them to her as quickly as possible.
She’d arranged to meet McKenzie at a truck stop at I–65 and Old Hickory at 8:30 a.m. She took a quick shower and was putting her wet hair in a bun when Baldwin appeared in the bathroom doorway.
“You look good wet, you know that?”
She laughed. “You’re nuts.”
“I’m not,” he said, reaching for her. “I wish we were alone.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Me, too. What are you going to do today?”
“Depends on what this guy from the Met has to say. I’m going to plug in everything we have down here, too. Something about these cases…well, you know. It feels so similar, but something is wrong. Will you call me when you finish in Manchester, tell me what you have from there? If these cases are linked, then the killer has been at this awhile and we might have something to go on. I’ll use the new information to flesh out the profile, present it, and hopefully, we’ll catch this son of a bitch.”
“Oh, speaking of which, remind me to fax you the ViCAP reports. I found another real possibility down in Chattanooga. I’m going to follow up on that today, too.”
He looked worried. “You didn’t tell me you had a third.”
“I don’t know if it’s linked for sure. Just a gut feeling, you know? I’ll get you all the details.”
“Okay. Nice work, by the way. You’d make one hell of an agent.” He kissed her, so deeply it made her dizzy, then gave her a wicked grin. “Don’t forget to fax me the ViCAP report.”
“Smart-ass,” she said, but smiled back. “I’ve got to go. Will you be going to Quantico tonight?”
“Tomorrow. Need to get Highsmythe in front of the rest of the team.” He released her, and she felt that sense of disappointment she always had when they stopped touching. He made her feel alive, and when they were disconnected, she missed the electricity.
She gave him another little kiss, then finished dressing. Baldwin slipped into the shower. She stood in the doorway and watched him this time, his lithe body, the water rushing over his broad shoulders, the way he turned his face into the water like it could wash away the bad things he was forced to see. She felt a tug, deep in her stomach, and sighed. He was just so beautiful. So intelligent, so giving. She was lucky to have him.
She glanced at her watch. If she lingered any longer, she would be late for McKenzie. She opened the door to the shower and motioned for him to come closer. She kissed him this time, and saw the effect it had. Grinning, she tweaked him, then turned to leave.
“You tease,” he called out, and she laughed.
“Sorry, babe. I’m gonna be late. Have a good day.”
She could hear him growling as she walked down the stairs. It tickled her, how she could get him going so easily.
Highsmythe was still in the kitchen, staring sadly into his cup of tea.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s empty,” he said, then grinned at her. She smiled back at him. Crazy Brits.
“Enjoy your day,” she said. “See some of Nashville while you’re here.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
She looked at him a moment longer, wondering if he was being sincere, then grabbed her keys. He was charming, she’d give him that.
“Goodbye, Mr. Highsmythe.”
“Goodbye, Miss Jackson,” he said, but the door was already closed. He sat back in his chair, realized he didn’t have any breath. He felt like he’d been holding it from the moment she’d sauntered into the kitchen in that tight white top, those incredibly long legs bringing her closer and closer. She was possibly the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
He felt a twinge deep in his heart. There were photographs of her and the FBI agent in the living room, taken on a vacation, all smiles and gooey eyes. In the photograph the woman looked a lot like his Evan; he’d been expecting someone who had a similar bone structure, but in person, the dynamic of her was…overwhelming. Tall, lissome, curved in all the proper places, hair the exact same shade of natural honey-blond that Evan had worked so hard to replicate. They didn’t smell the same—Evan’s shampoo made her hair smell faintly of citrus.
Memphis poured a fresh cup of tea and took a deep swallow. He was mightily impressed. Baldwin had made him the tea—china pot, loose-leaf Earl Grey. The real thing, not those tepid bags with a string hanging over