Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  “Let me stay—”

  Lexie didn’t wait to see whether there was more to his request before she answered. “I don’t—I won’t be with a man that way outside of marriage.” She wouldn’t admit it to John Tucker, but—thanks to her past—she’d barely been “that way” with a man within the boundaries of marriage.

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  Her cheeks tingled from the blood rushing beneath her skin. “Okay.”

  “Let me stay out here, in my car, while you sleep.” His blue eyes caught the light, and Lexie saw everything she needed to see. A man who wanted to make her feel safe and didn’t mind keeping watch all night in a cramped vehicle to meet that goal.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I was only asking to be polite. Whether you say yes or no, I’m staying till daybreak. You’re going to get some sleep. And don’t worry; this isn’t my first stakeout.”

  Shocked, and moved, by his declaration, she realized he hadn’t given her any options. “What am I supposed to say?”

  “You might as well say yes.”

  She couldn’t hold back her smile. “All right, then. Yes.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lexie’s feet tingled against the gritty, warm sand as she walked along the beach. The water looked too inviting to pass up, so she ventured closer, until the chilled liquid slapped against her ankles, licked her calves and knees.

  When had she felt this happy? This free? She turned to smile at the man who’d provided her this luxury, the man who’d made her safe enough to close her eyes and dream of sandy beaches prickling her feet, salty air tingling her nose, cool water splashing her legs and beaming sunshine warming her flesh.

  John Tucker.

  A shrill ring echoed through the turquoise sky and carried on the ocean’s breeze.

  Her alarm clock? Lexie didn’t want the fantasy, the beautiful, blissful dream to end.

  No, it wasn’t her alarm. She hadn’t set it last night, when she’d crawled into bed and drifted to sleep with Detective John Tucker parked outside.

  The phone.

  Lexie’s eyes popped open. Shaking her head, she rolled over and picked up her cell. “Hello.”

  “You didn’t call yesterday. Everything okay?”

  She shimmied up in the bed taken aback that she was still fully clothed. But she’d been so exhausted that she hadn’t done more than crawl under the covers. “Hey.”

  He laughed. “Mom, since when do you sleep past 6:00?”

  Her eyes darted to the red numbers on the digital clock beside her bed. 7:22. She should be on her way to work by now. She’d need to call Paul later and let him know she’d be late. Not that he required her to call in, but he’d expect her to, because he’d already come to terms with her work ethic, which was that she worked—ethically. As in more than she needed to, doing more work than necessary, and providing the best possible stories for her viewers. Paul liked that about her and Lexie liked that about herself, too. But right now, she wouldn’t worry about calling Paul. Right now, she’d enjoy her son’s thoughtfulness.

  “I had a busy weekend.” She yawned as she crawled from the bed and walked to the front of the house. “I know I always call on Sunday. I hadn’t realized, however, that you’d miss it if I forgot.” A maternal grin crept into her cheeks. “Have to admit, that’s rather appealing.” She peeked out the window and saw no sign of John’s vehicle. Then she spied a sheet of paper on the floor by the front door with a note written in thick black ink.

  I left at daybreak, as promised. Hope you slept well.

  “I didn’t call just because I didn’t hear from you yesterday.”

  She blinked, dropped the note on the desk by the door. “Is something wrong? What do you need?”

  “Not me, Mom. You. I got up to get ready for Psych 101 this morning, flipped on the news and saw you on the screen. They carried your broadcast on the Atlanta stations. Figured you might want to talk about it.”

  That got her attention. “They carried it in Atlanta?”

  “Yeah. You were standing outside that house where the woman was murdered and talking about how the Sunrise Killer was back and had murdered on Easter again.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t thought of Phillip seeing her there, at Vickie Jones’ home. But she also hadn’t realized her segment had been picked up by the Atlanta affiliate.

