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tion showed the subtle differences: height, weight, hair length. The similarities between the victims were down

right eerie. She opened two more windows and speculated for a moment. The physical victimology was so similar from girl to girl—it took time and effort to pick out women who looked so alike. She’d had a case a few years back where the killer had bought identical wigs to place on his victims prior to their death. But in these cases, the hair was real, ebony as a raven’s wing, long and thick. Definitely not a wig.

With a sigh, she went back to the CODIS cold hits, printed out the cover sheet from each murder, started a new file, marked it Snow White DNA/CODIS, then walked the long hallway to her boss’s office. She was the lead profiler on the murders; she needed to present her findings. This case was hers. Her future. Her success. Stuart Evanson had taken over the BSU when Baldwin left. He reported to Garrett Woods, the top dog in the Critical Incidence Response Group. Evanson had power 14

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and clout, but not as much as he’d like. Woods was the real star, mentor to the great profiler John Baldwin. Woods was reputed to be a smart, seasoned agent who might be ru

Evanson had replaced Baldwin only a few months before. She remembered that storied morning vividly. Baldwin had a

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Stuart Evanson had been placed in charge, and instead of gracefully appointing Charlotte second in command, he’d moved her to Training, making her conduct the sym

posiums that the BSU often gave to law enforcement. Like he didn’t care that she had a Ph.D. from Georgetown and had worked tirelessly in the BSU for five years, moving up every review period. He wanted her to be the

“spokeswoman” for their unit. Fuck that. She wanted to work cases, not train wa

her within weeks, making her the number two in the BSU. Deputy chief. Head profiler, that’s what she was. She should have been the chief, but she would take this for now. Dangling the slightest whiff of opportunity in Evanson’s face from time to time was an easy price to pay. Hearing her boss’s voice raised in anger and frustration on the other side of the door didn’t bother her in the least. She had a knack, a touch, for defusing even the most egregiously charged situation. Glancing at her watch, she gave him thirty more seconds to scream, touched a hand to her deep auburn hair and knocked once, hard. She opened the door and stepped into the director’s personal space.

“I don’t give a damn what the President says. This is the way it’s going to be.” He hung up the phone with a bang and took in Charlotte, standing calmly in his doorway. He’d fire any other agent for simply daring to knock on his door while he was talking to the White 14

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House. He was a blustery soul, prone to fits of pique. But Charlotte was a different story, and she knew it. Stepping into the room, she handed him the file folder, coded with a red sticker that read Priority—High.

“We have an anomaly.”

“Charlotte, could you say hello first? Maybe ask me how my day is going?”

Stuart Evanson leaned back in his chair, crumpling the corners of his pin-striped suit. Why he never took the jacket off was a mystery to her. Perhaps he thought it made him look more professional being fully dressed at all times, but she suspected that he was hiding sweat stains, and was thankful that he chose to. Nothing dis

gusted her more.

“Sir, from what I can tell, your day isn’t going very well.”

“Impertinence will get you nowhere, my dear.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m not trying to get anywhere right now. I’m just bringing a significant anomaly to your atten

tion.”

“Which is?”

“If you’d look at the file, sir, I believe it will make itself quite apparent.”

Evanson gave her an unfathomable look and flipped open the file. Charlotte watched as his bushy eyebrows grew crampons and hiked into his hairline. Told you, she thought.

“Is this certain?” Evanson asked.

“Yes. The Nashville police don’t have this informa

tion.”

Evanson was obviously in a seriously bad mood. He dismissed Charlotte without pretense, already had his 94

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hand on the phone. “Get on it, then. Report back to me as soon as you have more. Fill in the field teams immedi

ately.”

“Yes, sir. Will Dr.…?” She stopped, certain of the answer. It wouldn’t do to look too anxious. Word had already come down that John Baldwin was helping the Nashville police work the Snow White killings, his field office ru

“Never mind, sir. I’ll get back to you on this.” Evanson grunted, he had already tuned her out. Charlotte turned and left the i

Back at her desk, she brought up the Nashville file. As Charlotte started to work, she had a deep, satisfy

ing knowledge that she was about to be a very happy woman. Call it instinct, premonition, whatever. She hadn’t pla

Nashville, Te