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

by Alexa Grace

  Anyway, I just want you to know that I’m sorry about the notes and the damage.

  Kaitlyn Reece

  Tisha remembered the name “Abby Reece” from the news coverage when the girl went missing. Abby was a beautiful girl who attended Purdue University and had her whole life ahead of her before Tisha’s sons decided to cut it short. Her nude body had been posed by her boys in a filthy alley outside a bar. Huge tears flooded down her cheeks, as Tisha’s mouth crumpled in a wail of pain and anger. With her arms wrapped around herself, she rocked back and forth in the chair as emotional pain closed in on her, the weight of her shame crushing her chest so she could barely breathe.

  Nightfall was announced with a clap of thunder that rattled the windows and shook the house as if a bomb had gone off in the front yard. The wind picked up and Tisha pulled open the blinds to look outside. The treetops bent sideways as small branches became missiles that bulleted against the windows. Just as Tisha turned on the television for a weather report, she heard a crackling sound of lightning striking something nearby. The power went out, leaving the den where she sat in complete darkness. She fumbled around in an end-table drawer until she found a book of matches, then lit the candle in a hurricane candleholder nearby. Carrying it into the kitchen, she found a flashlight in a drawer to illuminate her way to the bar, where she pulled a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio out of Bradley’s wine cooler and a crystal wine glass from the cabinet. Making her way to her bedroom, she placed the wine and glass on her bedside table and then lit her favorite clean-linen scented candle, which she carried to her bathroom. Running hot water into her bathtub, she stripped off her clothes and soaked for a good thirty minutes as the storm raged outside, trying her best to forget Kaitlyn’s letter, her sons’ crimes, the mystery of rearranged furniture, and photographs traveling from the basement to the fireplace mantel in the living room. Perhaps she was drinking too much and her mind was playing tricks on her. Not that she planned to drink any less tonight. Lord knows she needed the alcohol to put her into a deep sleep until morning. Bradley was due back tomorrow afternoon, and as angry as she was at him, Tisha was grateful to have him return so she wouldn’t be alone in the house.

  Getting out of the tub, she dried herself off with a thick, soft towel and went into her darkened bedroom to pull a bra and panties out of her lingerie drawer. Slipping them on, she’d turned to go back to the bathroom when a sudden, sharp pain fired from her neck, shot through her body. Tisha cried out as her legs collapsed and she dropped to the floor. Her entire body started jerking with agony as spasms racked her muscles. Her vision blurred as paralysis overwhelmed her muscles and she went completely rigid. Yet she was cognizant of everything around her, like the huge man in her bedroom wearing the black ski mask who brought the candle from the bathroom and set it down on her dresser. He then picked her up, carried her to her bed and used silver duct tape to secure her arms to the headboard and her ankles to the footboard. Next he carefully stretched the duct tape across her mouth to silence her, but made sure it was not close enough to her nose so that she couldn’t breathe.

  Still unable to move, her eyes followed the man as he eased himself down into the upholstered armchair next to the bed, looking as if he were going to relax and read a good book. Instead, he placed a plastic gun-like object on the table. Stun gun? He used a stun gun on her? He crossed his arms over his massive chest and scrutinized her from head-to-toe and back again. A hot wave of shame and embarrassment washed over her as she realized she wore only a lacey bra and a pair of silk bikini panties.

  This could not be happening. It was a nightmare like before when she thought he was standing at the foot of her bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to five, certain that when she opened them he’d be gone. Wrong.

  Slowly, her muscles came to life and she pulled against the duct tape holding her arms. She angled her head toward Bradley’s drawer where she’d placed his handgun. She had to get to it. There had to be a way.

  “Looking for this?” The man held up Bradley’s gun in his large hand. “Always wanted a genuine Sig Sauer. Thank you, Mrs. Lucas. Nice gift.”

  The scream that roared in her throat was cut short by the duct tape.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Cameron

  Unable to sleep, Cameron lay with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling in the dim light provided by his oil lamp. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep as he could hear the footfalls of Gabe and Kaitlyn from the floor above him. This wasn’t surprising since the storm roared on and Kaitlyn had a longtime fear of thunder and lightning.

  He thought of Carly’s profile of David109. She said it was likely the man harassing the Lucas couple had a criminal record for assault, vandalism, and/or stalking. Carly also thought his suspect was not afraid to get confrontational and physical. He’d done it before.

  The power still off, Cameron got out of bed and fired up his laptop, thankful he had enough battery left to do the job. Accessing his work online accounts, he reviewed the criminal background results he’d gotten for each suspect.

  There was Tate Green with that pending court date for the assault charge he’d earned when he punched the CSN reporter. Next on the list was Dwayne Black, who had a couple of drunken and disorderly convictions from thirty years ago. Nothing since. Thomas Engle, Jr. had an assault conviction from the time he’d punched a customer at the strip club where his wife, Marie, worked. None of these men had much of a history of violence. No stalking charges, either.

  Even though Val Staley’s parents, Alan and Gina, lived in Chicago and had dodged his suspect list with alibis, he ran Alan through the system. Clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket.

