Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3)

by Alexa Grace

  Soon she reached Morel’s city limits. On Main Street, she saw that the same colorful shops and restaurants still lined the street. Her favorite women’s apparel store, Bonnie’s Boutique, displayed a bright yellow sale sign that lured Tisha to angle her car into a parking space.

  Holy mother, it felt good to be out of the house. A sense of freedom rushed through her veins as she got out of her car. She’d purposely parked a couple of blocks from the café so she could stretch her legs and peek in shop windows along the way. The morning sunlight danced across the street and sidewalk. It was a new day. Just maybe, if she were lucky, this would be a good one. Tisha Lucas was way overdue.

  She was a block from Bonnie’s Boutique when the delicious aromas of Mollie’s Cafe assailed her senses, the smell of bacon frying, the hint of dark roasted coffee, and best of all, the mouth-watering scent of Mollie’s rich chocolate-chocolate-chip muffins hot from the oven wafted in the air. Tisha made a beeline for the café.

  The place was crowded, which she should have expected for this time of morning. People were getting a solid breakfast before starting their busy work days. It was the first time she’d eaten out alone in her life, and she was a little anxious and excited at the same time. A friendly, young waitress directed her to a small table near the window and poured her a cup of hot coffee. After handing her a menu, the girl disappeared to the back of the café, presumably to the kitchen. Tisha sipped the coffee and nearly purred. Mollie’s coffee tasted as delicious as her muffins. She angled her view outside and watched a young girl walking a fluffy white puppy as she window-shopped across the street. Farther down, a couple entered an attorney’s. She hoped their visit was for happy reasons. She’d picked up her menu, when she noticed a couple of men staring at her from the lunch counter. Tisha blushed, and returned to her menu. With naturally blond hair and eyes more gray than blue, she was an attractive woman who should be used to men admiring her. Actually, it was refreshing, considering she was married to a man who barely noticed her existence. It had been a long, long time since Bradley looked at her with desire.

  Her waitress returned and Tisha ordered a veggie and cheese omelet, a muffin, and a glass of apple juice. As the waitress left for the kitchen, she noticed a group of three women sliding into the booth next to her. None of them looked familiar so she returned her attention to the window. Although it was an awkward feeling sitting alone at her table, it was good to be out of the house. Lately, she’d felt more a prisoner of her home than a resident and she’d grown tired of being alone. Listening to the conversation of the three women in the booth, she smiled, and thought of the days she and her ex-friends had met for lunch to share the latest gossip and describe new purses or shoes they’d purchased.

  Out the window, Tisha watched the young couple she’d seen earlier emerge from the attorney’s office. They walked until they came to a bench, where they sat down and embraced. Tisha thought of the days when she and Bradley couldn’t stay away from each other. Those days seemed long ago.

  She overhead the women talking in the booth near her table.

  “Isn’t that Tisha Lucas?”

  “Who’s Tisha Lucas?”

  “Cherry, sometimes I think you live under a rock. Do you not watch the news or read the paper?”

  “Norma Mae Cunningham, you leave Cherry alone. I know who you’re talking about.”

  Tisha winced, as the woman leaned out of the booth so she could get a better look.

  “It looks like her. Can’t be sure. Haven’t seen her out in public in a coon’s age.”

  “If that’s the Lucas woman, she’s got a lot of nerve showing up around here after what her sons did. How many women did they butcher anyway?”

  Determined to ignore them, Tisha sipped her coffee. Closing her eyes, she drew in a slow, calming breath.

  Much to her dismay, the women’s conversation continued. “Get ready. Wherever those Lucas people go, the press aren’t far behind. One time I saw a Crime Scene Network reporter chase them to their car trying to get a scoop. I’ll bet you five bucks the reporters will swarm in here like wasps soon. So much for a quiet breakfast.”

  Tisha gritted her teeth, breathing a sigh of relief when the waitress returned to refill her coffee cup. The girl placed a chilled glass of apple juice along with a warm muffin on her table.

