Profiled

  PROFILED

  Renee Andrews

  Copyright 2013 Renee Andrews

  KINDLE EDITION

  ISBN-13: 978-0615748269

  ISBN-10: 0615748260

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Other Books by

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my agent, Tamela Hancock-Murray. Thanks for the insight and the faith you’ve had in this novel. You rock!

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to thank my agent, Tamela Hancock-Murray, to whom this book is dedicated. Thank you for loving this story! I also want to thank the Jacksonville State University Forensics Department for allowing me to invade their courses and ask countless questions that occasionally made the students wonder where I’d buried the body. I’d also like to thank the Alabama State Troopers who didn’t mind providing detailed information to this writer’s most obscure questions. And I want to thank beta readers Amanda Tankersly and Sadie King for your meticulous observations and recommendations for this novel. Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank my family for cheering me on through every book and understanding when I didn’t get around to cooking…again.

  Other Books Available

  Inspirational Books Available by Renee Andrews:

  Her Valentine Family

  Healing Autumn’s Heart

  Picture Perfect Family

  Love Reunited

  Heart of a Rancher

  Bride Wanted

  Yuletide Twins

  Mommy Wanted

  Mornings with Jesus 2013

  Mornings with Jesus 2014

  Prologue

  May 17, 1985

  “I miss Mommy and Daddy,” AJ repeated for the twentieth time since they left her home.

  Aunt Bev turned the volume down on Foreigner’s number one hit, wiped tears from her eyes and stopped singing about wanting to know what love is. She sniffed, peered in the rearview mirror and attempted to smile at the eight-year-old in the backseat.

  “I do miss them. I’m not gonna stop.” AJ crossed her arms.

  “I know, honey.” She blinked through her tears. “Tell you what. Why don’t you try to relax for a while? Get some sleep. By the time you wake up, we should be at Granddaddy Truman’s house. Aunt Carol said she’d make your favorite cookies, chocolate oatmeal.” Bev sniffed again and wiped beneath her nose with the back of her hand. “And I’ll let you tell Granddaddy Truman and Aunt Carol all about the names we picked for the baby.”

  There was no use changing the subject back to Mommy and Daddy. Aunt Bev wasn’t listening. “All right. I’ll sleep if I can unbuckle.”

  AJ’s aunt sighed from the front seat. “We’ve barely left home. It isn’t safe.”

  “Then I won’t sleep.”

  Another heavy sigh, and Aunt Bev rolled the window down. “Go ahead. I’m too spent to fuss with you.”

  “I love you, though.”

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  AJ unbuckled. Even with three big suitcases in the trunk of the Buick, Aunt Bev had tossed extra clothes on the floorboard. AJ shimmied beneath them and enjoyed the warmth of feeling covered, protected and safe. Daddy's scent, like Old Spice and soap, enveloped AJ with the fabric. Mama’s scent, a combination of lavender and Downy, wasn't as strong, but it was there too. AJ had asked to bring some of their things along so she could remember.

  The engine vibrated through the car, made a soft rumble against AJ’s ear on the floor and provided a soothing belly tickle that should’ve lulled any kid to sleep. It wouldn’t have taken long to surrender to the pull of exhaustion if her aunt hadn’t slowed the car.

  From within the cloth cocoon, AJ blinked. The engine purred to a stop. Were they there already? No, they couldn’t be, but they’d passed all the town’s stoplights. They were on the little two-lane road that led the way to Granddaddy Truman’s.

  Why had they stopped?

  “Do you need help?” Aunt Bev called out.

  “No offense, ma’am, but I believe I need a man’s help. Your husband with you?” The male voice wasn’t as deep as Daddy’s had been, but it wasn’t a little boy’s voice either.

  “I’m not ma—,” Aunt Bev started then paused mid-word. She gasped, then whispered a near silent, “Oh, no.”

  Footsteps on gravel penetrated the car.

  AJ’s skin bristled.

  “Do you need any—,” Aunt Bev started again, her voice quivering.

  The hinges on the door squeaked as someone yanked it open.

  AJ heard her aunt’s muffled attempt to scream. Shifting beneath the covers, she peered between the layers of Mama’s summer sweaters and Daddy's dress shirts to see her aunt’s blonde head pressed against the seat. A big hand covered her mouth, and her eyes sought out AJ, then widened. Her head moved in that “no” motion AJ recognized. Before today, Aunt Bev had made that motion when AJ had done something wrong.

  This time, it meant something else.

  No, AJ, don’t yell. Don’t scream. Don’t speak. Don’t let him see you.

  AJ swallowed. Tears burned, as the man released her aunt’s mouth and hit her face with his fist. Aunt Bev screamed. He growled. Pounding and yelling and screaming and crying.

  Aunt Bev.

  More cries. More pleas. More screams. More growls.

  And then...nothing.

