Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  “The cycle will be broken,” Tucker completed. “You’re the profiler. What do you think he’d do, if we were able to prevent tomorrow’s murder?”

  “In all honesty, I haven’t dealt with a case like this before, based on Biblical numerology, but given the information we have on our killer, I believe he’d see the series as ended. What good would it do to commit the murder if it weren’t on the specified date?”

  “Fine.” Captain Pierce grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the center of the table. “What do we want in the broadcast?”

  “I say we tell them everything,” Angel said. “There’s no better way to find a snake than to remove his rock.”

  For over eight hours, the group wrote and submitted their articles and announcements to every form of media available in Bibb County and the surrounding areas. A draining process, but worth it—if they stopped the killer.

  Lexie didn’t have to assist Henry in editing footage at the station for tomorrow’s broadcast. He was capable of getting the segment done right on his own. But she didn’t want it right; she wanted it perfect. Moreover, she wanted to verify it depicted the horrendous person they were after. Like before, they taped the footage at the police station, after the remaining task force members verified the content. The group wanted her to cover each and every scrap of detail they had about the killer, his profile, his signature, his MO. And they wanted to make sure the city knew how instrumental the next twenty-four hours would be in their effort to stop the madman’s cycle.

  The police department tripled the number of officers on duty, and 911 operators were ready to field any and all incoming calls referring to the killer. Every local radio station and television newscast gave a word-for-word account of the killer’s updated profile, with all details noted and a list of things to watch for. They cautioned women fitting the criteria of his signature not to be alone for any reason. In theory, every blonde, single and pregnant woman should’ve heard the warning and, if Lexie did her job right, understood the gravity of its message.

  She prayed they did.

  “You said there wasn’t anything else you could do today.” Paul Kingsley leaned against the opening in her cubicle. “I think it’s time you call it a night, McCain. The story is set and it looks good. Besides, the short piece is airing in our breaking news segments, with the full footage scheduled as the top story in all of tomorrow’s broadcasts. Not bad for a day’s work.”

  “I don’t care about the notoriety.” She didn’t. “I just hope we save her, whoever she is.”

  “I can’t imagine any woman fitting the description who wouldn’t heed your warning. You did a good job, as usual.”

  “I hope you’re right.” But her insides twitched with fear that he wasn’t.

  “Come on, it’s late, and I’m betting you didn’t get much sleep at all last night. There’s nothing you can do now but wait.”

  “I know.” Wait. She hated the word. Wait to see if her article worked. Wait to find out the identity of the first victim from 1985. Wait to see whether the cycle ended, or whether he committed a second murder. Wait to see if the task force did its job.

  “Lexie, you’re exhausted. Let me walk you out.”

  She nodded, grabbed her briefcase and her purse then numbly followed him from the building. “You’re right. I am tired.” What an understatement. Her head felt like a bowling ball atop a golf tee. She needed to go home and sleep. And maybe, when she woke tomorrow morning, all single, pregnant and blonde females would still be breathing.

  Please, Lord.

  They exited the building and walked toward her car. “Want me to follow you home?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Your footage tells women not to be alone.”

  “Pregnant, single and blonde women. Two out of three, remember?”

  He smiled. “Fine. But take care of yourself, and get some sleep. Maybe we’ll have nothing to report on this guy tomorrow.”

  “I hope not,” she said, as he closed her car door. She waved goodbye, backed up her car then left WGXA.

  A few all-night restaurants showed signs of life, but most of Macon had turned in early and locked up tight, knowing a killer was on the prowl.

  Would he find a victim?

  Had they warned her in time?

  Lexie’s eyelids were heavy. She fought exhaustion to see her way down the streets leading home. Finally, she pulled in her driveway and parked her Lexus beside John Tucker’s truck. She looked at the bulky man sitting in his vehicle. Her awareness magnified tenfold as she exited her car and watched him do the same. “What are you doing?”

  He circled in front of her car, and the dimming headlights spotlighted his muscled frame in motion. “I heard you tell Angel you were going to the office, so I called Paul and asked him to make sure you got to your car. Told him I’d take care of things on this end.”

  She let him take her briefcase from her hand. His fingertips brushed her palm and sent a shiver of warmth up her chilled arms.

  “Come on.” Starting up the brick pathway, he led her to the front door. His scent, all musk and brisk and male, somehow made her feel...safe.

  “Seems every man in town has decided tonight’s the night to tell me what to do.” Yet she couldn’t deny the pleasure in knowing both Paul Kingsley and John Tucker had partnered to watch over her tonight. It’d been a long time since she’d understood the luxury of having a man around. “You walking every woman in Macon to her door tonight, Detective Tucker?”

  “Nope, just the one who impresses me most.”

  She stopped walking, fumbled to get her house key out of her purse.

  “Hey.” He placed his finger on her chin, then tilted her face to look at his.

  The porch light illuminated his blue eyes, accented by tiny crinkle lines at the corners. His black hair, a bit too long, needed a cut, but it suited him, with those rippling waves and sparkling flecks of gray at both temples.

  Her chin quivered above his finger.

  “You didn’t jerk away.”

  Her eyes widened. “No, I didn’t.”

