Profiled (29 page)

“Tiny Tina?” Angel questioned.

“It was Aaron’s nickname for Ernestine.” He couldn’t believe it. If this guy—TRUTHLUVR—had told the truth, then the same man who killed Abby killed his father. John’s stomach knotted at the realization. He’d always known that Ernestine hadn’t pulled that trigger,
had sensed it deep in his gut. The killer had forced Aaron to call his friend over—had Aaron at gunpoint during that call, or worse, had Tina at the end of the gun—then he shot Aaron, Milton Tucker and then Ernestine Rainwater had fallen victim...and accused. John slammed his fist against the table.

“We’ll get him.” Angel’s eyes blazed with certainty. “We’re close, and he’s slipping up. The fact that he posted to an online chat group says he’s got a few chinks in his armor. The fact that he’s talking about previous murders, and providing new information to help us in our investigation, says that those chinks can become gaping holes. We’re going to get him this time.

“We will—” John started, but stopped when Etta Green entered without knocking.

“Barnes just reported in.” Her voice quaked with the eagerness to share her news. “They found another body, not far from where Hannah Sharp and Logan Finley were buried. And they think it’s”—she paused to catch her breath—“Brother Moses.”

He needed to vomit, needed it so much that he could taste the bitter bile working up his throat, but he couldn’t let the impulse have its way. Not now. He had to pull it together and act as interested and as intent as everyone else combing the old gathering grounds.

Why had he put Moses here?

Because that’s where he belonged, in the location where his pulpit used to stand, feet from the altar, and feet from where Hannah Sharp and Logan Finley had been buried. It’d seemed so right back then, so symbolic. Brother Moses had preached a fire and brimstone sermon that said everyone outside of the Fellowship was going to hell and would be punished if they didn’t “see the way and follow the plan.” That sermon had prompted him to stay after the remaining members left the gathering grounds.

He’d decided that Brother Moses deserved to know what a good and faithful servant he’d been and told him in detail about the two sinners that he’d buried beneath the Fellowship’s altar. Then he’d gone on to describe how he’d killed the other women as well and how he believed his plan had come from the Supreme One. He wanted Moses to know that he also believed that the Fellowship needed to show Macon that they meant business and that sinners would pay the price.

He’d expected Brother Moses to praise him, to honor him and bestow upon him a title such as his own. A new name for the most faithful of the entire Fellowship. Nothing as grand as Moses or Supreme One, but something along the line of deacon, perhaps. A deacon at twenty years old; he could handle the notoriety and responsibility of that.

It didn’t happen. Moses said he’d taken God’s vengeance into his own hands and said he wanted to discuss the “revelation,” as he called it, later at his home. But he’d planned an ambush. Moses had called Deacon Tucker, but Milton Tucker was on the job and couldn’t talk about the “unique situation” until later.

It’d taken less than two minutes to decide to kill Brother Moses and send him to his maker. The true Supreme One would understand a necessary means to achieve the appropriate end.

But now, as he watched the crime scene unit excavating Brother Moses’ body from the muddy grave in the midst of a torrent of rain, he began to wonder why he had given Moses the courtesy of having his personal cross, an ivory piece trimmed in gold that he always carried and displayed throughout his sermons, on his chest. It’d taken Barnes less than a second to recognize the piece and predict that the body belonged to the Fellowship’s former leader.

He blinked, wiped the rain from his face. No. There was a reason all of this happened. A test to verify his worthiness of the monumental responsibility that had been bestowed upon him by the Supreme One. In order to pass the test, he had to convince this group scanning his personal
burial ground that he also wanted to find the killer and make him pay.

Another trickle of bile trudged up his throat. He swallowed it. Yes, he needed to vomit, but he needed something else even more. He needed to play the part of a concerned citizen of the community. And then, he needed to kill.

Lexie focused to read the last line she’d typed on her screen, but the words blurred together and made her head throb in agony. The most important story she’d ever covered, the one that would be seen more than any other since every news station in the south waited to pick it up, and she couldn’t tamp back on her nerves enough to finish the piece.

The lead line of her story screamed at her.

One. More. Day.

Why couldn’t they have caught him before now? And why did she feel so sick? She’d tossed her breakfast at the police station. The task force had reconvened a final time to go over all of the new information. Now it appeared that the Sunrise Killer had murdered Brother Moses and that he, not Ernestine Rainwater, murdered John’s father. The question regarding those two murders was—why? Had Brother Moses and Milton Tucker been on the verge of learning the truth about the killer? Or did they know and threaten to tell the authorities? What had happened way back then?

That
was what the task force, particularly John Tucker, wanted most to know. But they couldn’t investigate to learn the answers; they didn’t have time. Angel had directed their primary objective remain the same—pinpoint where the killer would strike next and stop the murder.

The mingled combination of fierce determination, anger and pain on John’s face had caused Lexie’s chest and stomach to clench tight, which hadn’t been a good thing. She ran from the room with her hand over her mouth, barely making it to the bathroom in time, then threw up with a vengeance, while Etta Green offered soothing words and cool cloths.

Had she ever gotten so upset she’d vomited? No, never. In fact, she’d always been a real trouper when it came to holding it all together. But this morning, not only had she not held it all together, she couldn’t even hold her head upright. How pathetic. And now that she had every bit of information for the final piece, the segment that summarized each of the killer’s victims, she couldn’t make her stomach settle down enough to type the words.

She knew the truth; her worry for Angel and her baby consumed her now. What if the killer took another person she loved? How could she live if something happened to Angel? The extent of her worry was actually making her sick, and she couldn’t control it. She closed her eyes.
God, you let me save her on the day she was born. Don’t let anything happen to her now.