  Cameron ran the last name through the system and hit pay dirt as the criminal charges and convictions streamed down his computer screen for three long pages. It was a virtual history of assaults, vandalism, and aggravated stalking of an ex-wife. Frustrated, Cameron ran his fingers through his thick hair and cursed himself. Why in the hell hadn’t he run this report sooner?

  Snatching his cell off the bedside table, he called dispatch, put out a BOLO, and then threw on his clothes, so he could race to his SUV parked in front of the house. He had to get to the Lucas place, and fast.

  Chapter Forty-five

  The Talk

  “Don’t scream, Mrs. Lucas. It only annoys me and that’s the last thing you want to do,” he growled. “Besides you know as well as I do that your closest neighbor lives over a mile away. Screaming’s a waste of time. Who will hear you? Who’s going to save you? That must have been what my girl was thinking as your sons snuffed out her life.”

  Slowly he got to his feet, approached the bed and looked down at her, eyes blazing with anger and hatred. In that second, she knew who held her prisoner in her own bedroom. It was the madman, David109, who wanted retribution, and that realization made every nerve in her body shriek. Her worst nightmare was at the side of her bed.

  “I think I’ve done this right. Of course, I haven’t had the experience your two sons had with duct tape, but I think it’ll do the job. I overheard a couple of cops talking in a bar one night about how the Gamers duct-taped their victims’ wrists to the wrought-iron headboard so they could have their fun. But you already know that. Don’t you, Mrs. Lucas?”

  Tears flooded her eyes, making him a blur in her line of vision. The visual of a young woman bound to a bed in her son’s storage unit made her nauseous. For the millionth time she asked herself how they could have done such a thing once, let alone repeatedly.

  “Now here’s a turn-your-stomach thought. The cops said the bed in your son’s storage room had a black wrought-iron headboard, just like this one. Please tell me this isn’t the same one. That would be too sick.”

  Tisha shook her head emphatically and repeatedly said “No!” whether he could understand her or not.

  With his outstretched gloved hand, he ran his finger along the length of her leg, and goose flesh rippled up
her back. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mrs. Lucas.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. “Sexy as hell, the way you fill out that fancy bra.”

  His fingers wandered across her stomach until they reached the edge of her panties where he slipped in a finger and ran it the length of the elastic. “Is this what your sons did to all those young women in the storage unit that you and the hubby so graciously provided?” Rage flashed in his dark eyes.

  His anger was escalating and she sighed with relief when he sat back down in the chair. “Who does that?” he shouted, his tone incredulous and angry. “Who in the hell is stupid enough to give two seventeen-year-old boys their own storage unit? And a work van? Are you nuts? What about that gun cabinet downstairs? Did you always leave it unlocked? You two are the worst excuse for parents I’ve ever heard of.”

  Shaking her head helplessly, she worked her hands against the duct tape securing her wrists but she couldn’t get free. Her skin crawled as she looked into his eyes and saw the rage that filled them. He’d kill her without hesitation. He’d murder her exactly as her sons had killed his loved one.

  A flash of lightning lit the room for a second, then was followed by a blast of thunder that shook the windows and startled her. Rain pounded against the glass, and the candle on the dresser flickered. The man moved to the foot of her bed, standing motionless, just staring at her. The silence grew tight with tension and she wondered what he was thinking. What was he planning? Tisha wished the nightmare would end. But would it end with her death? Would her dying be enough retribution so that he would spare Bradley? In his eyes, would there ever be enough payback?

  What if he didn’t kill her? If he left her alive, would she be able to recognize him again? The damn ski mask covered his face, but she could see his dark eyes were flat with deep creases earned by anger, worry, and age. As tall as Bradley, he looked fit from physical labor. He stood tall with posture erect, like a towering spruce at the end of her bed. It was the way Bradley stood, so perhaps the man had served in the military, too. He wore a flannel shirt like the one worn by the man who attacked her in Mollie’s Cafe, but it wasn’t the same man. This one wasn’t as tall, and didn’t have the bulk. The voice was different, too—not the deep growl the man in the cafe had. His voice was a rough whisper with a contemptuous tone. Gravelly voice from too much smoking?

  “I want to take off the duct tape from your mouth. We need to talk.” Moving to the head of the bed, he stared down at her. “When I take this off, you cannot scream. Understand? You scream and you’ll be sorry.”

  Shaking her head, she watched him as he pulled the duct tape from her mouth. Her lips felt dry, her throat parched, and her voice raspy as she tried to talk. “Please, I need a drink.”

  He eyed the bottle of wine. “You won’t get any booze from me, lady. I need you to be able to answer my questions, not pass out on me.”

  “No, not the wine. Water.”

  “Yeah, I can get you some water. But the duct tape goes back on your mouth until I get back.” Replacing the duct tape, he moved away from the bed, grabbed her flashlight, flipped it on, and left the room. Tisha could hear his footfalls on the steps of the stairs.

  Soon he returned with two bottles of water, placing one on a small table near the arm chair. He opened the other, set it down, and then removed the duct tape from her mouth again.