  A hulk of a man, wearing a red flannel shirt with faded jeans, eased up from his place at the counter and ambled down the row of tables. Tisha glanced out the window, renewing her interest in whatever was going on outside the restaurant, determined to ignore the women in the booth. She could do this. Yes, their words hurt, but she could be much stronger than Bradley thought she was. She had every right to be here—she couldn’t stay a prisoner in her own home forever.

  Tisha had lifted the coffee cup to her mouth, when something slammed hard against her shoulder, sending the coffee cup flying across the table and crashing to the floor, spewing hot coffee in its wake. The man she’d seen in the red flannel shirt hovered over her, murmuring he was sorry. Retrieving a clean, dry napkin from another table, he dabbed at the spilled coffee with it, as she tried to dry her blouse. Suddenly, he grabbed her, his large fingers pressed painfully into the sides of her neck. He leaned close to her ear and said, “Monster-making bitch. Can’t believe you can show your face in public.” He shot her a look of disgust and then threw the soaked napkin at her, before he stomped out of the restaurant.

  Tisha looked around. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at her. Did they hear what he said? Shaken, she pulled her wallet out of her purse and set a twenty dollar bill on the table. Tisha fought the nausea climbing up her throat and prayed no one saw how badly her hands were shaking as she got to her feet and bolted from the cafe.

  Chapter Five

  Gabe

  Gabe Chase raced Godiva, their chocolate lab, from the mailbox at the end of the drive to the back door of the main house. Once they reached the house, he ruffled the dog’s fur affectionately before he opened the back door. He’d loved Godiva since he and Kaitlyn found her abandoned in a cardboard box in the middle of a highway. The thought that anyone had thrown her away like garbage, fully intending she be hit by a vehicle, still had him fuming.

  Inside, Kaitlyn stood near the stove cooking scrambled eggs and bacon. “Hey, you two are out of breath. What makes me think you raced from the mailbox? Who won?” Godiva rubbed against her legs, inspiring Kaitlyn to bend down to pet her. “Sorry, Gabe, Godiva says she beat you.”

  Gabe laughed as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink. “Something smells good.”

  “Think so?”

  He dried his hands, moved behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. “Yes, I think so.” He sniffed her neck, making her giggle. Moving his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him. “That’s what I thought. It’s the irresistible scent of a hot blond who may end up back in bed with the guy who loves her.”

  “Now that’s an interesting idea.”

  “I’m full of them,” Gabe joked as he poured two cups of coffee and placed them on the table. Then he retrieved two slices of toast from the toaster. Kaitlyn filled their plates and sat down across from him. She slipped a piece of bacon to Godiva, and then patted her lovingly on the head.

  “I seem to remember your telling me that table scraps weren’t good for Godiva.”

  Kaitlyn’s mouth twitched with amusement. “And that’s why I never feed Godiva from the table.”

  Gabe grinned as he spread strawberry jam on his toast. He loved their gentle bantering. With each day, he became more convinced that Kaitlyn was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The sooner he could get her to the altar the better. If he could just get her to set a date.

  “Where’s Cam? It’s not like him to skip breakfast,” Kaitlyn asked.

  “I think he got a call. He tore out of here at the break of dawn. Let’s hope it’s not a homicide.”

  “Never a dull moment living with all you alpha males in law enforc
ement. Which reminds me of something I want to ask you.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I want to hire you.”

  Gabe was caught off-guard. “Hire me? Why do you need a private investigator?”

  “Do you remember my friend Margaret Bennett?”

  “Isn’t she the shrink who has an office in my building?”

  Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. “Gabe, I’ve told you before, she isn’t a shrink.”

  “Then what is she?”

  “Margaret is licensed as a mental health counselor.”

  Gabe shoveled a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “So what does your friend, Margaret, the mental health counselor, have to do with you needing a private investigator?”

