Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  Lexie nodded. She’d anticipated this conversation all afternoon, but the emotions involved with remembering the past, that awful day, still caused her throat to pinch closed, her chest to tighten, and her heartbeat to pick up a notch.

  “You know, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I want to.” She felt a little more secure revisiting the past when she had John at her side, the comfort of his strong arm wrapped around her, holding her close and protecting her from the pain of remembering.

  “You were there, weren’t you? The reports didn’t say anything about it, but that’s the only thing I can figure that would’ve gotten the medical personnel to your aunt in time to save the baby. Someone was with her. It was you, wasn’t it? You got help for her?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “But he didn’t know you were there?”

  “No. We were leaving Macon that morning. Aunt Bev had taken me back to get my things. I was mad about everything—losing my parents, leaving my home to go live with Granddaddy—everything. I mean, I loved him, but he hadn’t been the same after Grandma died. Aunt Carol was there, and I knew she’d take care of me.” Lexie frowned. “But I was still mad, sad, whatever.”

  He rubbed his hand up and down her arm and pulled her closer. “You were what, eight? That’s so young, Lexie. Don’t blame yourself for being upset that day. I’m sure your aunt understood.”

  She took a deep breath. “Aunt Bev let me bring some of Mama and Daddy’s clothing in the car, with lots of it in the floorboard of the backseat. I talked her into letting me rest on the floor, beneath the clothes, while she drove. She’d have never let me out of my seat buckle on a regular day, but I guess she felt sorry for me, because I was so upset.”

  “You were hidden beneath the clothes?”

  “Yeah. I think I must’ve drifted off to sleep, then the car started slowing, and I couldn’t figure out why we were stopping already. I knew we hadn’t been far enough to get to Granddaddy Truman’s. Then I heard Aunt Bev ask someone if they were okay, and if they needed help.”

  “Back then people still stopped to help folks out around here. Southern hospitality and all.”

  “Yeah, but I heard her voice change. She realized she’d made a mistake, but it was too late.”

  “And he never saw you?”

  “No. He slammed her head against the front seat, and she looked at me, and I knew I had to stay quiet, stay hidden. So I did. Then I heard...everything. I remember praying, begging God to make it stop—to make him stop—and then he did. And then I started praying for Him to let me get help in time.” She swallowed. “It was too late to save Aunt Bev, but I helped save Angel. God let me save her.”

  John looked like he wanted to say something, but then his mouth flattened and he pulled her even closer.

  “Go ahead. Say it.”

  His head shook. “I’m just wondering what makes you see the positive in what God did, the fact that He helped you save Angel, instead of focusing on the fact that He didn’t save your aunt.”

  Lexie heard what he didn’t say. “You blamed Him for what happened to Abby.”

  “Yeah.” He inhaled, like he planned to say more, but then left it at that.

  “Do you still?”

  “I’m working on it.” He sighed. “Lexie, I’m so sorry for what you went through back then. No child should have to go through anything like that. It’s hard enough on adults. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to deal with losing your parents and then witnessing your aunt’s murder.”

  “According to the doctors—therapists—who saw me after it was over, I probably saw his face.”

  “But you don’t remember?”

  “No. I remember Aunt Bev’s screams, and then the silence after, the sound of his car leaving, and then trying to find help in time. But I can’t remember his face. Maybe I kept my eyes shut, but it seems like I would’ve tried to see him, so I could tell someone who hurt her.” Lexie turned toward him. “Angel believes that’s why I got into the media, because I’m determined to tell people everything they need to know when it involves finding criminals. I guess the profiler in her is always trying to classify people.”

  “Makes sense.” He kissed her forehead. “Tell me about Angel, or Olivia.”

  “Aunt Bev and I had picked names for the baby that morning. I guess she thought that would cheer me up. We decided on Olivia for a girl, Jameson for a boy. When Aunt Carol told me I’d helped save my cousin, I told her she had to be called Olivia. She said we’d name her Olivia, but she thought we should call her Angel, because she lived in spite of his attempt to kill her.”

  “Sounds like a wise lady.”

  “The Trumans were known for being wise. Aunt Carol was only twenty-two, but she had to take over with all decisions that day. Granddaddy had a heart attack when they told him what had happened. And later, he had a complete breakdown.”

  “Most people knew the senator had a heart attack when he learned his daughter had been killed. But it wasn’t common knowledge that his granddaughter witnessed the crime, or that his newest grandchild had survived in spite of the attack.”

  “The police thought the killer would come after us if he knew I might have seen him, or that Angel had survived. They recommended we leave. So Aunt Carol moved away from Macon. She decided on Valdosta, since it had the nicest home for Granddaddy, and she raised us there while doing her best not to broadcast our Truman family tree.”

  “Her decisions saved your lives.”

  “And gave us the chance to plan how we could stop him.”

  He straightened. “I seriously hope the two of you aren’t planning to go after him alone. That’s what the task force is for, what the police is for—and that’s what I’m for.”

