Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  So enthralled with the speed of his vehicle, he nearly missed his turn. The smell of rubber from his squealing tires penetrated his nostrils as he jerked the car in a hard right and tore through the underbrush, down the path, and to the place where he’d buried Hannah and her lover so many years ago.

  He opened the car door and climbed out, then moved forward until he stood right above them. Over their bodies. Standing above the liars who didn’t deserve to live.

  Cool wind whipped through the trees, bringing the scent of pine and damp leaves. He closed his eyes and heard the songs. Voices amid the wind. Voices from the past. Those who sang in this very spot so many years ago. Songs of the powerful, songs of the chosen. He’d learned of fire and brimstone and power and supremacy. Right. Here.

  And later, he’d taught Hannah what she refused to learn before—fire and brimstone, power and supremacy. Right. Here.

  “He probably won’t say anything.” Lexie crossed the parking area with John in the pre-dawn haze. “But he’ll know we’re here.”

  “You sure you want me along? Because if you’d rather I not meet him yet—”

  Lexie stopped walking, her feet crunching on the gravel as she twisted to look at him. “He’s seen me alone for so many years. Whenever I come to visit, I’m either by myself, or I have Phillip, Jr. with me, but he hasn’t seen me with another man since Phillip and I divorced. I think it would do him a world of good to see the two of us together, especially now.”

  “Why especially now?”

  Lexie’s stomach tightened. She’d begun to open her heart to John and felt closer to him than any man in a very long time. But she wasn’t ready to tell him everything. Not yet. Thankfully, Agatha’s tendency to venture outside saved her from further explanation.

  “Sun’s coming.” Agatha stared at the light filtering through the trees. “Coming now. Coming fast.”

  “Yes, it is.” Lexie stepped up on the porch.

  John followed her and didn’t press the issue for an answer to his question.

  If they were going to attempt some form of a real relationship, she wanted to be honest with him about her past. But since it wasn’t merely her past, she needed to talk to the other person involved before divulging the secrets they’d kept guarded for so long.

  She’d have to talk to Angel.

  Jackie opened the front door before Lexie had a chance to knock. “I’m glad you’re able to see him again this morning before you head back. Today’s going to be a talking day.”

  Lexie grinned. “He’s in a good mood?”

  “I’ll say. He’s been chatting all morning, but that could be because Georgianne made biscuits and gravy.”

  Georgianne Holiday came to the residence each morning to prepare the day’s meals. The main cook at three Valdosta assisted living homes, Georgianne visited Murrell’s in the mornings, then two more before the day ended. She’d get everything in order for three meals, then head her way to do the same at the next home. And although she had to be in her late sixties, she had the energy of a teenager. She had already come and gone by the time Lexie arrived yesterday, so Lexie looked forward to seeing Georgianne this morning before she returned to Macon.

  “Love biscuits and gravy.” Agatha rocked on the front porch.

  “Well then, you need to come in and eat while it’s hot, Agatha.”

  “Aggie.”

  Jackie rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Yes, Aggie, you should come in and eat while it’s hot.”

  “Coming.” Agatha climbed from her rocker and bounded through the doorway, shoving her way past Lexie and John to get through.

  “She gets a little excited,” Jackie explained to John.

  “I see that.” He grinned. “Guess we have something to look forward to with those biscuits and gravy, don’t we?”

  “Oh yes, Georgianne makes the best.” Jackie stepped aside so they could enter.

  Lexie inhaled the peppery smell of Georgianne’s fabulous white gravy and the yeasty smell of her fat, buttery biscuits. “You’ve never had biscuits like Georgianne’s.”

  John inhaled, then nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Is Granddaddy in his room?”

  “Yes,” Jackie answered, but her husband stepped forward and corrected her.

  “He was, but he just moved down the hall to the dining room. He’s already eating. I’d walk you down there, but I need to take breakfast in to Mrs. Johnson. She doesn’t like to eat with the group, and if I don’t grab some biscuits quick, your grandfather and his friends are liable not to leave her any.”

