Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  “Angel.” Her voice bounced off the tile walls.

  The profiler turned around, peered beyond Lexie and shook her head.

  Realizing her mistake, Lexie whipped around to verify no one had heard her casual reference to the FBI agent. She mouthed, “Whoops,” but Angel motioned her to come on.

  Lexie neared and matched Angel’s steps toward the exit.

  “No problem.” The profiler looked around once more, lowered her voice. “You doing okay?”

  Lexie shrugged. “You would know better than I. I may know how to cover the stories, but I’m a rookie in this type of thing. Who would have thought they’d ask me to join the task force? So, how am I doing?”

  “Fine. I can’t tell you how pleased I was when Etta told me you were inside. Figured we’d better keep our distance while I’m in Macon, all things considered, but working together on the task force will make communicating much easier. I’d requested an investigative reporter, but wasn’t sure who they’d get. Of course, I assumed they would realize you were the best person for the job.”

  “Your boss doesn’t know about me? I assumed the FBI knew everything.”

  “Quantico knows, of course. The Atlanta field office, however, doesn’t. Until this guy is caught, it’ll stay that way. Safer for both of us, according to the guys at the top.”

  Lexie nodded. “Tucker didn’t tell me the name of the profiler, but I knew if there was any way for you to get this case, you’d try.” She smiled. “By the way, I was impressed with how cool you seemed when you came in and saw me sitting there with the cop crew. I should’ve realized Etta stuck around and filled you in.”

  “Checked me out was more like it, although she’d staged her one-woman ambush for Carlton. That lady’s mighty protective of the town’s number one homicide detective.”

  Lexie didn’t comment. It seemed odd to say she also felt protective of him, given he was a walking mountain, but for some strange reason, she did. This killer had ruined his life. Granted, not in the same manner as he’d ruined the lives of his victims, but John Tucker had also been violated. He’d lost his wife, his baby and his credibility due to the Sunrise Killer. And he seemed as committed as Angel and Lexie in making the man pay.

  The two women kept walking, passing through the lobby then exiting the building. Thankfully, the rain had taken a break.

  Angel indicated the vacant parking area. “We’re all clear now. Did you need to ask me something?”

  “Yeah.” Lexie looked behind her to make sure no cops headed their way. She didn’t want to seem too chummy with the FBI agent assigned to the case. They didn’t need anyone suspecting the truth, but she had to ask this question. “Paul Kingsley, my boss, extended my deadline until 4:00 this morning to let me get the most up-to-date story for the early news segment.”

  “Sounds good. What do you need from me?”

  “I’d like to broadcast the updated profile, as well as the fact that we now know the first kill of each series occurs forty days prior to Easter and subsequent murders are also spaced forty days apart. Bring up the whole Biblical aspect that may be associated with each series. During the 2006 series, they aired Stan Carlton’s evaluation; however, with your additions, the changes between 1985 and 1992, I think the public deserves to be informed of what they’re looking for. It’ll help us pinpoint him, narrow down our list. And maybe convince a witness to come forward, if they know of someone who fits the description. Knowing the guy probably married or had a serious relationship between those years might spark someone to put two and two together. And the whole religion theory might also spark a memory.”

  Angel stopped walking, seemed to consider the ramifications of the information hitting the airwaves, where the killer could hear every word of their progress.

  “Would it be a good thing? Or would it set him off to do something else, something not in his plan?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to decide,” Angel admitted. “In all honesty, if our UNSUB believes he’s conducting some sort of religious objective and that he’s supposed to perform his duties on specific dates, I don’t think anything you do will change that plan. It’ll just make him more aware that we’re onto him. And that might make him nervous, might even make him slip up.”

  “So you think I should? Granted, I’ll be the first to admit I’m hungry for the story, but I don’t want the guilt of knowing someone died because of my news segment.”