  Lexie thought about her words before responding. She didn’t want any false pretenses between them. “He killed my aunt. He ruined our lives, kept Angel from ever knowing her mother and caused my grandfather to have a mental breakdown. I turned to God to get me through everything, but Angel never gave Him a chance to help. In fact, I’m pretty sure she blames Him too. And then there’s the fact that I’ve never been ‘normal’ around men. You should know that I stopped letting Phillip even touch me after we had Phillip, Jr. I tolerated it for the first few years of marriage, but I never liked being touched. I believe I still think of that man hurting Aunt Bev whenever a man has physical contact with me.”

  John’s jaw flexed. “But I’ve touched you, Lexie. Maybe not sexually, but emotionally…and physically. You didn’t pull away from my kiss. And you aren’t pulling away from me now.”

  “I know. And I think it’s because my fears are nearly gone, and that we are about to catch him, stop him.”

  “You believe if we stop him, you’ll be okay.”

  Lexie nodded.

  “And you—and Angel—want to have an active role in stopping him. That’s the reason you both chose your professions, isn’t it?”

  She wouldn’t deny the truth. “Yes.”

  John realized that, if given the opportunity, Lexie and Angel might not be content to help find the killer. He’d heard the intensity in her tone, the emotion, many times before from victims set on revenge. And more times than not, that emotion affected judgment, affected rationality. What would either of the women do if they did find the killer? He couldn’t condone Lexie, or Angel, or anyone else taking the law in their own hands. And he didn’t want to think about the possibility of Lexie face-to-face with the killer…again.

  “You have a gun?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Know how to use it?”

  “Angel taught me.”

  “Have mercy,” he mumbled, then smiled when he heard her laugh. “Lexie, you need to let the authorities handle him.”

  “If they handle him, that’s fine, but if I get the chance, I’ll pull the trigger.”

  “In self-defense, you mean, right?”

  “If you say so.”

 
He took a deep breath, wondering how far they needed to go into this subject. He didn’t want to upset her, but he had to make sure she wouldn’t try to stop this killer on her own. For the past week, he’d guarded her while she slept because he never wanted her to come face-to-face with a killer. What if, deep down, she wanted to find the killer herself?

  Trying to focus on the best means possible to remove that notion from her thoughts, he turned to the one thing he knew might make a difference.

  Her religion.

  “You said you turned to God to get through the past.”

  “I did.”

  “Still turn to Him?” He slid back into the ways of his youth, when every conversation had an underlying religious thread.

  “Yes, I do.”

  He felt her back stiffen as she sensed the direction of this conversation.

  She shifted on the swing to face him. “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”

  He cleared his throat. “Never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’” He swallowed. “He will make him pay.”

  “But He hasn’t yet, and women are still dying.”

  Occasionally, John’s upbringing and the required daily scripture memorization that consumed it came back to haunt him in the night, where verses condemning his choices in life doomed him to hell. Now, that memory of scripture provided what he needed. “At the time I have planned, I will bring justice against the wicked.” He paused. “God will judge him, in His time.”

  “You said that you blamed God for what happened to Abby.”

  “I do, sometimes.”

  “But you’re trying to convince me He is in control?”

  “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I believe you,” she said, “but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You believe those verses too, don’t you? You think God will make him pay, and you think it’s about to happen, don’t you?” Her green eyes caught the moonlight and displayed the intensity of her emotion.

  “I—yeah, maybe I do.” He found it hard to admit, since he hadn’t turned to God for anything but hatred over the past fourteen years. But deep down, he realized that he still hoped—prayed—that God did care and would somehow make things right again in his life…and in Lexie’s.

  “You learned a lot about God in the Fellowship, didn’t you? Even though their practices were off, you still learned a lot?”

  “You have no idea.” John recalled endless hours of listening to Brother Moses, of studying his bible and reciting not only verses but chapters of scripture.

  “Tell me about the Fellowship. And Hannah.”

  Bringing up religion—and his knowledge of scripture—had opened the door wide for Lexie to bring up the subject of the old cult. But John had expected this conversation. Might as well get it over with. “What do you want to know?”

  “How did you get involved with the group? How many guys in the Fellowship could be our killer? Is there anyone who stands out more than everyone else as the most likely suspect? And what kind of role do you think Hannah Sharp had with starting this guy’s killing spree?”

  John grinned, glad she didn’t condemn him for hitting her over the head with a bit of scripture. And also glad to see the journalist, rather than the woman who’d been hurt by the killer, resurface. “You ever slip out of reporter mode?”

  She pinched his arm. “No, and you haven’t answered any of my questions.”

  He feigned pain and rubbed his arm, but she shook her pretty head, not falling for it. “Hey, I’m going for sympathy here.”

  “Not buying it. And I’m waiting for your answers.” Then she kissed his cheek and squirmed her way out of his embrace. “Wait a minute. I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her purse and briefcase from where she’d plopped them on the porch, unlocked the door and entered the house.

  He touched his cheek where she’d kissed him. He now realized how huge a breakthrough Lexie had made to let him hold her, kiss her, care for her. John slid his eyes closed. God, let her trust me.