  “I know that kind of thing is part of your job, but I gotta tell you, when you investigated that I-20 rapist, well, I was worried. You got too close to it. I’m learning about that kind of thing in Psych, and it isn’t good.”

  Lexie sighed. She had gotten close, so close in fact that she became the public’s point of contact with the victims. They looked to her to know how each girl felt, what she’d experienced, how horrendous the crimes were. And she’d provided what they wanted via interviews with the sole survivor, the one woman who’d lived to tell about the man’s heinous acts. And the woman who, with Lexie’s support, had found the strength to face the monster in court. “Maybe I did get close, but that’s what it takes to get the story right. You know that.”

  “But you had me at home then. I was there for you to talk to and protect you.”

  Thank You, God for blessing me with this boy. “You’re worried about me being down here on my own?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  That maternal pride rippled through her once more. “Would it help if I told you Angel’s here?”

  “Angel is in Macon?”

  “She’s here, working on the case with me.”

  “Which means she has her gun handy.”

  Lexie smirked. His favorite thing about Angel, her sharpshooting. Little did he know, Lexie had her share of talent in that area too. He also didn’t know about the .22 his doting mom kept by her bed. “Well, she is FBI. I’m sure she has a weapon with her most of the time.”

  That sounded non-technical, didn’t it? Something a normal mother would say? A mother who hadn’t hit the firing range with Angel on numerous occasions to make certain she could shoot as well as the FBI Special Agent. Or better.

  “All right.” His tone eased. “I’m glad she’s there. Although it’d be better if she were male.”

  Lexie’s eyes bulged. “Excuse me?”

  He laughed. “No offense, Mom. I agree there’s not much a man can do that you can’t, but when it comes to protection,” he let the word hang.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Another call beeped through on the line. She decided to let it beep. The caller wasn’t more important than her son, a son who worried about her and never failed to touch her heart in all the right spots.

  He chuckled again, and she noticed the sound had grown even deeper since he left for college. It seemed like only yesterday he toddled around in the backyard.

  “Mommy, watch this. Mommy, watch that.”

  Yeah, parts of Lexie’s life would never be the same thanks to what happened so very long ago, but she’d done a good job raising Phillip.

  “I’m gonna be late to Dr. Morland’s class. One of the amazing things about being a freshman, the low men on the totem pole get all the 7:30 classes. But I wanted to tell you to be careful. There’s a killer down there.”

  “Don’t worry,” another beep interrupted her words, “I will.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye.” She clicked the end button then accepted the other call. “Hello.”

  “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “Angel? I thought you weren’t going to call me while you’re here.” Then realization dawned. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is it the killer?”

  “No,” Angel said, her voice a single, somber syllable, the tone someone used to deliver bad news, news that someone had died.

  “Oh no.”

  “He’s okay, but he left again yesterday. They have no idea where he went or what he did while he was gone. And he’s not speaking. Jacqueline tried to call you. When she di
dn’t get an answer, she called me. I told her I’d let you know.”

  “I didn’t even think about him when I didn’t take the call.”

  “That’s okay, she can always get one of us, and she knew I’d get in touch with you. But I wanted to see if you could drive over. I can, but I’m supposed to have a powwow with Pierce today about the case. Plus, Leon Hawkins has a conference call scheduled with me and Quantico to see if they can provide a bit more insight into my new theory.”

  “That he’s offering his victims as sacrifices?” Lexie had a hard time fathoming the possibility when John first relayed the information to her for the news, but after thinking about it, she realized a warped twist on religion would fit the type of person they were dealing with.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure if the profilers have ever handled anything like this before with Biblical numerology, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be able to help me stay focused on the big picture. We can find him, and I’m betting when we get that missing persons’ data from the State, we’ll be able to narrow our search even more.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Anyway, if I head out of town, the rest of the task force is liable to get suspicious. Today’s meetings are important to the case, and it’d look odd for the profiler to take a hike now. On the other hand, you’re not due back in to meet with us until tomorrow, so I was thinking you could go and check on him, then get back in time for tomorrow’s meeting, and we wouldn’t have to tell anyone about us yet. Is that possible with your job?”

