Free Judas Kiss by J.T. Ellison Page A

arrive at the truth. Taylor had always had a sense for accuracy. But when the media got involved, the deceptions became driven by ratings. A brave new world.
    She’d only had serious media trouble twice in the past, once several years earlier, the second only a month prior. The Snow White Killer, long dormant in Nashville, had risen like a phoenix and started killing again. She was still uncomfortable with the nature of the media’s interest in the case, how easily they dragged her and the department through the mud. There was constant second-guessing and now, with the benefit of hindsight, Monday morning quarterbacking galore. Two months later, Taylor lay in bed at night, watching replay after replay of the case on cable news, wondering if the interest would ever truly end. The national news outlets had camped along the streets of downtown Nashville like hippie jam bands, partying over the leftovers of each family’s grief. The slightest whiff of resolution and they’d be back at it.
    The earlier trouble, well, she didn’t like to think about that.
    The thoughts came quickly, whipping through her mind like a breeze. Snow White. His apprentice, the self-proclaimed Pretender, a man with no name and no compunction when it came to killing. Still out there, lurking in the deepest recesses. Which brought her to Baldwin.
    Baldwin would have firsthand access to anything new on the still very open case. He’d promised to look into the Bureau’s files while he was in Quantico.
    If she were being honest with herself, she hoped he would find something fresh, something concrete. Something more than the ephemeral, hair bristling on the back of the neck feelings Taylor had. Feelings were all well and good. She trusted herself, trusted her instincts. Every once in a while, her skin tingled and she felt eyes on her back. She assumed the Pretender was keeping tabs on their investigation into his whereabouts, and sometimes followed her. She could almost sense him when he was near. He set her radar off, though she’d never gotten a real look at him.
    They needed concrete evidence. Needed to know the name of the murderer who masqueraded in other killers’ emotional garments. They had nothing.
    Headlights flashed and she came back, surprised to see she was already at the Criminal Justice Center. Car coma, that’s what Baldwin called it. It happened too often; she’d be lost in thought and realize she’d driven to her destination without seeing the path. Too distracted. She needed to be more on her game. The time off had only intensified the need for her to get her head back to Nashville, and on keeping herself safe.
    She parked and crossed the lot, taking the back stairs two at a time. She swiped her key card along the access box at the back entrance to the building. The door dumped her into the hallway just outside the Homicide offices. The second shift had already arrived; a noisy buzz emanated from the homicide office.
    The hall was blocked by a young patrol officer from the first shift who was bent in half, butt sticking up in the air, her flashlight swinging precariously close to her head as she dug green-colored photocopied paper out of a box. She straightened, shuffled the pages of announcements, meeting schedules, calendars—the normal office detritus. It only took her a few moments to rearrange the corkboard, posting new job listings and notices. When she was satisfied, she stood back and looked to make sure everything was set to rights, then slid the Plexiglas closed and locked it with a miniature key. She noticed Taylor, mumbled “Sorry,” and shoved the box out of the way. As Taylor passed her, she went on to the next glass slot, the one with the latest WANTED posters. She unlocked the casing, reached in her little box and pulled out several posters, arranging them in order of priority. The highest priority was an infamous cold case that appeared to have gotten a lead.
    The