  The lights from inside beamed through the windows and illuminated her, walking through her living room and grabbing an afghan from the back of her couch. He watched her cross the room, flip the lights off, turn the porch light on and head back toward him.

  “I’m a little chilled.” She held up the blanket, then crawled back in his embrace on the swing.

  John tucked the afghan, decorated with embroidered peaches, around her shoulders, then snuggled her close. “Better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We could go inside, where it’s warmer.”

  “No, I like sitting out here with you.”

  “And the thought of being that alone with a man isn’t appealing to you.”

  “I still have issues, but…”

  “But?”

  “But I’m getting better.” She gave him a soft smile.

  “Because of me?”

  “Because of you.” She shivered and then pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. John didn’t know if the cold or the topic of conversation had her trembling, but he pulled her even closer and kissed the top of her head. “I won’t give up on you.”

  She looked at him, eyes filled with tenderness. “Thank you.” Then she inhaled, exhaled and said, “So, tell me about the Fellowship.”

  “Right. Back to business.”

  “If that’s okay with you.”

  “It’ll do for now.” He grinned, squeezed her shoulders, then told her what she wanted to know. “I’m not sure when the Fellowship started, but I know it existed as far back as my grandfather. He’d been Horace Waters’ friend before Horace became Brother Moses. My grandfather was a deacon, then my father as well.”

  “That didn’t cause a problem when your dad ran for Sheriff?”

  “You’d think it would, but no, it didn’t. There were too many people with too much power involved in the group, and they were behind him one hundred percent. Matter of fact, Dad’s opponent never stood a chance without the backing of the Fellowship.”

  “How did someone become a member?”

  “You were either born into it, or you were invited by a member. It wasn’t the kind of group where you could show up and try to get in.”

  “But a lot of teenagers were members back then? When you were a teen?”

  “Practically everyone I knew. The Fellowship promoted kids and youth in general, since children were considered the lifeblood of the universe, so they encouraged us to convince our friends to come. I brought tons of people in.”

  “Like who?”

  “Of people you know, Paul and Ryan.”

  “Not Lou?”

  “Lou was already a member. His father was part of the eldership, one step up from a deacon and part of the decision-making team, defining what the group stood for.”

  “What about Logan Finley?”

  “Logan was one of the few guys I knew that wasn’t involved with the Fellowship. He was a few years older than the rest of us. We all knew him, though, as Central High’s quarterback when we were in junior high.”

  “He and Hannah dated?”

  “Not to start with. We were juniors in high school before they got together, and I still don’t know where they met. She spent most of her time away from school with the Fellowship, so it kind of surprised all of us and her family when she all of a sudden had an interest in Finley.”

  “Her family was upset?”

  “Upset is a major understatement. Hannah flipped over Logan from the get-go, but her folks wouldn’t allow her to date anyone who wasn’t part of the Fellowship. Logan’s father preached at one of the small community churches downtown, so that didn’t go over well. Preachers from other denominations were considered false teachers.”

  “What about the members of the Fellowship? What’d t
hey think about her seeing someone outside of the group?”

  “According to the group laws, she should’ve been excommunicated.”

  “But she wasn’t?”

  “No. Her father appealed to the eldership to allow her to stay and promised she’d stopped seeing the non-believer.”

  “But she didn’t.” Lexie felt sorry for the two young lovers who dared defy a cult.

  “No. Hannah snuck around with Logan. Everyone at school knew about it, because she didn’t keep secrets from her friends, but her family and the rest of the Fellowship were in the dark. Or at least we thought they were.”

  “How about the other kids she hung around with, other members of the group? Did any of them get upset with her for dating Logan?”

  John nodded, remembering the heated discussions they’d had with Hannah at that time. “Everyone did, me included.” Then he thought more about the conversations around the lunch table at school. “No, that’s not true. The guys were all upset with her. The girls were proud of her for sticking up to her folks and getting the guy she wanted.”

  “Makes sense. The girls were thrilled she went after the happily ever after, while the guys were ticked she wasn’t vying for their attention anymore.”

  He nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “I’ve seen Hannah’s picture. She was supermodel pretty.”

  “Yeah, the prettiest girl in Macon at the time, without a doubt.”

  “And she had the boys hooked.”

  “Every guy around wanted to be with Hannah Sharp.”

  Lexie wrapped the afghan around her like a cocoon. “You’re included in that number, right?”

  “Yeah, but Hannah dated all the guys in the Fellowship at one time or another. She liked boys, got along well with them. You know, she was the kind of girl who could be your best friend, but also—”

  “Make you think about being more than friends,” Lexie finished. “But did she think about it, or did she do more, with the guys from the Fellowship? To fit the criteria, she’d have been pregnant.”

  John felt odd talking about Hannah when he believed she’d experienced a horrible death way back then instead of running off with the guy she loved, as everyone believed. But to get to the truth of the present, they had to unearth the truth of the past. “She was extremely sexual, especially to be so young. And although we never discussed it, for fear of getting cast out of the Fellowship, I’d venture to say that every one of the guys she hung around with slept with her. She’d hang around after school, then ask someone to drive her home.”