  “I’ll leave right now.” Lexie climbed off the bed, then pulled her overnight bag out of the closet. “I’ll call Paul and let him know I need a personal day. It’s not a problem at all.”

  “And why didn’t you answer the phone? I thought—well, why didn’t you answer?”

  “I was talking to Phillip, Jr. He saw me on the Atlanta news this morning and was worried.”

  “Is he okay now?”

  “Yeah, and I told him you were here, which seemed to help.”

  “It’s hard to live up to being an eighteen year old’s hero.”

  Lexie knew Angel didn’t mind trying. “Somehow I think you’ll manage. And don’t worry, I’ll get down there. I’ll stay tonight and drive back in the morning before our meeting. That way I’ll get to see him after he wakes up, make sure he’s still doing okay.”

  “Sounds good. Tell him I’ll be there later in the week. I know, he probably won’t remember whether you tell him or not, but tell him, just in case.”

  “I will.” Lexie disconnected then got ready for a trip to Valdosta.

  John checked his watch. Again. 10:43. He’d been sitting in Dr. Yvette Weatherly’s waiting room, along with six women whose bellies looked ready to explode, for two hours and forty-three long minutes, while reruns of TLC’s A Baby Story aired non-stop from the TV. One of the doctor’s patients had gone into labor during the wee hours of the morning, and the good doctor was still involved in the delivery. According to her receptionist, things were progressing nicely, and she’d be here soon.

  He decided a doctor’s definition of soon and a homicide detective’s description weren’t even close. And during the past two hours, he’d viewed two cesarean sections, complete with each mother muttering a drug-induced, “Oh, I feel something,” when the doctor yanked the baby from her sliced belly, as well as four vaginal births with no drugs. In one of those, a woman had the Lamaze breathing down pat. By the time she pushed the baby out, which he equated to pushing a watermelon through a keyhole, she’d done that hiii-huuu hissing so much the waiting room had depleted of oxygen. John sure felt lightheaded. But that could’ve been from the final three births. Vaginal, no drugs, no Lamaze. Ouch.

  However, he couldn’t help but be amazed witnessing the women’s pain, in screams and thrashes and clenched fists, words of pure venom spouted at husbands who looked like they wanted to keel over. Then John watched those agonized faces relax, cry and smile at the first sight of their newborn. He would describe it as a Jekyll-Hyde type transformation, beyond incredible. As many times as he’d wondered about Abby’s baby, it’d never hurt as much as it did right now.

  On the screen, a new father passed out during his wife’s delivery, and several moms-to-be in Dr. Weatherly’s waiting room giggled. John turned his attention from the television. Too much pain. He didn’t need any more.

  While one of the expectant mothers exchanged the DVD, another entered the office with her husband in tow. She looked calm, peaceful and had that pregnancy glow, with her belly protruding, and her navel poking out, a fabric-coated bump in the center of her stretchy top.

  “You sit down, honey,” the man instructed. “I’ll get us signed in.”

  She waddled through the room, one hand on her lower back and the other cradling her ripe belly. “Hi,” she said to Tucker as she passed. Then she continued through to the only two chairs remaining side-by-side and eased her way into one of them, while meeting and greeting each of her fellow moms-to-be as she progressed.

  Short, blonde curls framed her face, fuller than usual, John knew, due to the impending birth. Her eyes were green, like Lexie’s. Hair neat, but touchable, like Lexie’s. His gaze fell to her belly. What would Lexie McCain look like, her stomach swollen with a child?

  John shook his head. Yeah, he’d spent last night protecting the incredible woman, but he’d been close to women since Abby and hadn’t jumped into thoughts of seeing them pregnant. Maybe because Lexie had been pregnant before. She had a son, as she’d told the task force during Agent Jackson’s interrogation.

