Free ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS BOOK 1 by J.T. Ellison Page B

Shauna struggled beneath him. Watching the life slowly drain from her eyes, enjoying the show. Baldwin was getting pissed off at this guy. Good.
    Doc Allen seemed to want to keep talking, but Baldwin pointed to the other table, where a small item was covered by what he could swear was a simple storebought handkerchief. Lord save me from small-time operations, he thought. The doctor bustled to the table and whipped the fabric back with a flourish, like a waiter removing the cover from a dinner dish. 
    “Here’s your hand. Well, it’s not yours, of course. Word on the street is you’ve got a wackjob moving body parts. I assume it belongs to your vic up in Nashville? Or was it Mississippi? I can’t keep up with all your killers these days, much less the poor victims. Did I tell you about the time—”
    “Dr. Allen, I hate to interrupt, but I’d appreciate it if you could get this hand printed and DNA samples drawn. We won’t know if this hand belongs to the previous victim or not until we have the comparisons run. I don’t mean to rush you, but I need to get out to the scene where Shauna’s body was found, and I’d like to do it before it gets dark. Thanks so much.”
    He turned away, ignoring the good doctor’s grumbling, and ran a hand through his hair. He’d give anything to be out of here as quickly as possible. There was nothing more to be learned.
    Grimes and Baldwin made their way back to the site where Shauna’s body had been found. The sun was setting, the media had moved off and they had the field to themselves. Baldwin stalked around, looking for anything that might give him a sense of the man who’d been here before, carelessly dropping Shauna’s lifeless body in this anonymous grave. There was nothing. That wasn’t the right way to think of it. This killer wasn’t careless, he was exceptionally deliberate. So far, every move was so precise it felt almost scripted to Baldwin, choreographed. But it was done to seem careless, like the bodies were just thrown away like so much trash.
    He made his way back under the crime scene tape. 
    Two handless dead girls in quick succession was enough to upset his normal equilibrium. It had been a while since he’d worked a gruesome case. He was getting soft. Scratch that. He’d allowed himself to get soft.
    They made their way to a roadside motel, ready to pack it in for the night. Grimes had suggested dinner, but Baldwin was exhausted. He demurred, agreed to breakfast in the morning, and they went their separate ways. Baldwin just wanted a shower, some sleep and a fresh perspective on the day’s events. This killer was moving fast, and he had no idea how to get ahead of him.
    He made several pages of notes, detailing some of his initial thoughts on the killer. There was forethought, though he was moving quickly, he wasn’t in spree mode just yet. Baldwin wished there was a definitive way he could decide what would happen next, and contented himself with a second, thorough read of all the files. A picture was forming in his head—a view into the killings, into the psyche of the man responsible. He finally packed it in, hoping for a few solid hours of sleep. Baldwin dreamed of wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing, and woke intrigued. What an odd dream to have. He showered, shaved, placed a quick call to Taylor and made his way from the room. As he shut the door behind himself, he saw Grimes hustling toward him, beckoning with one hand. Baldwin went to him, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”
    “Missing persons report. From a neighboring town. Noble.”
    Wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing, indeed. 

Twelve
    Grimes was talking a mile a minute. “We’re headed to where Marni Fischer was last seen. Let me give you her particulars. She doesn’t match in with the earlier girls, but there are some commonalities.
    “Marni’s twenty-eight years old, five-ten, a hundred thirty pounds, with medium-length dark blond hair and brown eyes. She’s originally from