  “And I’m going to help Georgianne in the kitchen,” Jackie added.

  Lexie laughed. “Don’t worry, I know my way around. We’ll go sit with Granddaddy in the dining room.”

  They walked down the opposite hall from her grandfather’s room. “I’m so glad he’s doing better.” She wanted to see him on a “good day.” He didn’t have many and to experience one with him was a rare treat. Plus, he might converse with John upon their first meeting.

  Though only 6:30 in the morning, the dining room had already filled with elderly men and women at their most alert, and most chatty, stage of the day. A large television blared in one corner, and one of the men had commandeered the remote and increased the volume to a deafening pitch.

  “Goodness, Mr. Vick, can you turn that down?” Georgianne winced as she crossed the room with two steamy plates of biscuits and gravy in her hands. She placed the plates on either side of Lexie’s grandfather. “Looks like you’ve got some guests for breakfast.” She indicated Lexie and John. “How ya doing, Lexie?”

  “Great, Georgianne.”

  Doing a poor job of hiding her curiosity, Georgianne surveyed Tucker. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Detective John Tucker.” He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Georgianne shook the proffered hand and grinned. “We’re glad you’re here.” She winked at Lexie. “Really glad you’re here.” Then she twirled on her heel and returned to the kitchen, while Lexie fought the impulse to blush.

  “Granddaddy, this is John Tucker.” She kissed her grandfather’s cheek before sitting down. “He’s a friend of mine, and he’s helping me with a story I’m working on. John, this is my grandfather, Nicholas Truman.”

  John’s eyes widened, and Lexie knew he recognized the notable name. He shot a quick knowing look at Lexie, then extended his hand.

  “Tuck-er?” Nicholas took John’s hand and held it within both of his.

  “Yes, sir.” John sat at the table.

  “He’s a detective with the Macon Police Department.” Lexie took a bite of her biscuit and gravy and let her taste buds enjoy Georgianne’s talents, while she watched the exchange between the two men.

  Her grandfather released John’s hand, then leaned forward, tilting his head to examine Tucker’s face.

  “Everything okay, Granddaddy?”

  “Yes.”

  John smiled, but looked a little disconcerted with Nicholas Truman’s appraisal.

  “The biscuits look good.” John took a bite, then hummed his approval.

  “Yes.” Her grandfather picked up his fork and took a bite, but never took his gaze off Tucker’s face. Then he continued eating, but didn’t speak again. Instead, he kept darting his gaze from Lexie to John to the television.

  Lexie had hoped he’d be more talkative today, as Jackie had indicated, but even though he’d already said more words than yesterday, she had a feeling the communication had already ended. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders at John, then ate her breakfast in silence.

  She’d shared many meals like this with Nicholas Truman throughout the past twenty-eight years, both of them eating and neither of them speaking, but with John present at the table, the silence seemed near unbearable. Her throat closed in, and although she knew the biscuits were heavenly, she couldn’t taste them anymore. She continued eating and tried to keep the tears at bay.

  When they finished their me
al, Jackie took their plates. “I guess you’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Yes.” Lexie turned to her grandfather. “Granddaddy, I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?”

  His gaze fixated on the television. Lexie turned to see that the local station aired her clip from Cami Talton’s funeral.

  “Turn. Up,” Nicholas commanded, and Mr. Vick obeyed.

  Within half a second, the television blared, the volume at its full capacity, while several residents held their ears and Lexie’s own voice filled the screen as one of her pre-taped broadcasts aired.

  “Funeral services for Camille Evelyn Talton will be held today in Macon. Ms. Talton is believed to be a victim of the Sunrise Killer, a serial killer who has eluded the authorities for nearly three decades. A second victim, Victoria Arnez Jones, was found murdered in her home on Sunday. If you have any information involving either of these murders, please contact the Macon Police Department at—”

  Donovan claimed the remote from Mr. Vick and turned down the sound. “We watch you often, but not quite this loudly.”

  “He said turn it up.” Mr. Vick pointed an accusing finger at Nicholas. “So I did.”

