Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  The demon had to be captured before it gained the power of the child. That power made him strong. He’d be stronger if the child were his own, but that hadn’t been the plan. He’d tried. And failed. Not because he’d sinned, but because he was meant to save these children, to capture and control the power that’d been bestowed in error.

  Not the Supreme One’s error, of course, but the other.

  He placed a gloved hand against the mesh screen covering Vickie’s window. Tomorrow night, at the right time, he’d return. Tonight he’d prepare. And that meant visiting Hannah.

  The rain thickened as he traversed the vacant streets of Macon, his windshield wipers beating, thud, thud, thudding against the glass. The rhythm matched his pulse, strong and steady and deliberate. Tomorrow night, he’d feel her pulse, a more frantic rhythm, drumming beneath his fingers as he pressed them into her throat, shutting off her chance to breathe, squeezing the life away.

  After he finished, he’d feel peace, inner strength at his accomplishment, the power over evil. That would satisfy him, for a while, until the next appointed time. Six more to be complete. Six more to quench the thirst, fulfill the fire. Then he’d wait again. Wait for the precise amount of time necessary to prepare, to expend the power granted then conquer again. The cycle tired him, a burden no soul should bear, but bear it he must.

  Because of Hannah.

  If only she’d seen the truth and realized the power they could create together, what they were meant to accomplish. Together.

  But no, she’d fallen prey to the other, had heeded his calling. She let a heathen claim what wasn’t his to take, what should never have been given to anyone but those who’d proven themselves worthy.

  The child should have been his. Then again, in the end, it became his, living within him now, its power keeping him strong, as did the power from the other children after. The ones who fulfilled the balance, generated completeness.

  His gloved fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly his wrists stung, and he continued, away from the city, toward Hannah...and her lover.

  They’d never been found, their bodies not worthy of a formal farewell from family and friends who didn’t understand why they had to leave, why they were required to forfeit their child. And didn’t that confirm the truth? No one had mourned them. No one had cared.

  Because they didn’t deserve to live.

  The others, those that had followed to fulfill the requirements, had received their due, the grief from loved ones and friends. He didn’t mind that; he understood. Those females were offered because of Hannah’s sin. They’d come forward to offer their children and give him what he should have had all along, power from the child. Power that he and Hannah could have had together, if only she’d seen the truth. If only she’d understood.

  She belonged with him. She belonged to him. He’d known it from the moment they met, but she fought her destiny. She fought fate. And her lover convinced her they could flee, that she wouldn’t have to pay the price for what they’d done. But she did pay. And so did he.

  Overgrown brush and weeds hid the dirt road from view. He turned the wheel and flinched as wet branches slapped against the glass, caused the wipers to stall and sputter. Pine needles stuck to the sides of the window and obstructed his view even more. But he had to continue. He’d never killed without going to Hannah and her lover, telling them what they’d done and what they’d caused him to have to do. They needed to know, needed to feel the guilt they deserved. He’d have never had to continue, would have never had to kill in the first place, if it weren’t for their deceit.

  He flicked his lights on bright, stopped the car and climbed out, his shoes sinking in leaf-covered mud. Within seconds, he stood above them, above the very spot where he’d buried them deep, their bodies entwined in the same manner as they’d been when they committed the sin. Hannah’s enlarged stomach displayed the evidence of what she’d done. Of how she’d hurt him.

  Big, thick drops of rain fell through the trees, drenched his hair, his face, his clothes. The pungent scent of damp earth and pine overpowered his senses, made his head spin at the memory of what had happened so long ago.

  His knees buckled and he fell forward, letting his body crumple to kneel against the cold, hard ground. “Can’t you see what you’ve done, Hannah? Don’t you understand?” His hands clenched fists full of dirt, the earth that hovered above her body, naked beneath him and beside her heathen lover. Then he turned toward the spot where Brother Moses had once preached fire and brimstone, good and evil, and he knew Moses could see him now. And even though Brother Moses hadn’t been able to see it through, he’d known what had to be done. It took someone strong enough to make those sinners pay, starting with the two disgusting lovers buried beneath him.

  “See what you’ve done!” He lifted his hands and flung the filth toward Heaven.

  Chapter Five

  Help. Aunt Bev needed help. And the baby needed help. They needed AJ, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let them down.

  Panting and crying and hurting, AJ climbed the next hill. Her side cramped. Just a few more steps to the top. “Please, God, please,” she whimpered as she pressed forward, peered in the distance and saw him.

  Who was he? The one who would help? Or the one who had hurt Aunt Bev?

  Praying she made the right decision, AJ took a deep breath and yelled.

  Covered in sweat, her pulse pumping so hard her skin burned, she jerked awake in the bed. She wasn’t eight, wasn’t on that never-ending, rock-covered road. And she wasn’t trying to save her aunt. She couldn’t. No matter how many times she returned in her dreams, the ending never changed.

  Aunt Bev was gone.

  She stood from the bed and stripped the sheets. They were warm and damp, smelled of sweat and fear. She hated the smell. She’d always hate that smell.

