Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  Angel’s eyes widened. If the FBI wanted her on the case, she’d be on the case, whether the Captain agreed or not. However, she planned to set the record straight. “I’ll talk to him now, and if you see that nosey photographer before I do, tell him to keep his theories to himself.”

  “I’ll tell him, but I don’t see that it’ll do much good now,” Etta said with an apologetic shrug. “The deed has been done. I mean, when people ‘round here grab hold of something juicy, they’ve gotta tell it. And as far as most of them are concerned, a rumor is about the closest thing we get to the gospel truth. Think about it; no matter how many times Tucker tries to tell folks he couldn’t have committed his wife’s murder and how many times the police said he had an airtight alibi, people still whisper behind that sweet man’s back. Ticks me off, but that’s the way it is. If you say you ain’t got a bun in the oven, I’ll believe you, but if Captain Pierce and the other folks in there have already heard it—and they did see you run outside to lose your lunch at the crime scene—something they figure an FBI guy, or gal, wouldn’t do...”

  “I told you, FBI guys—and gals—are human. Some toss it at a crime scene.” Though Angel typically didn’t.

  Etta held up her palms and her bangles jingled down her forearms. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m telling you the truth. There’s a lot of people who won’t believe you’re not pregnant until several months pass.” She frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t try so hard to fatten you up with my banana nut bread until all of this settles. Wouldn’t want to fuel the fire.”

  “Until all of this settles? There’s nothing to settle. I got sick after seeing a woman’s dead body; I went to a doctor’s office after learning her patients were at risk. I’m not pregnant. There’s nothing to settle.”

  Etta nodded, but her big brown eyes said she didn’t agree. “Well, we’ll see.”

  “Just how many people could Elijah have told, anyway? I left the doctor’s office less than an hour ago.”

  “Don’t take no time to make a phone call or two, or ten.” Etta laughed. “But like I said, we’ll see. I just thought I should point out that it may not matter whether you talk to the captain; some folks are going to keep an eye on you, and your belly, for a while.”

  Angel pressed her flat stomach. Pregnant? She wouldn’t know the first thing about caring for a baby.

  They joined a couple of cops and crossed the parking lot, listening to the two men discuss their theories regarding the recent murder. One thought the killer knew both victims; the other wagered he didn’t, that he picked them because they fit the criteria. Angel didn’t comment. One held a door open for Angel and Etta, then the two men continued down the hallway while still discussing their theories. Etta brushed her hands together, muttered “Good luck,” and headed toward the dispatch desk, while Angel turned her thoughts from the killer to her so-called pregnancy. Then she made a beeline for Pierce’s office.

  With the door open, Angel stepped inside assuming he’d sense her presence and ask her to sit down.

  He didn’t even notice he had a guest. Instead he banged at his keyboard, his face drawn together as though he stared at a killer on the screen.

  “Captain Pierce.” She stood her ground when he turned to glare.

  “I’m emailing Hawkins. If the rumor is true, there’s no way you should be working on this case.” He stopped typing to look at her. “Well?”

  “I’m not pregnant, and I’m surprised you’d even consider emailing Leon before talking to me.”

  His mouth dipped at one corner, and he ran a hand across the back of his neck while he grimaced. Then he closed the email window and turned toward Angel. “You didn’t say anything about going to Weatherly’s office this morning, and you said you’d keep us informed of all case proceedings.”

  “I decided to follow up with Weatherly on my own. No offense, Captain, but the FBI doesn’t have to inform you of our every move. I tell you what I do as a courtesy, not a requirement. And, for the record, I am not pregnant.”

  He sighed. “This case is taking a lot out of all of us. We don’t want five more lives on our hands at the end of this year.”

  “It’s ten lives when you count the babies.” Angel knew those babies counted. She was one of those babies, after all. The only one that survived his attack. “And trust me, the FBI feels the same way; however, even if I were pregnant they wouldn’t remove me from the case. I’ve done too much work and researched this killer too thoroughly to walk away now, for any reason.”

  “But you’re not pregnant. That is what you said.”

  “Right, I’m not. No way, no how.” However, in the back of her mind Angel remembered her brief fling with Stan Carlton and realized that there was a slight chance…

  “Hold on while I call Marker. All we need is for the paper to get wind that we have a blonde, single and pregnant female working the case.” He twisted in his chair and snatched his phone, then proceeded to tell Lou Marker that their profiler didn’t, as Etta said, have a bun in the oven.

  Angel sat in Pierce’s guest chair and waited. Elijah Lewis had wasted no time spreading the word, if Lou Marker had been the one who told the captain. How far had this thing already gone? And would Marker even believe the captain when he told him the truth? She’d seen the way he looked at her in the parking lot, like she had a big, juicy secret. Chances were that some people wouldn’t believe that Angel didn’t fit the killer’s criteria until several months passed and her stomach didn’t hit a full bloom.

  Then again…if they did believe the rumor, couldn’t she use that to her advantage? Sure, she could deny it, but even so, some people would still believe it as fact until proven otherwise. Why couldn’t she use their natural instinct to turn this case around? She’d wanted to be proactive. You couldn’t get more proactive than becoming what the killer wants in a victim.