  “Well, it was nice of you to oblige him, but we’re going to try to keep it to a low roar, if you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Vick shrugged bony shoulders.

  Nicholas pushed his plate to the center of the table then turned his attention to Lexie. “Get. Him.”

  “Yes.” She turned toward Tucker. “I told him yesterday that I was helping the police find the killer.”

  John nodded, but Lexie knew the sharp detective sensed the truth. He’d studied the victimology and knew about Aunt Bev, but he didn’t know the rest. Lexie would have to tell him. Soon. After she talked to Angel.

  “We’re going to catch him, Mr. Truman.” John said the words with conviction.

  Nicholas nodded. “Good. Milton.”

  All color drained from John’s face.

  “Granddaddy, this is John. John Tucker.”

  “Milton.”

  And while she watched, Tucker’s blue eyes widened once again. “Did you know Milton?”

  Lexie waited. Milton?

  Her grandfather nodded. “Milton. Tuck-er.”

  “You knew my father.”

  “Good. Man.”

  A tender smile covered John’s face. “Yes. He was.”

  Milton Tucker. Why did that name sound familiar?

  “Milton. Helped.”

  The memory clicked into place, and Lexie swallowed hard. Of course, she should’ve remembered that name. Milton Tucker, the Sheriff for Bibb County twenty-eight years ago, and the man who’d been so kind, who’d helped Lexie feel better, in spite of what had happened. He’d had a caring smile, jet-black hair and the bluest eyes...

  She looked at John. No wonder she’d felt so safe around him. No wonder she’d been so drawn to him. Milton Tucker was a good man. And so was his son.

  Nicholas Truman looked away from John to the television, where Lexie’s footage ended and the local news anchor provided the updated profile on the Sunrise Killer. With his jaw set and his green eyes intent, Nicholas Truman demanded, “Get him. Tuck-er.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Her grandfather bobbed his head, nodding in small jerks while frowning at the television. He didn’t return his attention to the two people on either side of him; rather, he stared at the screen. His morning talk had ended.

  Lexie didn’t want to go, but if she and John were going to “get him,” as her grandfather had requested, they needed to work on the case. “Granddaddy, we need to go to Macon now. I’ll come back soon.”

  He bobbed his head, but didn’t look her way.

  Lexie tamped down her emotion and stood from her chair. “You ready?”

  “Yes. It was nice to meet you, sir.” John held out his hand, but this time, Nicholas ignored the gesture. Instead, he nodded and stared at the television. The newscast ended and a margarine commercial took center stage, but Nicholas Truman didn’t seem to notice.

  Lexie leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

  Then she and John started to walk away, but her grandfather’s words, spoken more clearly than any others this morning, made her stop and listen.

  “Love. You. AJ.”

  Lexie stared at the back of John’s truck as she followed him up I-75 from Valdosta to Macon. Peach orchards and pecan groves zoomed past as they progressed toward home, but she hardly noticed the exquisite Georgia scenery for remembering the look on John’s face when he realized who she was.

  He looked—betrayed. And that look stabbed her heart. He hadn’t said a word when they left Murrell’s, just climbed in his Grand Cherokee and led the way back to Macon.

  She swallowed, preparing to say something when they got back, but she didn’t know what to say. And before she could decide how best to explain, John Tucker jerked his truck to the right, then slammed on the brake when it hit the side of the road.

  Lexie followed suit, relief flooding through her when she didn’t run into the rear of his truck in the process. Her head banged against the back of the seat when her car stopped, then fear gripped her when the big gorgeous detective climbed from his truck, stormed to the passenger’s side of her Lexus, got in and slammed the door.

  “I thought you trusted me.” The muscle in his jaw clenched between each word.

  Her throat closed in. She shouldn’t tell him everything, not until she spoke to Angel, but how could she tell him only half of the truth?