  AJ’s throat stopped working. It tightened and clenched and burned while she listened, struggling to hear anything at all. Maybe her ears had stopped working too. Maybe this was a bad, terrible dream, and in a minute, she’d wake up and her throat would work and her ears would work and Aunt Bev wouldn’t look at her with those big scared eyes, silently telling AJ to be quiet, telling her not to scream.

  AJ couldn’t scream. She could barely breathe. And she struggled to hear...

  There it was, the first sound wedging through the fog in her head. Aunt Bev’s breathing. Breathing? No. Gurgling.

  Another sound, a louder sound, found its way in through the haze. A car roaring to life, then tires spinning on gravel as it sped away.

  He’s gone, her mind whispered. But maybe—just maybe—he could still see the car. She couldn’t let him see her. If he did, she might not be able to get help for Aunt Bev, and she had to get help. Aunt Bev made another sound, like trying to vomit, and AJ forgot about waiting. She pushed the clothes away, jerked up from the floorboard then peered over the seat.

  Blood. Everywhere.

  She grabbed at the door handle and fumbled her way out of the car, her legs slamming against the gravel road as she fell forward. Her knees stung as she ran, the raw flesh full of dirt and blood, but AJ didn’t care. She had to run, and she had to run fast. Aunt Bev needed help.

  AJ’s lungs swelled, sucking air as she tore her way down the endless road. Her heart p
ounded so hard it hurt her head. Any moment, her ears would burst open, eardrums ripping apart and making her scream, but she couldn’t stop. And her heart would calm down. It had to, before time ran out.

  The center of her chest tightened, while her breakfast swirled in her belly and burned as it crept up her throat.

  No.

  She swallowed past the bitterness and ordered the toast and eggs Aunt Bev had served this morning to stay put. No time to get sick. No time for anything but finding help.

  Aunt Bev.

  She shouldn’t have waited so long before leaving the car, shouldn’t have listened for the evil man to leave. It’d taken too long. He’d taken too long. Too much time had passed between her aunt’s last gasps and the sound of his car roaring to life then driving away.

  But Aunt Bev had given her the look. The same look that Mama used to give AJ to stay quiet. So AJ stayed quiet. And because she had, Aunt Bev...

  No.

  She blinked back the tears, swallowed past the disgusting taste of vomit in her throat. Mama was dead, but Aunt Bev wasn’t yet. AJ would not believe she was dead. She could find help. She’d find someone and bring the person back to the car. They’d stop Aunt Bev’s bleeding, and then they’d help the baby too.

  AJ turned to run uphill, over the rough road and back toward the city. Why weren’t any houses around? Where were they? Didn’t someone—anyone—live here?

  Mama had always talked about the “pretty countryside” between Macon and Granddaddy Truman’s. But there was nothing pretty about it. Nothing at all. It was ugly. It was horrible. It made AJ sick.

  She tripped on a loose rock and fell forward, her mouth slamming into hard red clay. Gritty dirt and metallic blood combined and pooled in her throat. “God, please. Help me.”

  Her eyes squinted to view the road ahead, the nothingness ahead. Pushing forward with every ounce of strength her body possessed, with legs burning and lips bleeding, she moved her feet in a frantic pace that matched her thundering heart.

  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 while her side cramped. “Please, God, please.” She whimpered, pressed forward, peered in the distance and saw a man.

  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.

  Time swirled in the aftermath of her scream. The man did help. His wife called the police, and they came. An ambulance came. The lights and screams and sirens blended together while they all tried to save Aunt Bev.

  A big policeman held a strong arm around AJ as two men put Aunt Bev in an ambulance. Then he put AJ in his police car and they followed the ambulance moving faster than AJ thought possible down the rough back roads. The policeman hadn’t said much to her while they’d been by Aunt Bev’s car, but he’d been there, standing beside AJ and holding that strong arm around her as her world, once again, fell apart.

  While trees and fields and roads soared past, she forced words from her throat, scalding sore from her frantic screams. “Is she—” AJ tried to ask him, but she couldn’t say the last word.

  “They’re taking your mama to Atlanta. They’ve got some doctors there waiting to take care of her and the baby.”

  “My aunt.” AJ swallowed. “She’s my aunt. Mama died last week, in a car wreck.” As if she couldn’t hold back the rest, she added, “Daddy died too.” She sucked a deep gulp of air, then set the emotions free, her chest heaving at the weight of her tears.

  The policeman’s face tightened then big fat tears trickled down his weathered cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  AJ sniffed, nodded, and kept crying. She cried and cried, until they pulled into the emergency room area of the huge Atlanta hospital and Aunt Carol helped her out of the policeman’s car. Aunt Carol thanked the policeman for bringing AJ, then hugged her close. She smelled like Mama. She smelled like Aunt Bev.

  AJ cried harder.

  “Come on, honey.” Aunt Carol’s voice shook.

  They moved into the emergency room, noisy and wild, with doctors and nurses moving back and forth and yelling things AJ didn’t understand. “Is she going to die? Is she?”