  “Margaret asked for my help to start a support group for the Families of the Murdered, also known as FOM. We’d hold monthly meetings at the Baptist Church on Elm Street.”

  “What happens at these meetings?”

  Kaitlyn’s faint smile had a touch of sadness. “People talk to each other about losing a loved one to murder—about what they’re feeling. There are very few people who have experienced violence close to home, so there aren’t many people we can talk to who really understand.”

  “You said ‘we’. Does that mean you don’t think you can talk to me about what happened to your sister?”

  “No, not at all. You lost Abby, too. Sure you’d broken up, but you must have had some feelings for her. I realize it’s not the same as losing a sister.”

  “Then why haven’t you mentioned her since the funeral?”

  “It’s not easy for me to talk about losing Abby.”

  All the words she hadn’t said were reflected in Kaitlyn’s beautiful, pain-stricken eyes. Gabe knew the pain of her loss would hit sooner or later, but he’d hoped she’d want to share it with him, not a group of strangers.

  Leaning toward her, he gently stroked her hair. “When you feel like talking, I’m here, Kaitlyn. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.”

  Glancing at him, she nodded. “I know that.”

  “So let’s get back to why you need a private investigator.”

  “Including my sister, there were seven young women murdered by Devan and Evan Lucas. Margaret and I want to reach the other six families to create the first group. It’s like we all have this common bond, as horrific as it is. Our losses were all caused by the same two men. The problem is we don’t know where the other families live and how to contact them. That’s where you come in. I want to hire you to get us the contact information for each family.”

  “Honey, I’d be happy to get this info for you, but there is an easier way to go about this. Talk to Cam. It was his case. He should have the victims’ family contact information in the case file.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  Gabe helped her carry the breakfast dishes to the sink, and then led her back to the table and pulled out her chair.

  Sitting down, she looked up at him. “What’s going on?”

  Instead of answering, he pulled a long tube-shaped package from the cabinet. “I have something to show you.”

  Kaitlyn arched an eyebrow curiously. “What is that?”

  He pulled a house blueprint from the tube, and used his hands to press it flat against the table. “If you approve, it’s our new house.”

  Kaitlyn merely stared, tongue-tied before finally finding her voice. “Our new house?”

  Gabe nodded and kissed her on the cheek. “This blueprint is a first draft from the builder, but if there is anything you’d like changed, it will be done.”

  “But where would we build it?”

  “Right here on Chase land. That’s what my mom and dad would have wanted, for their three sons to live close to each other with their wives so our kids can grow up together.”

  “But what about Brody and Cam? How do they feel about this?”

  “Mom’s will left the land to all three of us to be divided equally.”

  “Have you talked about this with them?”

  “Of course. They’re both really happy about it. Brody says that Carly loves the Honeymoon Cottage so much, she wants it to be their permanent home. They plan to build onto it as the need for space arises.”

  “What about Cam?”

  “Cam chose a piece of property on the other side of the lake where he fished a lot as a kid.”

  “Where is the section of land for our house?”

  “It’s a three-acre plot that starts at the lake and runs to the county highway south of here. There are a lot of trees, and a brook that runs through what will be our backyard. Plenty of space for that garden you want, and a lot of wildlife for us to feed and enjoy. What do you think?”

  Kaitlyn jumped up and threw her arms around his shoulders. “It’s a house just like I always dreamed, with a front porch for a swing, and lots of yard for kids to play. I love the idea of living close enough so all our children can grow up together. I love all of it, Gabe. All of it.” She captured his mouth in a kiss that made his head reel.

  As Gabe lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he headed for the stairs that led to their bedroom.

  Chapter Six

  Bradley

  For the first time in years, Bradley Lucas had overslept. He rolled over to find Tisha’s side of the bed empty, and the digital numbers on the alarm clock read eight o’clock. He always arose before five. Always. After all he was the boss and had to be a good example for his employees. Never absent, never tardy was his motto. The endless nights of insomnia were taking a toll.