  And what if she actually was? No, surely not. She’d only been with Stan once.

  Aunt Carol’s words of warning when Angel had been a wild and rebellious teen whispered through her mind once more.

  It only takes once, Angel.

  Angel had told her aunt the truth back then; she wouldn’t do anything to get pregnant, because she wouldn’t bring a baby into a world like this. She’d said she never wanted to have kids, and she wouldn’t.

  But what if she was now? What if she’d inadvertently become the exact thing their killer wanted? A blonde, single and pregnant female.

  She hadn’t told Pierce how the FBI caught the Oklahoma City killer. Her skin still tingled when she recalled entering the restaurant then getting the call that she’d left her lights on. It’d almost been too easy. She called her backup, waited until they were at the ready, then walked outside.

  For a split second, she thought she’d messed up. From the previous attacks, she believed he wouldn’t strike until she reached her car. Wrong. She’d barely cleared the entry of the restaurant and started down the tiny tree-covered path leading to the parking area when his body cinched hers against his, the lower arm squeezing her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe, while the other hand clasped over mouth and nose.

  Thankfully her FBI training kicked in full force. By the time her backup got there, less than five seconds flat, the guy was already sucking wind from her heel to his groin. So much for her fellow profilers saying her flexibility wouldn’t come in handy. She’d bet a year’s salary he hadn’t seen that move coming. And because she’d been willing to play bait, Bennie Buzan had established permanent residence in the H Unit of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary.

  Angel hoped by the end of this case, the Sunrise Killer found himself in an equally fitting residence. Oklahoma’s H Unit housed the “worst of the worst” inmates in an underground concrete bunker, making the prison escape-proof. Inmates were locked down twenty-three hours of every day with only an hour’s exercise provided in a caged yard. Most H Unit prisoners had minimal contact with other human beings for the duration of their term, which Angel thought pe
rfect for a man like Bennie Buzan, who’d raped and tortured eight women before he’d been caught.

  The Sunrise Killer deserved an equally severe punishment. In fact, he deserved worse, much worse. And Angel would love to deliver it. Although she wouldn’t take the law into her own hands, she could help in his capture, in much the same way she’d done with Bennie Buzan’s fate.

  As bait.

  “Lexie, good to see you back.” Paul Kingsley’s loud voice made Lexie jump. “No need to be nervous. It’s just me. That killer has everybody jittery, doesn’t he?”

  She nodded. “I guess so. Dinah told me to wait in your office. She said you’d be here soon.”

  “I know.” He picked up the remote, flipped on the televisions then dropped his duffle bag on the floor. A health fanatic, Paul looked like he always did when he came into work, like he’d just finished a morning workout. Except on a typical day he made it into work well before—she glanced at her watch—9:30. “I called her on my way in. She mentioned you wanted to see me. Did you learn anything new about our guy yesterday? Got anything for the lead story?”

  “No, I really took a personal day.”

  He glanced at his computer and wiped a drop of sweat from his temple. Or a drop of water. Maybe he showered after he came in. It amazed Lexie how he could show up in the middle of the night to verify the early news progressed on schedule and still managed to exercise every morning. Lexie suspected his work schedule had been a major reason why his marriage had failed, not that she’d ever point that out to her boss.

  “Tucker was supposed to call and fill me in, but he must’ve forgotten. We were afraid you’d gone off chasing that madman on your own.” He cut his gaze at her and grinned. “Wouldn’t be unlike you to put yourself in danger for a story, would it? I’m guessing John did find you, right?”

  “He found me.” No need telling Paul they’d followed each other back to Macon, after she’d introduced him to her grandfather this morning, then told him a portion of her past. Not everything—yet—but enough that he believed her and believed that she trusted him.

  “Good. So, what did you want to talk to me about? The story?”

  “Yes. I have an idea about a way to bring the public closer to it, make them care about the victims and get more people out there to be on the lookout for the killer.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “You may remember in my films from the Atlanta station how I profiled each victim of the I-20 rapist. I covered those he’d killed, as well as the sole survivor.”

  “Of course I remember. That was some of your best work, and it convinced me we had to have you here. You’re thinking about doing that again for the Talton and Jones women?”

  “I’m thinking about starting with them and working my way back, through each woman he murdered throughout the past four cycles.”

  “I like it.” He nodded. “It will humanize them and remind the public that these aren’t just names. They’re people whose lives have been taken. People, like our viewers. And like their mothers, sisters or daughters. Yeah, I like it a lot.” He jotted something down on a yellow pad. “But why not start with the first victim and work your way forward? Seems that’d make more sense.”

  “Two reasons. One, I have more information about the most recent victims, so it’d be easier to portray their stories and will give me time to accumulate details about the prior victims. And two, because the police still don’t believe the first victim has been identified yet.”

  “Right. The missing persons info.” He glanced back at CNN. “Nothing come of that yet?”

