14 BOOK 2 (39 page)
Authors: J.T. Ellison
Conrad Hawley, the A.G. of New York, had quietly resigned when the Nashville police let him know they had a tape of him having sex with an underage illegal who was being forced into prostitution. He was not so quietly being indicted this week, along with a slew of other men who’d been captured on the multitudes of videotapes. Identifications were still being made on many of the participants. Jane Macias had returned to her home in Long Island, obviously jaded about Nashville. Taylor couldn’t blame her. Being that close to a serial predator, knowing you were next, wasn’t easy. Her exposé on L’Uomo was being published by the
New York Times.
Snow White had been buried next to his daughter and wife in a private cemetery in north Nashville. His son, Joshua, kept the house, though a full-time nurse was needed to care for him.
Frank Richardson’s family was developing a journalism scholarship in his honor. Daphne Beauchamp had been hired to run the foundation.
The many victims of Snow White and his apprentice were lauded in several articles written by the
Tennessean.
The world looked on as the cases were dissected and ultimately solved. Giselle, Glenna, Elizabeth and Candace had all been in the bar called Control. Their faces would haunt Taylor’s dreams.
The apprentice disappeared.
Taylor mulled over all of these developments. The past few days had been crazy, to say the least. But it was time for them to go away now.
Baldwin stopped pacing and came to her in the dining room, putting one hand over hers as she set her tea mug down.
“So, what do we do about getting married?”
Taylor shook her head. “We don’t. I think that was all a sign.”
“We don’t, ever?”
She stood, pointing out the window. The cab had arrived at last. “Let’s just go take our honeymoon. We can talk all this out over there.”
Baldwin smiled, leaned in for a kiss. “Whatever you say, Taylor.”
Three weeks later
He sat in a quiet corner of the café, watching rain drizzle down the plate-glass window. He sipped a delicious concoction of chocolate and espresso, topped with fresh whipped cream and flakes of white chocolate. A decadent treat, a reward for all his hard work.
He licked a piece of chocolate off his lip and tapped the keys on the keyboard.
Taylor and Baldwin stumbled through the garage door into their kitchen, laden with suitcases and packages. The house felt empty, unused, and Taylor dropped her bags on the hardwood floor and took in the sight. Home. Their home.
“Let’s just leave these in the dining room and have a glass of wine. What do you think about that,
cara?
”
Taylor turned to Baldwin. “I think that sounds like a lovely idea. How about you pour? I want to glance through this stack of mail real quick.”
He went to the wine refrigerator and started combing through the bottles. Taylor flicked through the pile of mail idly, not really that interested in what it contained, just trying to acclimate to being home. A white envelope caught her eye. It was addressed to her, under the wrong name.
Mrs. Taylor Baldwin.
Well, they had certainly jumped the gun on that one. She assumed it was from someone who was attached to their postponed wedding, someone who didn’t know that they hadn’t gotten married.
She picked up the letter, slit the top with her opener. There was no return address, but it was postmarked three days earlier from Seattle. Seattle? They didn’t know anyone in Seattle. A single sheet of paper, folded three ways, was in the envelope. Something set off Taylor’s senses. She set the letter on the counter, grabbed two plastic sandwich Baggies from the second drawer and slipped them onto her hands.
She teased the letter out of the envelope, unfolded it and read the short message. Then she read it again, her heart beating just a little faster.
“Baldwin,” she called. “You need to see this.”
Her voice sounded strange, hollow, unreal. She watched Baldwin come back into the kitchen, saw him register that she was in operational mode, with the Baggies on her hands, and followed suit without asking why. He nodded at her, and she handed him the letter. He read it aloud, twice, to let the words sink in. He looked at Taylor.
“This is a problem.”
“You think?” She took the letter back from him, reread the lines and realized they might never have a moment’s peace.
Baldwin had retrieved his cell phone from his briefcase and was calling in to Quantico. They’d want to know all the details.
Taylor folded the letter up neatly and put it back in the envelope, the typewritten words burned into her mind.
An apprentice no more.
You may call me the Pretender.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2134-9
Copyright © 2008 by J.T. Ellison
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.