  At 7:45, Lexie entered the conference room and found Angel surrounded by stacks of books, several of which were opened, with bright yellow post-its on some pages, dog-eared tabs marking others. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

  “Marker and Naylor left at 6:00 to catch a bit of sleep, but they should be back soon. Tucker and Sims are down the hall in one of the other rooms going through the missing persons’ data.” She marked her page in the book. “I saw your broadcast this morning. Good job.”

  “Thanks. I thought you said you were going to get some sleep.”

  “I said I’d sleep when I finished reading. I didn’t finish.” Even with red rimming her green eyes and makeup missing in action, Angel Jackson still gave the presence of having everything in order. Matter of fact, she looked alert and ready to tackle anything, even a killer. Her yellow leather jacket draped over the back of her chair, and she wore the same tight jeans and brown boots she’d had on last night.

  “No time to change clothes?”

  “Nope, but I did manage deodorant.”

  “We appreciate that, Agent Jackson.” John Tucker entered the room, and Lexie’s skin tingled in response.

  Angel smirked at the detective. “Sure you do.”

  Lexie forced her gaze from Tucker back to Angel. “I thought you requested six books.” She lifted Bible Mathematics and thumbed through to read the pages Angel had dog-eared.

  “I did. And then I requested more.” She reached for one of three large Styrofoam cups sitting beyond the books, took a big sip, then squinted through the swallow. “What do they put in this stuff?”

  “We don’t ask,” Tucker looked at Lexie. “You do okay last night? Get some sleep?”

  She nodded. “About an hour. Thanks again for following me home.”

  Angel’s head jerked, her vision lifting from the pages of Numbers in Scripture, but she made no comment.

  “You’re welcome.” He drawled, Southern accent giving him even more appeal. Lexie was used to Southern accents, of course, but still, his had a deep, rich confident cadence.

  “Well, if you two are done visiting, I think I’ve found a few points of
interest here.” Angel’s tone held a hint of irritation and her look said she’d caught Lexie staring at the man.

  Lexie felt her cheeks blush, and she concentrated on Angel’s words rather than Tucker’s accent. “A few points of interest?”

  “The lieutenant and I found a couple too.” John took his chair as Ed Pierce and Ryan Sims, both carrying steaming cups of coffee, entered the conference room.

  “You go ahead.” Angel closed one book and peered at the men.

  “Want me to tell her?” Ryan took his seat.

  “If you want.” Tucker answered Ryan, but Lexie noticed his attention didn’t waver from…her. She opened her briefcase and removed her files without looking at the man. And silently told herself to get a grip on the attraction, or energy, or whatever existed between her and Detective John Tucker.

  “Good news first, or bad?” Sims asked.

  Angel took another sip of her coffee, her mouth grimacing as she swallowed. “Good.”

  “We’ve located three subjects reported missing in Bibb County during January, March and April of 1985.”

  “What about February?”

  “That’s the bad news. The February files are missing.”

  She placed one hand on her forehead, spread her fingers and rubbed her temples. “And since the date for the first kill would’ve been,” she moved her hand away and consulted her notes, “February 26th that year, that’s the month where we’d find who we’re looking for, right?”

  “That’s the date I got too.” Lexie located the same date in her notes. “Forty days before Easter.”

  “Any idea what happened to February’s information?”

  “Seeing as it’s the only month missing for the year, I’d say someone didn’t want us finding it,” Sims answered, while Captain Pierce shot a not-so-discreet glance at Tucker.

  John Tucker placed his palms on the table. “For the record, I haven’t accessed the missing persons’ files from that year prior to this morning, in Lieutenant Sims’ presence, I might add. And also for the record, a variety of people have had access to those files throughout the past twenty-eight years, and all of their names are logged in records.”

  “You see, that’s another bizarre thing.” Pierce cut his gaze to Tucker. “We’re missing a records book too.”

  “What year?” John pushed the two words through gritted teeth.

  “1985.”

  “Who has access to those records?” Angel’s query brought the conversation back in the direction they needed and away from the unspoken insinuation that Tucker had something to do with the missing files. “Anyone other than police personnel?”

  Lexie watched Angel’s eyes and prayed she wouldn’t draw additional attention to Tucker. She’d thought a lot of the man before, but after his offer to follow her home last night, plus the fact that he’d done nothing more than verify she made it inside, Lexie didn’t want his name brought back up in this case.

  Ryan Sims shrugged. “With older records, anybody could’ve taken them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Folks come in all the time to take a look at those files. If they didn’t, the things would never be of any use to anybody.”

  “Well, they’d sure be of use to us now.” Angel looked appalled. “Who comes in to look at them?”

  “Kids from the college doing reports, family members wanting to check out the old case information, see if they missed any clues about what could’ve happened to their kids, cops looking through old cases.” He shrugged again. “Lots of people.”

  “That’s true,” Lou Marker confirmed as he and Zed entered the room. Both of them were still in the same clothes they’d worn last night and although they looked like they’d had some sleep, they hadn’t had much. “Lots of folks have access to those files.”

  “I called the state this morning,” Tucker said. “They have the February info, but they said it’ll take them a while to find the files.”