  “That’s progress.” He gave her an easy grin.

  “I guess it is.” Her nerves simmered down, a little.

  “Lexie?”

  She swallowed. “What?”

  “I won’t hurt you.” Had he moved toward her, or had he been standing this close all along?

  She thought about his words. “I know you won’t.” He still believed she thought he could be the killer. But why wouldn’t he? He had no way of knowing why he made her jittery, why all men did. But she didn’t want to be afraid, not anymore. And not with Detective John Tucker. The monster, whoever he may be, had hurt him too. And Lexie wouldn’t let the killer rob them of experiencing life, and of experiencing each other. “I’m not afraid of you.” She wanted him to understand, but felt unable to tell him more.

  “Yeah, you are. But we’ll work on that.”

  She nodded. How could she argue? His words were true, but at least he wasn’t giving up on her. Phillip had given up on her. John Tucker was willing to work on it.

  So was she.

  “Go ahead. He nodded toward the key she held between her thumb and forefinger.

  She looked at the shiny silver metal and wondered when she’d located it in her purse. Her attention had been on the handsome detective escorting her to her door and making her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

  “You’re leaving?” She blushed when extra crinkle lines formed at the edges of those vivid blue eyes.

  “Yes, Ms. McCain, I believe I should.” He smiled brighter. “Trust me, I don’t want to go, but it isn’t the right time for us yet.”

  Another blush heated her cheeks. “Oh, I didn’t mean—I thought you might want to come in for coffee, or something.”

  “I’m heading back to the station. Going to be available tonight, just in case. But I appreciate the offer for coffee, and I appreciate you letting me see you to the door.”<
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  “No problem. And thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He withdrew a card from his wallet. “Here. All of my numbers. Call if you need me, or if you just need to talk.”

  “Okay.” She entered her house, listened to his words instruct her to turn the deadbolt, clicked it into place then moved to the window and watched him leave.

  Even though she’d been bone tired when she prepared to leave her office, Lexie hadn’t planned to sleep, not with the killer preparing to murder again. But after her encounter with John Tucker, she relaxed. They’d done what they could to protect potential victims. Paul and John were right. She couldn’t do anything else at this time.

  She walked to her bedroom, dressed for bed and climbed beneath the sheets. No nightmares. No terrors. Then she said a prayer that all single, blonde and pregnant women in Macon would be safe.

  Vickie slid her time card in the slot at six minutes past four. She rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching the muscles that had tensed from looking down at the orders on her pad. Why had she been so preoccupied tonight? She hadn’t been able to memorize orders, nor could she even remember the snappy Waffle House slang the cooks expected. Waffle on two. Scattered, smothered and covered. Why couldn’t she remember what they meant?

  Because her mind had been on the baby in her stomach and the ex who’d put it there.

  She started to tell Sylvia about the child, a baby she wanted in spite of the difficulty he or she would cause in her life. But one of the high schools had bombarded the Waffle House for a late night breakfast, and Vickie ended up without even a bathroom break...and without any time to tell Sylvia her news. No matter. Sylvia, such a dear person and an up-and-coming best friend, had invited her to church in the morning and then to her home for Easter lunch. Vickie couldn’t contain her excitement at the invitation. It’d been years since she enjoyed a real family Easter. Sylvia said they even planned on helping the grandkids dye eggs then hunt them around their farm. Vickie couldn’t wait. What better way to celebrate having a child than spending an afternoon playing with kids?

  She smiled, slung her tote over her shoulder and headed out. Her cab waited.

  “See you tomorrow,” she called to Sylvia. Then she paused at the door. “Sure you don’t want me to bring anything?”

  “No indeed, child.” Sylvia continued wiping down a table. “You just bring yo’self. We’ve got everything covered.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Vickie exited the restaurant with her emotional load a bit lighter. She’d begun making friends in the city, had a good job and a beautiful baby on the way. Things weren’t so bad after all.

  Jeremiah Wilkins waved at her from the front of the cab. He’d gotten used to her late night pickups, even if she’d only been working this shift for a few weeks.

  “Hi Jeremiah.” She climbed in the cab.

  “Hello, Miss Vickie. You had a good night?” He drove from the parking lot.

  “It was fine, but I’m tired. How about you?”

  “Not too busy with the news of that killer coming back.”

  Vickie had scanned the front page of a paper one of her customers left behind, and she’d even heard a few folks talking about the girl’s body that’d been found Thursday. She’d been pregnant, according to the talk Vickie heard. And Vickie had also learned all of this killer’s victims had been pregnant, blonde and single. Her heart ached for those women. Now she knew what it felt like to carry a baby, to want to protect that child with every part of your being.

  She leaned her head against the cool window glad she hadn’t told Sylvia, or anyone else at work, about the baby. Who knew who could be listening to their conversations as they chitchatted while serving plates? No need in broadcasting that she now met all three items on the killer’s checklist.

  “It’s Easter, you know. You gotta work?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I have the day off. Going to church, then eating dinner with friends.” Boy, it felt good to say that.