“You sure you’re okay?” Melody Harper’s head poked around the side of the cubicle like a turtle peeking from its shell.

Saliva pooled in Lexie’s mouth. She did
not
need to think about turtles. But she did. “Excuse me.” She darted past Melody and shot toward the bathroom. Since she had no food left to lose, she spent five minutes dry heaving, then splashed her face, rinsed her mouth and headed back to her desk determined to finish her piece.

“McCain, you gonna make it?” Paul entered the tiny cubicle behind her wearing aftershave, something strong. Did he always wear that much? Did he
have
to wear that much?

Lexie’s eyes burned, throat convulsed, and she started running again. This time, when she returned, he sat in her chair. He stood, motioned for her to sit. “How much more do you have to go on the story?”

“A lot, but today’s the last day to get the information to them, and I’ve got to finish.”

“I know. There’s no way I would suggest you quit now, nor is there any way I’d suggest you passing off to another reporter; however, if you don’t go to a doctor and get something to help, right now, I’m going to find it necessary to fire you.” He jerked his head in a single nod, then pointed to the mock doorway in her cubicle. “And after you get something to help, go home, take the meds, then call Henry when you’re ready to tape the segment.” He crossed his arms beneath his chest, leaned against her wall and waited.

“The doctor, huh?” She grabbed her purse. “I’m guessing I look as bad as I feel?”

His head tilted, steel gray eyes studied her. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want the truth.”

Lexie had no idea what Paul would ask, but his tone told her to prepare for the worst. Melody heard it too, because her typing came to a screeching halt. “What do you want to know?”

Paul cleared his throat. “I pass your house on my way home each night and again each morning. I’ve seen Tucker’s truck.”

“You know that he’s been seeing me home.”

“Listen, what you do away from here is your business. But if you now fit all of the killer’s criteria.” When Lexie gasped, he continued, “If you’re pregnant, McCain…”

“I’m not. He guards the house, in his truck, in the driveway.”

“How many times have you tossed it since you got here today?”

“Three, but I must have some kind of bug.”

“Actually four,” Melody piped in from her cubicle.

“Ms. Harper, don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, but Lexie didn’t hear her typing.

“Lexie, if you’re pregnant…”

“I’m not. I can’t be.”

“Are you telling me that Tucker hasn’t been spending his nights at your place?”

“He has, but like I said…”

“No.” Paul stopped her explanation and pointed toward Melody’s cubicle. “We don’t need to discuss this further. Go to the doctor. See what’s going on. And, if I’m right, you’d better leave town. Today.”

“I’m telling the truth.” She powered down her computer then left the office walking slowly so she wouldn’t upset her nervous stomach.

Climbing in her car, she made a decision that would change her life, change all of their lives. Grateful John was busy making preparations with Angel for tonight’s attack, Lexie didn’t tell either of them what she planned, but she knew in her heart that she’d made the right decision, the only decision. They expected the killer to go for Angel since she was the only female in town that fit his criteria. They also thought Lexie would leave this afternoon to spend time with her grandfather until they caught the killer.

Yes, she’d go see Granddaddy, since Jackie called saying he’d asked for her, but she wouldn’t stay all day. She’d visit, then return to Macon. Because, Lexie now suspected that the killer would hear that Angel wasn’t the only blonde, single and pregnant female in town. She didn’t believe in sex outside of marriage, and she hadn’t had sex with John. She also didn’t believe in lying or deceiving, and she wondered what God would think of what she was about to do.

Stay with me, God. I’m going to need you today more than ever. Please understand. Please be with me. Don’t leave me, Lord.

She left the parking area and drove the short distance to the doctor’s office, not the office Paul had meant, but then again, he hadn’t specified. And she hadn’t lied to him either; she’d go to the
doctor to find out why she was sick.

Within two hours, she’d obtained the results she expected.
Not
pregnant, but she’d been seen going to Dr. Weatherly’s office. And John’s truck had been seen each night at her home by Paul and, she suspected, by the killer. His tinted windows hid the fact that he sat inside the vehicle, which would work to her advantage now.

During the drive to Valdosta, her queasiness came back with gusto, and she ended up pulling over twice. The timing for the stomach virus or nervous stomach was both horrible and perfect. Horrible, because she felt lousy during the drive to Valdosta and wanted to be home in bed. And perfect, because from all appearances, she
could
be pregnant.

Lexie arrived at Murrell’s Assisted Living, exited the car, took a deep breath, and fought the impulse to get sick again due to the smell of full magnolia blossoms. “God, help me.” She leaned against the Lexus until she got her bearings.

“Are you okay?”

Lexie turned toward the voice and saw a young man, around Phillip Jr.’s age, walking down the porch steps, then crossing the parking lot toward her. “Stomach bug.”

He had sandy hair, long on top and clipped short on the sides. Brown eyes surveyed her with obvious concern, and his mouth formed a definite frown of disapproval. “Granted, I’m not a doctor, but you don’t look so good.”

She laughed. “No offense, but doctors aren’t the only ones who need good bedside manners, and yours need some work. If I didn’t feel bad before, I do now.”

His smile claimed his entire face, reminding her even more of her son. How she missed him, and she wouldn’t forgive herself if she did something tonight that cost her more time with Phillip, Jr. Or Angel. Or John. But she had to do this to make sure the killer didn’t take two more people she loved.

“I’ll work on my bedside tactics, should I decide to go pre-med.” He grinned. “By the way, I’m Jacob. Jacob Zimmerman.”

Lexie’s eyes widened. “You’re the teen from the local church?”

Another laugh rumbled from his chest. “I am from the church, but I’m in the college program. I’m afraid I look young to the Murrells, and they keep forgetting I’m not one of the teens.”