The Profiler

by Chris Taylor

  So why the hell didn’t it feel that way?

  She gritted her teeth and forced her gaze upwards. “You first,” she said, proud of her nonchalant tone.

  He flashed a wry grin. “Sorry, I came over to check if you’d heard anything more from the lab? Have they run those tests on the trash bags?”

  She took a surreptitious mouthful of air and released it slowly, busying herself with the mess of papers on her desk. “No, um. I mean, yes, they’ve run the tests, but I’m still waiting to hear if they found anything.”

  She risked another glance at him. He was standing way too close, with his way-too-taut butt casually propped against her desk. Another pair of perfectly pressed pants filled her vision. It was kind of irritating how neat and in control he always looked. Even his dark red tie sat in a perfectly knotted position around his neck.

  She got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and briefly closed her eyes at the memories it evoked. His arm, strong and muscular around her as she’d leaned into him on the back seat of the taxi, her mind spinning and whirling from one thought to another, until everything had swirled together in a mad kaleidoscope of colors, sounds and images.

  And then she’d needed air. Had begun to crave oxygen like a woman possessed. She knew if she hadn’t managed to drag it into her lungs when she had, she’d have disgraced herself in the taxi.

  As if he’d sensed her predicament, Clayton had leaned over and tapped the plexiglass partition dividing them from the driver, asking him to stop.

  Within moments, she’d been bent over at the waist on the sidewalk, dragging crisp, night air into her lungs in an effort to settle her tequila-soaked belly.

  And he hadn’t said a word. Not one. Except to ask if she was all right and if she needed him to do anything, get anything.

  They’d been almost at her apartment. She remembered they’d walked the rest of the way. Well, he’d walked. She’d stumbled along beside him, not even aware she’d lost her sandals, grateful for his supporting arm around her waist.

  And then he’d bid her goodnight.

  In the moonlight, or maybe it was the glow from nearby buildings—she couldn’t quite remember—his hair had shone golden. He’d looked like an angel. Every feature, every pore alight, as if touched by the hand of God. His eyes had stared down at her with concern and just a hint of laughter. Amusement that he hadn’t given reign to. Then, or now.

  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He was probably waiting for the perfect time to embarrass her. To make the most of her humiliation. Especially after her dig about his wedding ring. How the hell was she to know his wife had died?

  A twinge of guilt at her bitchy thought tightened her belly. She prayed he’d move away and leave her in peace.

  She should have known better. Warm, masculine fingers reached over and tilted her chin up until their eyes met.

  “Ellie, I—”

  “Clayton, Ellie. Good, you’re both here.”

  Catching sight of Ben’s drawn and pale face over Clayton’s shoulder, her heart leaped into her throat.

  The warmth of Clayton’s hand dropped away. His voice was infuriatingly calm. “What is it Ben?”

  “I’ve just received a report of a child missing. Down near the lake. A two-year-old boy. They think he may have been kidnapped.”

  Ellie’s world spun. A noise reverberated in her ears, echoing inside her head. Her vision blurred and narrowed and she collapsed back against her chair.

  Gulping in air, she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, blinking rapidly as she tried to concentrate on what Ben was saying.

  “Three squad cars have already been dispatched. I’ve also called the local State Emergency Service and they’re going to get a band of volunteers together to form a search party.”

  “W-wh…?” She cleared her throat and avoided Clayton’s curious stare. “Where are the parents?”

  “The boy’s mother was jogging with her son near the lake. He was in a stroller. She went to throw some rubbish in a bin about fifteen yards away. When she turned back, the boy and the pram were nowhere in sight. She searched the area and then called 000. I need you to go down and talk to her. See if you can calm her down. She’s already way past hysterical.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ellie manoeuvred the squad car in and out of the early morning peak-hour traffic and tried to keep from thinking about the scene that would confront her in the next few minutes. She glanced at the man who sat beside her. “Thanks for coming along,” she murmured.

  Clayton shot her a look full of concern, searching her features with eyes that were dark with shadows.

  “Are you all right? You seem a bit…disorientated.”

  Ellie bit her lip and forced a tight smile. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that it’s…you know…a two-year-old.” She dragged in a ragged breath. “It’s always tougher when a kid’s involved.”

  “They may find him yet. He won’t be the first toddler to have wandered off.”

  “But he was strapped into a stroller.”

  Clayton shrugged. “Sometimes they get them open. It does happen. One day you don’t think they have a clue how to work all those clips and the next, you see them undo it. Just like that, you realize they can.”

  “So, what are you suggesting? That he’s wandered into the lake? Like that’s a more comforting scenario.”

  Clayton remained silent and turned to stare out the window. Ellie felt a twinge of guilt for her bitchiness, but couldn’t ignore the panic she was barley managing to keep under control.

  Her jaw clenched. It wasn’t Jamie. It wasn’t anything like Jamie. The fact that it was a two-year-old boy was the only thing they had in common. And like Clayton said, there was still hope he’d turn up unharmed. Not every child that went missing was returned to his mother in a box.