  “According to Captain Pierce, the names should be available today, but I’ll need time to find out as much as I can about that first victim, since right now we don’t even know her name. Or what he did with her body.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, McCain. As usual.”

  “Then I can run with the stories?”

  “Of course. And I want you to continue a separate piece regarding the updates on what’s happening with the task force. The more the public is informed, the better. You’re going to spotlight one victim per day?”

  She nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  “Perfect. Starting today or tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow. I have to attend the task force meeting in an hour, then I’ll start working on Vickie Jones’ story. Problem is, there isn’t any family to interview, and her ex-husband isn’t talking to anyone.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Called him this morning on my way in. Got a ‘no comment.’”

  “What about the waitress that found her? She should be able to give you some insight.”

  “I reached her this morning at the Waffle House, and she agreed to meet with me this afternoon. She’s determined to help the police find the man who hurt Vickie.”

  “Great. We’ll run her story tomorrow and promise Cami Talton’s for the next day.” He tapped his pen against the paper. “This is quite an ordeal you’re taking on, McCain. Sure you’ll be able to produce one a day?”

  “I have to. We don’t have that many days before he strikes again. I believe humanizing his victims and outlining how horrendous his acts have been will increase public awareness. Maybe even convince someone who knows something to come forward.” Her skin tingled the way it always did when she worked on a breaking news story.

  “Let me know if you need help. And keep me aware of whatever you find out, whether it makes the broadcast or not. I can pull another reporter to aid with research if you need it.”

  “I’ve got everything I need in those police files. If I can interview a family member or two for each victim as well, that should give me what I’m looking for.” A method of presenting the information in a way that will make people stop, listen and heed her warning.

  “All right. But if you change your mind about needing help, let me know.” He pushed the pen and paper aside, stretched his arms, then clasped his fingers behind his head. “I don’t say it very often, but you do a great job around here. We’re glad you’re on board.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re going to the police department, then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me know if they come up with any new angles on the killer.”

  “I will.” She left his office, stopped by her cubicle and grabbed her notes, then turned and nearly ran right into Melody Harper, her granny glasses balancing on the tip of her nose.

  “Sorry, Lexie. I was wondering if you’d heard anything else about that killer. Delia’s been a wreck knowing he’s out there and all. I know she’s married, but what if he doesn’t know that? Kevin travels all the time, and Delia’s often by herself. What if the killer thinks she’s single? I’ve been trying to talk her into moving in with me until the guy is found, but she doesn’t want to leave their home.”

  “I don’t have any new information other than what’s been aired, but I’m working on learning more. In any case, this guy is smart. If she’s married, he knows it. And he’s very specific about his criteria.”

  Melody forced a smile. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sure. But I’ll feel better when the police get the lunatic.”

  “You and me both.”

  “You’ll let me know, though, if you learn anything new?”

  “I’ll let everyone know. I promise.”

  Melody nodded, then returned to her cubicle.

  Lexie had fifteen minutes before the task force meeting. The police station was only five minutes away, so she maneuvered through the maze of cubicles in the office and sprinted across the parking lot to her car.

  She jumped in and started to turn the key when her cell phone rang, the caller id displaying RESTRICTED. Even so, she hit the talk button. “Hello.”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Lexie’s hand pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Angel? Where are you calling from?”

  “The line is secure. And I need
to let you know something. I went to Dr. Weatherly’s this morning to talk to her about the case.”

  “But John already talked to her.”

  “I know, but I thought she might have remembered something.”

  “Had she?”

  “No, but Elijah Lewis saw me at her office and assumed that I must be pregnant, since he’d seen me getting sick outside of Vickie Jones’ home.”

  “That’s crazy.” Lexie thought of the sleazy photographer. “And I’m guessing that he spread the news.”

  “Made it to Pierce in less than an hour.”

  “Gotta love small town gossip. But you’re telling them it’s not true, right?”

  “I’m telling them.” Angel drew out the verb.

  “What does that mean?” Then Lexie made an ahh sound. “They don’t believe you, do they?”

  “No, but there’s more to this, Lexie. I told Pierce I wasn’t, insisted I couldn’t be, but then I realized that wasn’t true.”

  “That what wasn’t true?”

  “I told him there was no way I could be pregnant, but the truth is, there is.”

  “Angel, you haven’t even been seeing anyone. You’ve told me that every time we’ve talked.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t a relationship. Just a brief infatuation. And when I got to thinking about me getting sick at the crime scene, something I never do, and then I started counting the days, I realized that I might actually be pregnant.”

  “You’re pregnant?” Fear pulsed through Lexie at the mere thought. She pinched her eyes closed, said a quick prayer to say the right thing. “Angel, that isn’t right, to bring a child into the world without love between…”

  “Don’t preach to me, Lexie. I can’t take it. I’ve got to decide what to do.”

  “What to do?” Angel had always been against harming an unborn child, especially because of the Sunrise Killer. He’d killed her mother, twenty-eight other women and all of their babies. Surely Angel hadn’t changed her feelings toward anyone who took the life of a child. “What do you mean? You—you aren’t thinking about having an…” She couldn’t make herself say the word.