  “I don’t know.” Aunt Carol squeezed AJ while she let her own tears fall.

  AJ twisted in Aunt Carol’s embrace. “Where’s—where’s Granddaddy?” She squinted through her tears to look toward the emergency room entrance. Why hadn’t Granddaddy come too?

  “He wasn’t home when they called, but he’s coming.” Aunt Carol’s body trembled all over. “Dear God, I don’t know how much more we can take.”

  And as if he’d also heard her words, Granddaddy Truman hurried through the sliding emergency room door, his eyes blinking, adjusting from the blinding sun outside to the dimness of the room. “Where are they? Somebody tell me where they are. Bev! AJ!”

  AJ lurched from Aunt Carol and ran toward him. His face, normally all sturdy and business-like, was a mass of worried lines filled with watery tears, just like it’d been a few days ago at her parents’ funeral. He lowered to the ground and opened his arms, then let her run inside. “Oh, darling. Oh, my little darling.”

  Then his body tensed, and AJ turned to see why.

  A doctor in green hospital scrubs exited the back of the emergency room and walked toward them with his surgery cap in his hands. “Senator Truman.”

  AJ’s Granddaddy gave her a final squeeze, then stood and eased her toward Aunt Carol, who took over holding her while they listened to the doctor speak.

  “I’m sorry, Senator. We did everything we could to save your daughter and the baby, but she’d lost too much blood. We weren’t—”

  The doctor never finished. AJ’s Granddaddy made an awful sound, between a gasp and a scream, and grabbed his chest. Then he fell face-forward on the hospital floor.

  Chapter One

  March 28, 2013

  Lexie McCain took her place in front of the yellow crime scene tape, held her microphone to ward off the evening chill associated with Georgia this time of year and watched for her cameraman’s cue.

  Henry performed one last adjustment to the backlighting, then held his earpiece for instructions from the station. He nodded while listening, drew his eyes to Lexie and mouthed, “We’re live in three, two, one,” then he gave her the single nod and finger point that said late-breaking news would now broadcast throughout all of Macon and middle Georgia, courtesy of WGXA’s dominant transmitters.

  Adrenaline pumped through Lexie’s frame as she began to speak. No matter how many news stories she’d done throughout her years in Atlanta and now in Macon, she still couldn’t control the sickening urge that occurred with each and every reported homicide. The niggling, burning curiosity that questioned whether she’d announced another of his kills, and the intense yearning to be the one who proclaimed that the Sunrise Killer had been caught. But while she’d wondered several times if she’d get the chance to cover the story, tonight’s anxiety was different. This time, she didn’t feel curious about the killer’s identity; she knew.

  She gripped the microphone even tighter and looked into the camera. Was he watching her now? “This is Lexie McCain with late-breaking news. Macon Police have recovered a victim of homicide at this home in the western part of the city.” She shifted her weight so Henry could film the tiny white clapboard house. “The victim, Camille Evelyn Talton, known as Cami, was found by her landlord this evening and had reportedly been murdered several weeks ago. Ms. Talton was employed by Dowdy Paper Mill and was in her sixth month of pregnancy. Police are investigating possible motives and suspects; however, if you have any information regarding the case, please call the Macon County Police Department at the number listed on the screen.” She paused, swallowed, fought the urge to go ahead and let the public know that they were, once again, dealing with the Sunrise Killer then concluded with, “Thi
s is Lexie McCain reporting in Macon for WGXA.”

  Henry put his camera back in the news van, then disconnected cables and lighting, while Lexie turned and looked at the tiny house where the murdered woman had lived. Had she known the man? Had she called for help? And then, the obvious questions, given the police had already informed the public of her prenatal status. Was she blonde? And was she single? Because if Cami Talton was blonde, single and pregnant, then she met every criteria of the Sunrise Killer’s victims, and she would authenticate Lexie’s belief that, once again, he’d returned to Macon.

  “You ready to head back?” Henry packed the last of his equipment in the cluttered van.

  Lexie nodded then turned away from the house where a woman and her unborn child lost their lives.

  “You think they’ll get him?” Henry asked as they crossed through the darkened city.

  “I don’t know.” But, I promise, this time, I will.

  After her segment aired again the following morning, Lexie stepped outside the station to get a breath of fresh air and nearly walked right into John Tucker. As in Detective John Tucker, the one man in town who made her nervous and the man she’d be dealing with 24/7 if she got the story.

  “Lexie McCain.” His deep voice caused a ripple of goose bumps along her skin.

  “Detective Tucker.” She nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

  His smile said he knew she wasn’t so certain of the statement. “Good to see you too.”

  She worked to control her racing heart and made herself smile until he disappeared inside the building. Then she shook her head to clear it from the fog the mesmerizing male had on her senses. No man had ever had this effect on her, not even Phillip, but the tall detective with the baby blue eyes, waves of black hair and daunting smile did something. He would be the head detective on the case, no doubt. And if she got the ongoing story, she’d work with him around the clock.