  “Sounds nice.” He continued driving without speaking, then pulled up in front of the tiny duplex she rented. The other half was empty; the landlord had a big For Rent sign in the front yard emphasizing the fact. Vickie looked forward to having some new neighbors. Maybe she’d get another batch of friends out of the deal. Perhaps even a friend who had a car and wouldn’t mind driving her places. She’d help out on the gas, of course. But it would be handy to have someone around to get her where she needed to go, the hospital, for example, when the baby came.

  “I’ll watch you make it inside,” Jeremiah said, as she placed some of the cash from tonight’s tips in his hand.

  “Thanks.” She climbed from the cab and walked down the short path to the house. Then she waved bye to Jeremiah and went inside. It’d be nice to wind down a bit, watch a little television, read for a while or even have a late night snack. But the baby made her so exhausted, or it could have been standing on her feet an extra two hours, since she agreed to work over when all the high school kids came in. Either way, she wanted to climb in bed and forget everything but sleep.

  Within four minutes, she’d washed her face, brushed her teeth and slid under the covers. Two minutes later, Vickie let the soft whooshing of the wind whistling through the trees outside her window lull her to sleep. She dreamed of babies, a chubby blonde-haired boy, a cooing blue-eyed girl. They were beautiful. They were happy. They were hers. Which one would come first?

  The covers twisted around her as she snuggled into the mattress and wondered how incredible it’d be to snuggle her baby to her chest, to feel it latch on to her breast to nurse. Vickie smiled in her sleep. She had a baby to take care of, hers to hold, hers to love. She couldn’t wait.

  An odd sound echoed through her dream. It wasn’t a baby’s sigh, or cry, or giggle. It wasn’t the wind whistling through the branches outside. Vickie stirred in the covers and tried to decipher between dream and reality.

  A gloved hand covered her mouth, and she knew the difference. The man in her bedroom was real.

  No.

  She fought to get away, but couldn’t move. My baby. No! Please!

  She tried to bite his hand, but his thick leather glove voided her effort. She’d made him mad. The hand around her throat gripped her tighter.

  Can’t. Breathe.

  Vickie closed her eyes, saw her Mama, then her baby girl...and went to them.

  Chapter Six

  Removing his shoes, he placed them in the deep mud sink in his laundry room then started the washing machine. He stripped off his gloves, dropped them into the swirling soapy water, then pulled off his clothes and did the same. The items moved and shifted beneath the bubbles. In a short time, they would be clean again. Pure. He wished he could clean the world of sinners this easily, but he couldn’t. And that's just the way it was.

  He left the laundry room, walked through the dark empty house then paused to power up his laptop. While the computer came to life and illuminated his bedroom, he moved to his bathroom and started the shower. Turning the water nozzle to the hottest setting, he waited for the steam to envelop him then stepped beneath the scalding spray. His skin burned at the attack, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. The water would cleanse the filth away, much like the water in the washing machine cleaned the dirt from his clothes.

  By the end of his shower, with the grime of the kill gone, he experienced the euphoria after-effect, the thrill of knowing he'd accomplished his goal and claimed the power. He dried off, then used the towel to wipe the steamy film from his mirror and stared at his body, red from the burning water and exhilarated from the kill. He wrapped the towel around his waist, left the bathroom and found his laptop ready and waiting. He typed the site address for the Fellowship, and within seconds he'd logged into a chat room, abuzz with visitors, even at 6:00 a.m. Did they realize he'd fulfilled his next requirement? That the day had barely begun, yet he'd already accomplished the goal? Were they praising his efforts now?

  He scanned the chat l
ist. Disappointment ebbed through him when he didn’t see PROTECT&SERV in the list. He'd so wanted to know what the great John Tucker had to say about his newest kill. But in any case, there were others talking...about Easter. The entire board seemed filled with announcements for sunrise services around Macon, Easter egg hunts and afternoon theater presentations reenacting the resurrection. Frowning, he searched the topics of discussion for something—anything—about his plan, about him. Nothing. The Anti hadn't been mentioned after the posts regarding Cami Talton's body being found. Didn't they realize he’d started the plan? This year he had to fulfill his duty, to teach the city that the rules were to be followed. Didn’t they know?

  The last topic caught his eye, as did the number of posts beside the subject line. Over 400 throughout the night. He clicked on Local News then found what he'd been looking for all along.

  LIVE4HIM: What Lexie McCain said on the news makes sense. It could be a religious fanatic, as she called him, and it could be the one from before. If there's another kill today, it is.

  IBELIEVE: The Anti? Let's pray it's not. And if it is, what is he trying to accomplish?

  LIVANDLEARN: Obviously, he's from the old school. He still believes, you know, what our parents believed. He doesn't think these women deserve their children. It isn't right, but what can we do about it? How do we stop him? How do we tell him he's wrong?

  LIVE4HIM: WE don't. The police are on the right track. They will figure it out.

  IBELIEVE: What if they don't? What if they have no idea why he's doing all of this?

  LIVE4HIM: They know. They may be denying it, or may not realize the connection, but too many of our guys in blue were in the Fellowship back then. There's no way they haven't put it together, even if they don't want to admit it could be tied to everything.

  LIVANDLEARN: Today's the day. Let's pray they stop him before another innocent person dies.