  After he threw on some clothes, he ambled down the stairs and went to the kitchen to find his wife. Tisha wasn’t there. Krystle wasn’t there. Then he remembered it was the housekeeper’s day off. He went to the den, his office, and finally, he entered the darkened living room. He turned on a lamp, and saw his wife, Tisha, sitting quietly in a chair near the fireplace, fully dressed as if she’d been out. But that couldn’t be. She’d refused to leave the house since the funeral. The puffiness beneath her eyes revealed she’d been crying again, like she had for months, as the paralyzing grief that consumed her raged on.

  It wasn’t that Bradley wasn’t grieving for the loss of their twin teenage boys, but Tisha was taking it especially hard. She’d built an emotional wall, and wouldn’t let him in. He felt he was losing her, and didn’t know if he could cope with another loss this soon. Sitting in the chair next to her, he grasped her hand, but she snatched it away as if his touch burned her.

  She pointed at the fireplace. “Where are the framed photographs of the boys that were on the mantel?”

  Ah, shit. He’d put them in a box in the basement two weeks before and she hadn’t said a word. He took her silence as agreement or that she’d understood why he’d removed the photos. Bradley opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted.

  “What are you thinking, Bradley? That removing their photos is going to help us forget our sons’ existence? Seriously? Do you think anything will help us do that?”

  “Honey…”

  “Don’t use words of endearment to manipulate me. I feel what I feel. I don’t have your expertise in denial. What I feel is horror and shame. How could the boys we raised commit such atrocities? Were we such horrible parents?”

  Bradley leaned back in his chair. How could he answer her questions when he’d asked himself the same countless times and gotten no answers? “I don’t know, Tisha. I don’t know, and it’s eating me up inside. Do you want to know what I feel? Like you, I’m ashamed, and the guilt is overwhelming. I always thought we were a normal American family. But how could a normal family produce such evil? Were we such horrible parents? I don’t know. I think we loved our sons and were raising them to be honest, productive adults. Obviously that wasn’t enough.”

  Tisha looked at him for the first time since he’d entered the room. “There were signs they were different, when they were children, before they matured and learned to hide things so well. Didn’t you notice anythin
g off about our sons? Ever?”

  Surprised at her question, he turned to her. “No, they were active little boys. Sure they got themselves into trouble at times, but normal stuff.”

  “Is it normal to kill most of our neighbors’ pets?”

  “What are you talking about? How do you know they killed the neighbors’ pets?”

  Her face flushed and she balled her fingers into a fist. “I know because the neighbors told me themselves, just before I kicked them off our property. I know because I read the guilt written all over our sons’ faces.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t I tell you? Seriously? Because you would have laughed it off. Boys will be boys you always said. And if you hadn’t denied they’d done it, you would have delivered one of your special military punishments, too severe for young men, let alone two children.”

  Bradley twisted in his chair so he could meet her glare head on. “Jesus, Tisha, was I such a bad husband and father that you couldn’t trust me enough to talk to me about the boys’ behavior?”

  Tisha jumped to her feet. “You have to be kidding me! Did I need a translator when I tried to talk to you in the hospital after Evan broke both his legs? Was I speaking a foreign language? Did you not decipher what I was telling you?”

  “Tisha, please calm down.” Facing her, he lightly touched her arm and she flinched, which hurt as much as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t remember much about that time. I was too worried about Evan and if he’d ever walk again.”

  “I tried to tell you that it wasn’t an accident! You wouldn’t listen. Devan either pushed Evan, or dared him to jump off the roof. I saw Devan leaning against a tree smiling as his brother writhed in pain near him. He was amused, Bradley, entertained by his brother’s agony. I told you this in the hospital hallway, and you dismissed me. You wouldn’t even listen to a word I was saying. Bradley Lucas, King of Denial, that’s you.”