  “That won’t happen. Maybe with some killers, but not this one. He’s too detailed, too precise. I don’t believe there’s anything that’ll make him veer from his plan. He hasn’t had a fear of getting caught before. Maybe if he thinks we’re watching for him to act, that we may anticipate his next strike, he won’t find it so easy to hit his target.”

  “All right. I’ll include the specific dates that we suspect he’ll strike; that should remind the public how serious this is and how deranged he is. I’ll write the copy now.”

  “You’re going to your office? Now? Alone?” Angel shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll go with you.”

  “I don’t have to go in. I’ll email the text from home. One of those amazing modern conveniences we all love. But thanks for the offer.”

  “When will you tape the broadcast?”

  “I’ll call Henry, my cameraman. We’ll bring a van here and tape the footage in front of the police station.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  Lexie grinned. “The news doesn’t sleep.” She held up a hand when Angel started to argue. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  “What about this Henry guy? Can he protect you? And do you trust him?”

  “Yes, I trust him, and since when have I needed a man for protection, anyway?”

  Angel glared. “Lexie...”

  “I’ll be fine, and I’m counting on producing a story that throws the killer’s careful plan off-balance, or at least exposes it to potential victims.”

  “I never doubted your abilities,” Angel clarified. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Still determined to even the score?”

  “Hey, I’ve never denied it.”

  “Problem is, like I said, I can take care of myself.”

  Angel held up her palms in defeat. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore. And I have to tell you, the Biblical reference, the whole forty days and forty nights thing, that was crucial. You did good catching that.” She shrugged. “Religion isn’t my strong suit.”

  “It could be.”

  Before she could say more, Angel added, “Listen, I think it’s fine that you turned to church and all to help you cope with what happened. But for me, I’d say God let me down before I even got started.”

  “He didn’t let you down. The world let you down.” Lexie cleared her throat. “I’m planning on going to an Easter service Sunday. Why don’t you come? It will be like old times.”

  “The only way it’d be like old times is if Aunt Carol was dragging me against my will.” Angel laughed. “But the fact that you think you’ll get to go to church Sunday—and that we won’t be spending the day dealing with the aftermath of another Easter kill—proves that you’re still the glass-half-full girl. Mine is still half-empty.” She pressed the keyless remote to unlock her SUV. “Where are you parked?”

  “Right there.” Lexie gave up on coaxing Angel to try God again, for now. She pointed to a silver Lexus.

  “Wow, guess it pays to be a big time newswoman. Last time I saw you, you still had the dirt brown minivan.”

  “My minivan was silver, thank you very much. It was just dirty from running Phillip, Jr. to baseball, football, basketball...”

  “Quite the athlete, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Lexie gushed with pride. He’d moved on campus last summer and had become a confident, self-assured young man who would make it in the world. God had blessed her with an amazing son.

  “So when did you get the new toy?”

  “I bought it as
a celebration of Phillip Jr.’s scholarship to Georgia. I saved more in tuition expenses than what the car cost.”

  “And did he get anything out of this deal?”

  “His daddy bought him a Jeep for high school graduation, so I figure we both made out like bandits.”

  “I guess you did.” Angel turned to look at the police station. The rest of the group remained inside. “Listen, I saw the way you looked at him, John Tucker.”

  Lexie’s mouth opened to protest, but then she saw Angel’s eyes, and knew it’d be wasted breath. “Okay.”

  “You realize he’s still a suspect.”

  “He didn’t do it, Angel. Besides, he had an airtight alibi for when his wife was murdered. You know that. You’ve seen the reports.”

  “And I also believe it doesn’t appear to be a copycat killer. But I’ve been wrong in the past.”

  “Funny, I never remember you admitting that before.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t happen often.”

  “You being wrong, or admitting it?”

  Angel grinned. “Both. Just be careful, okay?”

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  “And try to watch what you let happen with Tucker, or anyone, at least until we catch this guy.”

  “Understood. But if memory serves, I’m older than you. Older equals wiser, right?”