  * * *

  A swarm of orange-overalled State emergency personnel crowded the stretch of parkland that lay adjacent to the Penrith Lakes. The sun glinted with diamond-bright sparkles over the still water. The pretty, late-winter morning was at odds with the grim features of the uniformed police officers and the SES volunteers who waited anxiously for instructions.

  Ellie parked the squad car and climbed out. Not waiting for Clayton, she strode across the grassy embankment and zeroed in on the officer in charge.

  “Williams. What’s the story?”

  The officer gave Ellie a grim nod of recognition. “Detective Cooper, we’re in the process of forming a search party. Zack Clements. Two years old. Last seen by his mother about twenty minutes ago. He was strapped into his stroller when she went to deposit some litter in the trash bin over there.”

  Ellie’s gaze followed the officer’s arm as he pointed toward a wheelie bin that stood a short distance away.

  “She left the stroller here, on the walking track. When she turned back, both Zack and the stroller were gone.”

  Clayton strode up and stopped beside her, offering his hand to Williams.

  “Federal Agent Clayton Munro. I’m helping out. Was there anyone else in the vicinity?”

  Williams looked him up and down and then glanced at Ellie, a question in his eyes. Ellie gave a brief nod, impatient to get things moving. The officer turned back to Clayton.

  “Not as far as we know. Millie Clements doesn’t recall seeing anyone around, but she was pretty engrossed in her jogging and was listening to music on her iPod.”

  “Where is she?” Ellie asked quietly.

  Williams indicated with his chin. “Over there. I’ve tried to find out a phone number for her husband or at least a friend, but she’s almost beyond stringing a sensible sentence together at the moment.”

  Ellie looked across at the young woman who stood several yards away, wringing her hands and walking around as if in a daze. She wore jogging sweats that aligned themselves closely to her tall, athletic body. Her white-blond hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail that bobbed innocently with her movements, at odds with the grim scen
e unfolding around her.

  Barely sparing Clayton a glance, Ellie walked over to the distraught mother. Taking a few deep breaths, she did her best to slow the hammering of her heart.

  “Mrs Clements?”

  The woman looked at Ellie with terror in her eyes. Ellie’s stomach knotted. She swallowed hard and fought off the memories of another time, another child.

  “I’m Detective Ellie Cooper. I need to ask you some questions.”

  The woman nodded disjointedly and made an effort to stand still, hugging herself with her arms.

  “Please, Detective; please find him. Please find my baby.”

  “We’re doing the best we can, Mrs Clements. We’re putting together a team to search the edge of the lake and we’ll speak to anyone who was here at the time Zack went missing. I understand you told Sergeant Peters you didn’t notice anyone around at the time, but sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us.”

  The woman nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, you’re right. That’s what I told him. I was—I was jogging, just like I always do. Every morning. With Zack. He was in the stroller, strapped in, as always. He loves to come with me. He loves the birds. He loves the water.”

  Her voice cracked on the last word and Ellie’s heart twisted. She wished she had words of comfort to offer her, but she knew nothing would alleviate the fear that ravaged the woman’s face. Only the discovery of her son, alive and well, would do that and Ellie knew better than to make rash promises.

  “Has Zack ever unstrapped himself before?”

  “No, never. He’s only two.”

  “Yes, I know. And so far, there’s no sign of the stroller, so we’re working on the theory someone has taken both of them.”

  The woman emitted a wail of anguish that pierced Ellie’s heart. She stood helplessly by while Millie Clements struggled to come to terms with the possibility she’d just suggested.

  “Who would take him? Who would take my baby?”

  “We don’t know, Mrs Clements. But we’re going to do our best to find out.”

  “Hey! Over here! I’ve found something!”

  The shout sounded from close to the edge of the lake. Ellie looked up and saw a crowd of officers and SES personnel move as one toward the area from where the shout had originated.

  Blood pounded in her ears. She strained to see past the group of people. An orange-clad SES volunteer was bent over in the water, reaching toward something. A gasp went up through the throng. A flash of red. A wheel. Two.

  It was the stroller.

  “Someone call an ambulance! He’s still inside!”

  Ellie didn’t know who’d shouted, but the words reverberated in her ears, her mind, her heart. She turned toward Millie Clements with leaden feet.

  All color had leached from the woman’s face. Her mouth opened and closed. She fought for breath. Her gaze moved wildly from the lake to Ellie and back again.

  And then she screamed.

  And screamed.

  And screamed.

  * * *

  Hours later, back in the squad room, Ellie could still hear the woman’s desolate cries of devastation in her ears. Her hands shook as she tried to complete the paperwork. She’d tried and failed three times to open the computer database. Her chest was tight and her breathing still hadn’t regained its rhythm.

  She risked a glance in Clayton’s direction and immediately wished she hadn’t. He sat at the desk across the room, but his gaze remained steady on hers, concern and curiosity warring in their depths as he stared solemnly back at her.

  They’d returned to the station in silence. No words could come close to explaining the tragedy they’d witnessed and neither of them had tried—for which Ellie had been eminently grateful. She’d been beyond words, anyway. Was still finding it difficult to accept what had happened and she couldn’t string a coherent thought together.