  It felt good taking care of her, caring about her, even from a distance. He hadn’t wanted to leave. But Pierce’s mandatory 6:00 a.m. breakfast meeting forced him away.

  He looked at the women in the tiny waiting room. Three were blonde. All were pregnant. Were any of them single too?

  The theme music for A Baby Story geared back up from the television’s speakers as another episode started rolling. By 11:30, John had deemed waiting out a child’s birth worse than an all night stakeout, any day. He stood, figuring he might as well head back to the precinct. He sure wasn’t getting anything done here.

  He’d taken two steps toward his exit when the door beside the reception area opened and a black-haired nurse poked her head out. “Detective Tucker?” She eyed the badge.

  “Yes?”

  “The doctor is back and will see you now. You did say it would only take a few minutes, right?”

  “Right.”

  “No one out here in labor?” she asked the women in the chairs.

  “Not yet,” one of them answered, and they all laughed.

  The nurse smiled. “Then we’ll get you back as soon as we can.”

  “No problem,” one of the moms-to-be responded. “We’ll watch a few more births and get ready for our big day.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready right now,” another said.

  While the women continued chatting, John followed the nurse, clad in turquoise and purple scrubs covered in teddy bears, to the back of the building. They found Doctor Yvette Weatherly sitting at her desk looking tired, but cheerful.

  “Good morning, Doctor. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

  “I want to do whatever I can to help you catch Ms. Jones’ killer, Detective. She’d been surprised at her pregnancy, even though she said she’d already taken a home test, but still, she’d seemed pleased. However, it isn’t Ms. Jones you’re looking into, right? You said you wanted to talk to me about my staff?” She looked concerned. “I have to admit I’m curious why.”

  “May I?” He indicated a chair.

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’m afraid I’ve had a busy night and sometimes forget common courtesies when I’m running on two hours’ sleep.”

  Knowing how she felt, he sat down and smiled, then noticed her loose jacket, and the belly protruding beneath.

  She patted her stomach. “That’s right. I’m not only the doctor; I�
�m a patient. Baby’s due in ten weeks.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. And this little fellow makes me even more anxious for you to stop that maniac. I can’t stand the thought of him killing those women, and of those children never getting the chance to experience life.”

  “I agree.” His attention moved to her hair, short, bobbed and brunette.

  “I know. Even if I wasn’t married, I wouldn’t fit the bill.” She pointed to her hair. “Kind of makes me want to tell all my blonde, single patients to dye theirs.”

  “It isn’t a bad thought, but we’re going to get him. We can’t let women continue to be scared to live, to leave their houses alone. It isn’t right.”

  “So how can I help?”

  “I need the names of all male staff members, with those who worked on Friday noted.”

  “I can’t give you any names. I’m sorry.”

  John frowned, but continued, “I have a warrant signed by Judge—”

  “It isn’t that, Detective. We don’t have any men on our staff.”

  John closed his eyes. He’d suspected as much from viewing all the nurses as he walked through, but he’d still hoped. “Doctor, did she mention anyone when she was here on Friday? A man? A friend? Anything?”

  “I’m sorry, but no, she didn’t. It was my first time to see Ms. Jones. She was new to the area and hadn’t been to the office before.”

  “Can you think of any way this guy learned she was pregnant within one day of her finding out? Assuming he wasn’t a friend, and she didn’t voluntarily tell him.”

  She shook her head and looked sorry she couldn’t help. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Have you heard about our profile for the killer?”

  “On the news. I’m sure most of Macon has either seen it on the news or read it in the paper.”

  “Well, if you do see any men hanging around fitting that description, or hear of your patients being approached by strangers, or anything that seems the least bit odd,” he withdrew his card and handed it to her, “please call me.”

  “I will.”

  He stood, and the black-haired nurse rushed in from the hall and nearly barreled into him. Her eyes were wide with excitement.