  “Not necessarily.” Angel climbed in her SUV.

  “And speaking of wiser,” Lexie countered, “A wise FBI profiler would get some sleep tonight so she’d be ready for the rest of the weekend.”

  Angel’s blonde ponytail swished across her left shoulder as she jerked her head toward Lexie. “And when are you going to sleep? Before you write the copy? During the broadcast? Or after you’ve taped, when I know you’ll edit the segment until the minute it airs?”

  “Guilty.” Lexie couldn’t deny the truth. “And you’ll search Internet sites for info on whacked out religious buffs all night, right?”

  “Admit it. If you didn’t have to produce your story, you’d do the same thing, but I requested six books on Biblical numerology to be left at the front desk at my hotel.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “After I read them, then I’ll sleep.”

  “Sure you will.” Lexie did another scan of the parking lot to verify they were still alone then lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “Have you seen him lately?”

  Angel’s smile converted to a thin, solemn line. “Last Monday.”

  “I went Saturday. He looks good, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he does. When are you going back?” Angel held up a finger as an officer exited the building and crossed the lot. “See you tomorrow, Ms. McCain, Agent Jackson.” Lou Marker waved at them, then entered a car parked two spaces away from Angel’s Tahoe.

  Lexie watched Angel start her SUV, then drive away. Disappointed they didn’t have more time to talk, she moved toward her car.

  “Hey.” The deep voice startled her, sent an icy finger down her spine.

  She turned to find Lieutenant Sims standing behind her. Why hadn’t she heard him? Had he been in the parking lot all along? Had he heard their conversation? And did he realize the two women knew each other? Or why?

  The lamppost cast a shadow across his face, but she could still see his sandy hair, more ruffled than it’d been in the building. He cocked his head to the side, and a beam from the light behind him made her squint to make out his face in the darkness.

  “Wanna go get a cup of coffee?” With hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, he appeared nervous, like a teen asking for a date, instead of a forty-something inviting her for coffee.

  Lexie scanned the parking area, but she couldn’t see well with the lieutenant towering between her and the light. Her eyes smarted from the bright beams pulsing over his shoulder with each shift of his weight from one foot to the other.

  Was he nervous? Should she be?

  She caught a glimpse of the multitude of surveillance cameras pointed at the parking area. They were in a parking lot outside the police station. She shouldn’t be so queasy here.“I need to get home and write my piece for the morning broadcast. It’s due by four.” She wished someone else would come outside. Not that she thought Ryan was the killer or anything, but based on Angel’s profile, he fit.

  “It’s a cup of coffee, Lexie.” He took a step toward her. “Or do you not go out with cops? Is that it? You got something against cops, McCain?” He chuckled, but it sounded like a wet hiss.

  The old feelings returned. Panic. Fear. She could hear the screams. Her screams.

  No. Not again. Not now.

  Where were the others? Where was...

  “Tucker.” Ryan turned his head toward a large shadow, making its way toward them in the parking lot. “I thought you were going to stay and help Pierce.”

  “I did.” John Tucker stepped beside the lieutenant. “Everything going okay out here?” he asked, while Ryan stepped away from the light and Lexie’s eyes adjusted.

  “Just fine.” Sims braced his stance as though daring the detective to assume otherwise.

  “I was telling Lieutenant Sims that I have to go work on my story.” Lexie’s heart slowed to a near-normal beat. “I want to air the updated profile information on the early news broadcast.”

  “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sims.” Tucker stood his ground.

  Although Lexie still couldn’t see his face, she heard a thick grunt from Ryan. Then he mumbled something incoherent, turned and walked away.

  Detective John Tucker stood there, unmoving, until the lieutenant entered his car and left the lot.

  Funny how she didn’t feel the same kind of panic next to the formidable detective. On the contrary, she felt protected, safe. “Thank you. I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”

  “No, but he made you uneasy.”

