, layer upon layer of self-containment. They’d just never delved too deeply into “Who have you fucked?”
She pushed away from the granite, gave him a half smile. “I’m fine. It’s funny, actually. I never saw myself as the jealous type.”
“I like it. Makes me feel wanted.” Baldwin put a hand lightly on her chest and pushed her back to the ledge. He nuzzled in close, insinuating his legs between hers. She reacted, slipping back onto the counter, wrapping her legs around his lean hips and accepting his kiss.
“It’s late,” she murmured when they came up for air.
“So it is.” He picked her up, walked her backward into the living room, set her on the couch and followed her body down. “So it is.”
* * *
It was nearly midnight when the phone rang, jarring them out of a cramped sleep on the couch. Taylor fumbled the phone to her ear.
“Taylor Jackson? This is Frank Richardson. Late of the Tennessean. ”
“I don’t have any comment…. Oh, wait. You’re the reporter from the old Snow White cases. Sorry. I didn’t think you were back until tomorrow.”
“I’m not, really. I had a layover scheduled in New York so I could visit a friend, but he’s come down with the flu and I’m stuck at JFK. It’s 7:00 a.m. my body time—I’ve been in France for the past few weeks. Am I calling too late?”
It’s never too late for murder, she thought.
“No, no. Just give me a moment, okay?”
She set the phone down, disentangled herself from Baldwin, who sleepily opened his eyes and happily closed them when she shook her head, telling him he wasn’t needed immediately. More and more, the late-night phone calls were strictly for Taylor’s benefit. She slipped her sweater on, dragged the afghan off the back of the couch. It trailed
“She’s coming to see you, actually. And bringing one of her forensics team. They have the DNA results.”
Taylor let her fork rest in the romaine, shaking her head at that statement.
“Why the hell haven’t they called and given us the information? Or faxed the report over, at the very least. What’s the big deal? It’s either Snow White or it’s someone else.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s the problem with Charlotte. She’s a bit of a…how do I put this nicely? She’s a drama queen. She wants to swoop in and break the case. She wouldn’t give me the information, either. I told her how unprofessional she was being, but she told me to go to hell.”
“Why am I getting the feeling that there’s more to this?”
“Because you’re a very astute, brilliant, beautiful woman who’s made the incredibly intelligent choice to marry me on Saturday.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
Baldwin shifted. Taylor leaned away from him, plunged her fork into a piece of chicken and fed it into her mouth, watching him struggle with an answer as she chewed.
“So you slept with her. When?”
Baldwin tried for a chagrined smile. “Long before you, I’ll tell you that. Taylor, you have to understand, she means nothing to me. It was a thing, a heat-of-the-moment kind of situation. She’s a viper. A true bitch. I hate her, if that makes you feel better.”
“Why do I get the sense that Miss Charlotte doesn’t hate you?”
“Fair enough. There may be some tension with this. I’m sorry. She’s a piece of work, and the minute you meet her, you’ll understand why I’m with you and not with her. Will you trust me on that?”
“Of course. It’s not like I expected you to come to our marriage bed a virgin.”
She got up, picked up her plate and went into the kitchen. Baldwin followed.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Taylor set her dish down on the counter, carefully considering that question. Of course she was okay. My God, they were adults. It wasn’t like Baldwin was her first. But leaning against the counter, watching him watch her, it struck her how little she really knew about him. He was a complicated man, layer upon layer of self-containment. They’d just never delved too deeply into “Who have you fucked?”
She pushed away from the granite, gave him a half smile. “I’m fine. It’s funny, actually. I never saw myself as the jealous type.”
“I like it. Makes me feel wanted.” Baldwin put a hand lightly on her chest and pushed her back to the ledge. He nuzzled in close, insinuating his legs between hers. She reacted, slipping back onto the counter, wrapping her legs around his lean hips and accepting his kiss.
“It’s late,” she murmured when they came up for air.
“So it is.” He picked her up, walked her backward into the living room, set her on the couch and followed her body down. “So it is.”
* * *
It was nearly midnight when the phone rang, jarring them out of a cramped sleep on the couch. Taylor fumbled the phone to her ear.
“Taylor Jackson? This is Frank Richardson. Late of the Tennessean. ”
“I don’t have any comment…. Oh, wait. You’re the reporter from the old Snow White cases. Sorry. I didn’t think you were back until tomorrow.”
“I’m not, really. I had a layover scheduled in New York so I could visit a friend, but he’s come down with the flu and I’m stuck at JFK. It’s 7:00 a.m. my body time—I’ve been in France for the past few weeks. Am I calling too late?”
It’s never too late for murder, she thought.
“No, no. Just give me a moment, okay?”
She set the phone down, disentangled herself from Baldwin, who sleepily opened his eyes and happily closed them when she shook her head, telling him he wasn’t needed immediately. More and more, the late-night phone calls were strictly for Taylor’s benefit. She slipped her sweater on, dragged the afghan off the back of the couch. It trailed
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