  No matter how hard she tried, images of Jamie kept surfacing, suffocating her. The crushed pram. The look on the face of his day care attendant. The paramedics. The screaming…

  Ellie’s screaming.

  Perspiration gathered on her upper lip. She swiped it away and tried once again to focus on the task in front of her.

  “How are you holding up?”

  The words were uttered softly, gently and they nearly did her in. He’d closed the distance between them and now stood before her, his face grave with concern.

  She fought against the urge to collapse in a mangled mess of emotion and cry her heart out. It’s what she felt like doing. But she hadn’t come this far to fall apart in front of an almost-stranger. Steel straightened her spine and toughened her emotions.

  “I’m fine.”

  Clayton’s gaze didn’t waver. She forced herself not to look away.

  “You’re not fine. No one would be fine after witnessing something like that. I’m sure as hell not.” He leaned forward and put his hands flat on her desk. “You’re allowed to be upset, Ellie. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to rant and rave at the injustice of life. It’s what I feel like doing.”

  “So, go ahead,” she offered as nonchalantly as she could manage, her gaze skittering away at last. “Do what you have to do.”

  His face darkened and his eyes turned stormy. “Do you have kids, Ellie?”

  Panic seized her throat, her stomach, her limbs. She coughed and choked and spluttered and gasped for air. Her arms flailed helplessly. Clayton looked alarmed.

  “Christ, are you all right? Ellie? What can I do?”

  He came around her side of the desk and thumped her between her shoulder blades. She yelped and gasped and he thumped again.

  “Stop,” she wheezed. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just…” She looked up at him and got caught in the warmth and concern that filled his eyes. How good would it feel to lean on someone, even for just a little while? To share the burden, the pain she carried around with her every waking moment.

  Then he blinked and the moment was gone.

  Ellie cleared her throat and looked down at the papers that crowded her desk. She moved files and hunted for a pen, picking up one thing after another, her movements stiff and jerky until they became frantic.

  Clayton frowned. “Ellie, talk to me. Please. You’re having a delayed reaction to a very traumatic event. I know. I was there, too. You need to talk about it, make some sense of it. That’s the only way to deal with it.”

  Anger, white hot and lightning fast rushed through her veins. What the hell did he know about dealing with trauma? Okay, so he’d lost his wife. Big deal. It didn’t come close to the loss of a child.

  “What the hell would you know about it, Fed? Okay, you buried your wife way too young. Commiserations for your loss. But that woman just lost her baby, her two-year-old. He never got to go to school, learn to drive, fall in love. She’s never going to have those memories. Her last memory of her son is going to be watching his lifeless, blue body as they pulled him from his stroller. She turned her back on her baby to answer a phone call and forgot to set the brakes. A simple mistake that she’ll live with for the rest of her life. Don’t tell me you know how to deal with this kind of thing. You don’t have a clue.”

  The spiteful words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. She was shouting before she finished. Her face burned with anger and the effort it took her not to fall apart. Her breath came in harsh gasps and she knew she had to get out of there before she lost control altogether.

  Clayton’s face closed. His lips pressed together in a tight, white line. He’d stood in silence and taken the brunt of her tirade without flinching, but his visage now looked as if it had been carved in stone. Pain had flashed briefly behind the shadowed depths of his eyes, but he’d concealed it almost as quickly as it had appeared and Ellie wondered if she’d imagined it.

  Guilt, swift and accusatory, seared through her. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know about Jamie. He didn’t have a clue. And that’s exactly the way it was going to stay.

 
; Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Ellie pushed back her chair and stood. Avoiding his gaze, she strode toward the locker room to fetch her coat. She needed some air.

  * * *

  Clayton stared after Ellie, his thoughts in turmoil. He was still reeling from her attack, trying to make sense of it, trying to justify it.

  The death of the toddler was a shock to them all. As a father, he’d never get used to seeing the life of a child cut so horrendously, tragically short. It sliced to the heart of him and made him fearful and grateful for his own daughter all at the same time.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed his mother-in-law’s number. He had to speak to Olivia. He needed to hear her voice.

  “Hi, Janet. How are you? How’s Olivia?”

  “Clayton, how are you? Is everything all right? You don’t normally call this time of day.”

  He swallowed and took a breath. “I know. I just… Everything’s fine. I just wanted to say hi to Olivia.”

  “Well, that’s nice honey, but she’s at pre-school. She won’t be home until after three o’clock.”

  Clayton glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. Of course, she was at school. It was barely eleven. “I’m sorry, Janet. I guess I just lost track of time. It feels like I’ve been up here forever.”

  “How are things going? I’ve been following the stories on the news. Dreadful, just dreadful. I hope you’re getting enough rest.”

  Her voice was soft, caring and he was grateful she didn’t bombard him with questions about the case. He’d always gotten on well with Lisa’s parents and his career wouldn’t be what it was today if Janet and Bob hadn’t been willing to step in and look after Olivia when his job called him away—which happened more often than he liked.

  “I’m fine,” he said and willed away the headache that had made itself known behind his eyes. “Things are hectic, you know, but I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”