  “When were you going to tell me your mother was one of the victims? And why would you keep something that important from the task force?” Each word pronounced his frustration. “Why would you keep it from me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You thought it was me, didn’t you? You thought I killed Abby and all the others? When did you change your mind? Tell me the truth.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. Never did I think that, even before last night.” Before the kiss that cemented how much she did trust this man.

  His lips formed a flat, unconvinced line.

  “I didn’t.” Lexie moved toward him, took her hand to his face and touched the firm jaw, felt the morning stubble that made him look even more intense, even more hurt. “I never thought it was you.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me your mother was a victim?” He still looked at her as though she were a stranger.

  “Not my mother, my aunt. And I was going to tell you. I was, but there are more people involved.”

  “Like?”

  Lexie felt sick. She did trust John, more than any man, but she couldn’t tell him everything yet. She wouldn’t do that to Angel. She couldn’t.

  “I need to talk to someone first.” She slid her fingers up the side of his face to that beautiful sprinkle of silver at his temple. “But I promise, I’ll tell you everything.” She moved even closer and saw his features relax. “And I promise, I never, ever thought you were the killer. In fact,” she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his unyielding lips.

  He growled low in his throat, pulled her close and accepted her kiss. His hands slid around her neck, then tunneled through her hair as he deepened the intimacy of the gesture.

  Lexie moaned her approval. Her body tingled everywhere, surrendering to the pull, to the allure, of John Tucker.

  After breaking the intoxicating kiss, he searched her eyes. “In fact…what, Lexie?”

  “In fact, I trust you completely.”

  He smiled, and she welcomed the change. If he only knew, he’d done more for her in the past week than anybody else had managed to do in twenty-eight years. He’d taught her to trust men again, taught her to trust him. She enjoyed his touch, and desired, truly desired, his kiss.

  “I’ll give you time to talk to—whoever—but I want to know the story, Lexie, and soon. There’s a killer out there, and like it or not, you’re linked to him through your past. I’m assuming no one in Macon knows y
our family history?”

  “One person.”

  “The one you need to talk to?”

  She thought of Angel. “Yes.”

  “Okay. Talk to that person, but then, talk to me.”

  “I will. I promise.” She kissed his cheek then scooted back to her side of the car, while John cleared his throat.

  “She was your aunt?”

  “Aunt Bev.”

  “I remember the articles said the senator lost two daughters. That’s what they claimed caused the heart attack and the mental breakdown.”

  “My parents died in a car wreck the week before my aunt was murdered.” She took a breath, then let it out. It had been a long time since she’d said it aloud. “Losing my mom and Aunt Bev so close together was too much for him to handle. My grandmother had died the year before, so I guess he felt like everyone he loved was being taken away. But—”

  “But?”

  “But it was the way Aunt Bev died, the way the killer murdered her and the fact that she was pregnant, that made him the way he is now, locked inside his head.”

  “Did he have any other kids?”

  “Aunt Carol. She was the youngest of the sisters, and she’s the one who raised me.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Died last year.” Lexie didn’t add that her aunt’s death had been the second most horrible day in her life. And in Angel’s.

  He slid his hand across the seat and placed it on top of hers, sending a blissful warmth of understanding over her skin.

  “Thank you.” Emotion filled both words.

  She didn’t have to ask what for; she knew. This all-powerful male had been moved by her willingness to share, to trust.

  “One more thing. AJ. What does it stand for?”

  “Alexandra Jane.”

  “Alexandra Jane.” He smiled. “I like that.”

  Angel stood outside Dr. Weatherly’s office and watched the nurse unlock the door promptly at 8:00. Then she waited another fifteen minutes in order to survey the surrounding area before going in.

  Pierce had a cop in an unmarked car watching the place; however, it didn’t take Angel but a few seconds to realize it wouldn’t do any good. Macon’s biggest city park bordered one side of Yvette Weatherly’s office, and in the short time Angel waited on the doctor to arrive she viewed no less than six men who visibly fit the profile. People enjoying the crisp spring weather packed the area. Joggers ran around an asphalt track. Elderly and young alike ambled through the park walking dogs, feeding birds and chatting.