Profiled (13 page)

But even though there’d been hardly any criminal activities recorded within a mile of her quiet little street, and although she should feel comfortable going for an evening walk without locking her door, she didn’t. Especially tonight, after she’d witnessed firsthand the aftermath of
the killer’s actions. Well, secondhand, since Tucker relayed the information. Lexie hadn’t seen Vickie Jones’ body atop an unwrinkled bed in her waitress uniform with her hair combed and her makeup flawless.

That
had been what bothered her most about John’s description of how the woman had been found. If Vickie Jones had struggled, her hair would’ve been mussed. And after a long night of waitressing, she shouldn’t have had any makeup left at all, much less after trying to fight off a killer. But she did. “Coffin ready,” as Elijah Lewis had told Henry. His phrase choice had bothered Lexie as much as the killing itself. Almost.

Her front porch light illuminated a crescent of asphalt on the street ahead.
Home.
After this horrendous day, and after two nights of hardly any sleep, she would rest. For a while. Tomorrow she’d provide a brief segment on the aftermath of the murder, since the task force wasn’t scheduled to reconvene until Tuesday. Captain Pierce had determined the police would work on their own processing the crime scene information from today’s murder before they added Vickie Jones to the growing bulk of Sunrise Killer victimology. Plus, another day gave the State a chance to locate and send the missing persons data from February of 1985.

She yawned, tired. Could she sleep? She didn’t know, but she had to try. She nor Angel could accomplish their goal if they continued running on empty. She knew her pounding headache wasn’t due to today’s stress. Her body needed to rejuvenate, and tonight she’d sleep—if it killed her.

She shivered at her train of thought. Sleeping wouldn’t kill her. The Sunrise Killer, though, would…
if
he knew Lexie had seen his face. Then again, he’d laugh out loud if he knew the rest of the story—that she’d erased it from her memory.

At just past 1:00, she pulled her car into the driveway beside Tucker’s Grand Cherokee. She’d known he’d be here when Paul told her it was, “time to go home,” then escorted her to the car. She didn’t mind the two of them playing tag team. Paul had always taken a special interest in her because he wanted a relationship, but even when Lexie told him she didn’t feel that way about him, he’d understood and backed down from pressuring her for more. Now though, he’d become something of a big brother, someone who watched over her and made sure no one hurt his friend.

Her connection with John Tucker, however, didn’t feel sibling-like at all. His presence reminded her of what it felt like to be a woman and to want a man, something she hadn’t experienced in quite a while. Maybe because of that emotion, and the fact that she was letting her guard down with the detective, she wanted nothing more than to punch him. Hard.

She climbed out of her car, turned on her heel and headed down the brick pathway leading to her front porch without so much as a wave goodbye at the mountain of a man sitting in his truck.

Her dismissal would’ve made a stronger impact, however, if she didn’t have such a big purse, and if her keys didn’t always find the perfect cranny somewhere in the bottom. She dug her hand around, her fingertips hitting lipstick, loose change, a wadded tissue, everything but the essential strip of metal that would get her beyond the big oak door with the stained glass center.

She heard his truck door slam, then footsteps approaching.

So much for a flamboyant statement.

He eased his way on the porch, while Lexie continued to look down, shaking the purse and hearing the jingling keys defying her goal. If she’d have felt her cell phone within the clutter, she could’ve used it to light her bag. But it was MIA too.

“I see you made it home.”

She didn’t answer him. How many compartments did this purse have anyway?

“I could have let you come in her house today, could have authorized your presence on the scene.”

Lexie stopped searching and looked up to view his strong face, solemn from the events of the day, his eyes sad and forlorn, like a man who’d seen...a woman’s dead body.

“Why didn’t you?”

He stepped forward but made no effort to touch her, a smart move, since she hadn’t dismissed the impulse to hit him.

“You didn’t need to see her, Lexie. You’ve been hurt. I don’t know what happened or who did it, but I’d have to be blind not to see the signs. Plus, I’m a cop. We tend to pick up on these things.” He offered her a slight shrug and a curve of a smile.

She blinked. Did everyone see what he described? People always commented on how “together” she was, how calm, how cool. It wasn’t until she started getting her chance to report on the Sunrise Killer, that she’d felt that old tinge, that nightmarish fear, niggling its way back into her life. But she’d disguised it well. Or so she thought.

“Only me.” He read her thoughts without a word from Lexie. “I haven’t heard anyone else comment on it.” Then he shifted from one foot to the other and one corner of his mouth twitched. “Other than Paul.”

She should’ve assumed that, of course. The two men who were around her most and who both expressed an interest in “something more” would sense the truth. Maybe she shouldn’t have let them get close enough to see.

“What is it that the two of you think?” Her strained voice defied her usual confidence, but Lexie didn’t have the wherewithal to fake it tonight.

“That you’ve been hurt by some man in the past. I don’t know what he did, but I know you’re fearful of another relationship. I can tell that you don’t want too much too soon. And that’s okay.”

She stuck her chin out. “What does that mean?”

“Well, it doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel. I’m just willing to give you whatever time you need. I felt it, Lexie, last fall. That connection, that spark, between us. I think you felt it too, and I’m willing to bet that’s the reason I didn’t see you at all between that interview and when I ran into you Friday morning outside your office.” He paused, swallowed, and Lexie’s eyes were drawn to the thick pulsing of his throat with the action. “Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Her stomach fluttered with the admission. Goosebumps trickled down her arms.

“Are you scared of me, Lexie?” He moved even closer, so close, in fact, that if he wanted to, he could kiss her.

She blushed, looked down at her purse and saw her keys, cradled within a wadded tissue. “There they are.” Smiling, she pulled them out.

“Do I?” He didn’t let her off the hook. “Do I scare you?”

“No, you don’t, but—”

“But what?”

“But what I’m feeling toward you,
that
scares me.”

“I’m thinking that’s not a bad thing.” He grinned, a big beautiful smile that set another round of goose bumps traipsing over her flesh.

“And,” she continued.

“And what?”

“And being alone, while he’s still out there,
that
scares me.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage as though it would bust right out of her chest if it weren’t confined.

“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 didn’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.