Free The Immortals by J.T. Ellison Page B

some distance herself.

Seven
    T aylor drove back to the command post on Estes in silence. She tried Baldwin on his cell, he answered on the first ring.
    â€œI just landed. What’s happening there?”
    â€œWe found one alive, kid named Brittany Carson. She was pretty far gone. I’ll be surprised if she makes it. Then we got in a foot chase with another kid who was lurking outside her house. Simari had to unleash Max on him. Anything more from Garrett?”
    â€œNo. Just this emergency thing in the morning.”
    â€œWell, get it over with and get back down here. I think we’re going to need your expertise. We’re starting to have breaks in the original pattern. One crime scene was different from the others—the victim was flayed, probably with some kind of whip. I’m telling you, Baldwin, I thought this was done. I’m afraid there may still be more. I need to get my hands on whoever did this.”
    â€œWhat does Sam think?”
    â€œShe feels they ingested a narcotic of some kind, though this last one I attended, Brandon Scott? No signs of cyanosis. It looks like he was either strangled or exsanguinated. We’re about to do a walk-through of each crime scene.”
    Her call-waiting beeped. She looked and saw it was Lincoln. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Call me in the morning, okay? Love you.”
    â€œLove you, too. Luck.”
    She clicked over. “Hey, Linc. What’s up?”
    â€œWe have the entire neighborhood frozen, and we’ve got some very upset parents. They’ve got the pitchforks and stakes out.”
    â€œThat’s to be understood. But we need those scenes stationary for now. Tell them we’ll release the bodies and get them back in their homes as soon as we can.”
    She hoped she was telling the truth.
    Quantico
    Garrett had sent a car for him. Baldwin climbed into the backseat and gave the yawning driver his address. He had a small apartment near the grounds of Quantico that he used when he was in town working.
    He was tired, but getting to sleep was going to be near to impossible. He needed to be sharp and alert in the morning. Artificial means, then. He checked his watch and calculated, decided against half an Ambien, settled on a Benadryl. It would knock him out for at least six hours. That would have to be good enough. He dry-swallowed the capsule and stared out into the dark of the night.
    It was always darkest just before the dawn. He could only hope that the light of day would bring good news.

Eight
    Nashville
9:00 p.m.
    T he rain was letting up, the evening now bittered into teeth-chattering cold. Taylor ran the gauntlet down Estes, driving through a phalanx of Metro blue-and-whites and medical examiner’s vans. A patrol officer waved her through and she parked the Lumina in front of the Kings’ driveway.
    Dan Franklin, the department’s spokesman, met her car. Dan was a big guy, light brown hair and blue eyes with a relatively nondescript, almost homely face, but six foot two and an easy two-thirty. He spent a lot of time in the gym, and the hard work showed. Physically, he was threatening at best, emotionally, he was the rock the department depended on. He was their first line of defense against the media. It was a precarious position to maintain—Metro needed the media and the media needed Metro, but sometimes they didn’t like to play nice. Franklin assured everyone on both sides that the road to the news would be as smooth as could be.
    He opened her door and she climbed out. “What’s up?”
    â€œI need to talk to you.”
    Taylor stopped. “Shoot.”
    â€œI think it would be a good idea to have you give the presser.” He tapped his hand on the hood of her car as he spoke, and the emphasis felt contrived. She was immediately suspicious.
    â€œOh, come on. The press conference is your job.”
    â€œI know it is, and I’ll be up there with you.” He quit