  With one gloved hand on the back of her head, he lifted slightly so she could drink from the bottle of water he held. When she signaled she’d had enough, he placed the bottle on the table next to the wine, then sat down in the arm chair and took a swig from his own bottle.

  “We’re overdue for a talk, Mrs. Lucas.”

  “My husband will be home any minute.”

  “Trying to bullshit me is a mistake. Are you sure you want to go there? I followed Mr. Lucas to the airport. He had enough baggage for several days. I called his office and his secretary told me he was at a conference in New Orleans and wouldn’t be back until Monday. He might be coming home tomorrow or the next day. But tonight? No way. Besides, even if he came back, I can take care of his ass with one hand tied behind my back.”

  Tisha tried another angle. “The police are watching the house.”

  He responded with a bitter laugh. “Well, they’re sure not doing a very good job of it, because I’ve been in your house every night since your hubby left.”

  Tisha stiffened. “It wasn’t a nightmare the other night, was it? It really was you standing at the foot of my bed?”

  Sneering at her as if she’d just said something brainless, he replied, “It was me.”

  “The furniture that was rearranged in the living room and the photographs on the mantel? You did that, too?”

  “I can’t take the credit for the idea. Did you know Charles Manson’s minions would break into homes to rearrange furniture or watch people sleeping? Kind of makes your skin crawl, don’t it? I read about it in a magazine. I thought if anyone deserved to have it happen to them, you and your husband did. Did it give you a shock? I thought adding the photographs I found in the basement to your fireplace mantel was a nice touch.”

  “You bastard!” she seethed. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “Join the crowd. I’ve felt like I’m losing mine ever since the police came to my door and told me they’d found my girl’s body at the bottom of a ravine in a creek bed. Slaughtered and then tossed out like garbage. That’s what your sons did to me and the other families. Why should you miss out?”

  “Why the photographs?”

  “I was down in the basement looking through boxes when I found the fascinating lineup of photographs you have of your sons—kind of a family history. In the early years, there were the boys fishing at a river with their dad, Evan all dressed up in his little league uniform holding a bat at home base, and Devan climbing a tree. Next are the high school photos, with your sons in football uniforms or basketball jerseys. Then there were the pictures with your entire happy family, the all-American dream. But those pictures don’t tell the real story, do they? Where are the ones that tell the story of Evan and Devan slaughtering innocent young women? Where are the photos of the victims? Where are the pictures that tell that story?” Glaring at her intently while she held her breath, he paused for just a moment before he continued. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, and I have some interesting ones I’ve been waiting to ask for a long time.”

  “Then ask. Let’s get this over with. What do you want to know?”

  Chapter Forty-six

  Gail

  The rain pelting the bill of her hat and soaking her uniform, Gail was working an accident scene when she got Cameron’s call.

  “Where are you?”

  “Just south of town on U.S. 136, a truck filled with intoxicated teenagers hit a slick spot in the road and ended up in a wooded ravine. Got the kids out and they’re on the way to the hospital. Minor injuries. The tow truck just arrived.”

  “Anyone there with you?”

  “Yes, sir. Ben’s here. I mean Deputy Deacon.”

  “Leave him in charge and head toward the Lucas place to do a wellness check. No lights and siren. I’m heading there now, but you’re closer than I am.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  “One more thing, if anything looks amiss, call and wait for backup. Understand? I think I know who the Lucas harasser is and if I’m right, he’s violent and could be armed. He may not be in the house. But if he is, don’t confront him.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Questions and Answers

  “When did you discover something was wrong with your sons?”

  It was a loaded question that lay heavily in the room like thick morning fog. If she answered him honestly and told him she suspected something was off with her sons early on, but her husband didn’t believe her so she did nothing, he was sure to kill them both. She had no choice but to lie.

  “There were no signs or warnings that Evan and Devan would abduct and ki
ll all those girls. Don’t you think if we knew they were capable of such atrocities that we would have gotten them help?”

  His voice was low and menacing when he responded. “Here’s what I think. You’re lying. Didn’t I warn you about bullshitting me? Don’t insult my intelligence. Now try again. This time with the truth.”

  “Okay, there was a time when the boys were still in elementary school and some neighbors accused them of killing their pets. Even though there was a chance it wasn’t my boys, I took them to our family doctor and I talked to our youth pastor at church. They both said, ‘Boys will be boys’ and that the twins seemed perfectly normal.”

  “You used the word ‘I’ which tells me that your husband blew you off. He didn’t go with you to the doctor, and he wasn’t with you when you talked to the pastor. A big, important man like Bradley Lucas couldn’t have defective sons, now could he?”

  “We were good parents, damn it. Yes, we made mistakes, but we gave our sons a good home with rules and limits. Devan and Evan didn’t commit the murders because of how they were raised. Their actions were in complete opposition to the way they were raised. We thought we were doing everything we could as parents. Our sons were well-behaved at home, got good grades and were both competing for college scholarships. ‘What went wrong?’ Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that question a million times? I don’t know!”

  Tisha paused, and when he didn’t say anything, she continued. “You’re sitting there in judgment. Were you such a perfect parent that you didn’t make mistakes?”