  “Did they say how long a while would be?” Angel’s frustration with this additional kink in their plan was evident.

  “Estimated it could be up to a week.”

  “We don’t have a week. We don’t even have a day.” Lexie looked to Angel for guidance. “Can you pull some strings with the FBI to speed things up?”

  No one in the room seemed to think her question over the top, judging from the way they looked toward the profiler to hear her answer.

  “I’ll make a few calls. I’m assuming the state still has the files on hard copy as well? They haven’t scanned them into their database?”

  “That’s what they said,” Tucker answered.

  “Super. Well, I’ll light a fire under them but if they’re going through everything by hand, I won’t be surprised if their estimate is on the money. And we can’t afford to wait a week.” She slammed the cover closed on Bible Numerology. “What did you find in the other three months?”

  “Two boys and one girl,” Tucker said.

  “A description of the girl?” Pierce asked.

  “Brunette. And she was only eight.”

  “Not our victim.” Angel sighed. “I’m going to make those calls.” She withdrew her cell phone from her purse and left the room.

  Lexie’s stomach churned. So many women were in danger, and the task force was at a dead end. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Media.” Pierce surveyed the remainder of the task force for their response. “I don’t like dealing with them any more than you guys.” He gave an apologetic one shouldered shrug to Lexie. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “But in this case, the more coverage the better. I saw your broadcast on this morning’s news, McCain. It was good, but I need you to do more.”

  “Okay, what do you want?”

  “Tucker, what are your thoughts on this? Any ideas on how far we take it?”

  Tucker didn’t miss a beat. “All the way.”

  Pierce nodded. “Agreed. Okay, we’re going to come up with a statement for the press, and we’ll let McCain deliver it as soon as possible. It will need to be covered in all forms of media, the Telegraph, all local radio stations and on television, with Ms. McCain our primary link to the public. Make sure it gets in all of today’s newscasts.” The captain looked at the group. “All of Macon needs to be aware of the situation.”

  Lexie also agreed with the captain’s direction. “What do we want to tell them?”

  “Everything, the profile as well as his signature. We need every woman fitting his criteria to be protected. No one who fits his target base should be alone. They shouldn’t so much as step foot in their front yard without someone with them.”

  “What if he goes for the chosen victim and her friend?” Sims asked.

  “It isn’t his MO. He takes one victim at a time, every forty days, starting forty days prior to Easter.”

  Angel returned to the room with strands of blonde hair falling from a band barely containing her ponytail. She looked tired...and determined. “You’re going to tell the public everything?”

  “Yeah,” Pierce answered. “I realize most folks who’ve lived in Macon for years are already aware of what this guy will do, but for the ones who’ve just moved here, or for the teens who may not remember, we have to put it all out there.”

  “Exactly. We need to bring him out into the open. That’s the best method to combat his plan of action. Plus, I have additional information to add to our profile.” She plopped down in her chair, grabbed one of the books in front of her and started quoting, “Seven, the number for completeness. Seven is formed by taking the perfect world number, four, and adding it to the perfect divine number, three. Human physiology is based on a law of sevens. Gestation for humans is two hundred eighty days, divisible by seven.”

  “Forty weeks.” Lexie followed Angel’s reasoning. “But he’s committing the murders every seven years and spacing them forty days apart. That doesn’t match those numbers.”

  “I know.” Angel fl
ipped pages in another book. “Forty is the number for trials and tribulations. I believe he spaces his kills forty days apart because he feels tested during that time. That’s when he is supposed to refrain from killing, to hold off on what he wants, like giving up the thing you want most during Lent. It’s been proven that serial killers are addicted to the act. That’s why we have so many repeat offenders. He wants to kill again, but he holds off for forty days, denying himself of what he wants most during his temptation period.”

  “Why the seven years between?” Lou asked. “And why seven women murdered each time?”

  Angel shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe seven symbolizes his wait is complete? For the seven years between, the best scenario I’ve found is the seven years of plenty, then seven years of famine in the days of Joseph, though that would almost insinuate he should kill for seven years, then go seven without killing.” She studied a page in Bible Mathematics. “Our guy is religious, but he seems to make his own rules, variations of the Biblical facts. Or maybe he was taught a deviation of typical Biblical numerology. Either way, with him starting the killings forty days prior to Easter, always committing an Easter kill and spacing all murders by sevens and forties, I’d say we’ve got ourselves something of a fanatic.”

  “A fanatic who thinks we haven’t figured out his system,” Pierce said.

  “Right. And if he believes we’re onto him, even if we don’t understand why he’s picked the dates and years he’s selected, he may feel as though his plan has been altered. Maybe he’ll believe things have changed.”

  “But if he does think his plan has gone haywire,” Lou countered, “would he stop the cycle, or would he swap to more convenient dates and times?”

  “He’s too much of a perfectionist, too intense a planner, to vary from the structure. However, if the women in town know what to watch for, if they’re all aware of what he’s looking for and when, then maybe we’ll eliminate the opportunity to accomplish his goal on the specified date,” Angel continued. “Then, once a date is missed—”