  She nodded. “Not his fault. It’s mine, I’m sure. Guess even at thirty-six, I’m still afraid of the dark.” She tried to laugh, but it came out watery and weak.

  “Where do you live?”

  And with those four words, her heartbeat kicked right back into full gear. She couldn’t control her gasp. Not him, too. She’d felt so certain. He’d seemed safe, hadn’t he? Or had she just wanted him to be?

  He shook his head then reached out and touched her cheek.

  Lexie jerked away as if he’d slapped her. She couldn’t help it. Those old reflexes, the ones that cost her a marriage, were too strong.

  He turned to the side, exposing his face to the light and the pain etched on his features. “You told me I wasn’t a killer.”

  “I know.” Dear God, help me. Help me control my fear.

  “Still believe that? Do you still believe I’m a good guy, Ms. McCain?”

  She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her anxiety win this time. “Lexie.” She needed to let him get more personal, let him see she trusted him. She did, didn’t she? She just had to trust herself enough to let go of the fear. “Call me Lexie, please.”

  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Give me strength now, Lord. Control my fear.

  “All right.” He studied her, his gaze searching her eyes to see the truth. “Lexie. You still think I’m okay?”

  She nodded past the tension in her chest, the tight squeeze around her heart, and her pulse began to slow. She’d been drawn to him last fall, and she suspected the emotion that churned deep within her wasn’t one-sided. But she’d stayed away from the man since they’d met. Why, she wasn’t sure. Didn’t she deserve a chance at knowing what could happen? At seeing if maybe she could move past the memories? But could she ever move beyond them if the killer wasn’t caught?

  “Then let me follow you home.”

  “Follow me?” She hated the way her voice snagged between the words. She’d been dubbed one of the strongest television personalities in the South, had been praised for her tenacity and her ability to obtain the facts. She’d even been the primary media source for the I-20 rapist
case. So why did John Tucker’s request feel like a vise around her neck?

  “We both agree I’m not the killer, but we also agree there’s one out there. And there’s no way I’m going to let you drive home alone without making sure you get there okay.”

  She swallowed. “All right.” Then her gaze darted to where Angel had driven away. “Oh. Oh no.”

  “Don’t worry. The FBI has someone watching her hotel. They take care of their own.”

  She blinked. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “You’re a female. Females watch out for other females.” He lifted one shoulder. “Females watch out for others, period.”

  Lexie believed him. He didn’t know Angel’s role in her past. He didn’t even know her past, and she planned to keep it that way, for now. The fewer that knew, the better. Because if the killer found out what she knew, Lexie would be dead. Then again, it wasn’t what she knew that could get her killed; it was what she couldn’t remember.

  Vickie Jones dangled one leg out of the covers, her mouth open and one hand threaded through her hair on the pillow while she slept. In spite of the cloudy night, the moonlight filtered through the drizzling mist to emphasize her blonde locks, her angelic face. An angel who’d sinned, like Hannah. And a foolish angel too, sleeping with her window open and a mere screen providing the scant appearance of safety. She probably liked listening to the rain while she slept. Hannah had always liked the rain, too.

  The weather forecasted rain again tomorrow, which would make his mission easier. She’d leave the window open again, and he’d step through, accepting her invitation.

  He could take care of her tonight, but it wasn’t time. Not yet. He had to follow the plan, maintain order, accomplish the necessary completeness to fulfill his destiny. That’s what Brother Moses would have wanted when he taught them the truth. He wouldn’t have approved of his followers going astray, turning weak in the face of adversity. Brother Moses would have known that the Supreme One would be pleased, would even praise his dedication to the Fellowship.

  Vickie Jones had a child, a creation from God, growing inside of her, but she didn’t deserve its power, in spite of the proclamation of purity that crowned her pretty face. Like Hannah, Vickie embodied a multitude of contradictions, appearing all good and pure while hiding a demon in her soul.