Profiled Page 12

  If the killer was one of the former members of the Fellowship, it could be anyone. Half the city, not to mention more than half the task force, had belonged to the congregation.

  “She’s hanging in there, been mulling over every word of her broadcast, but I’m about to kick her out.”

  “I’ll wait at her house to see her in.”

  “Quite a tag team we’ve got going. Almost reminds me of how we used to gang up against Kathleen and Abby at Canasta.”

  John smiled, remembering. “Yeah, it does.”

  During his marriage to Abby, they never passed a Saturday night without getting together with Paul and Kathleen for hot pizza, cold drinks and cards. It’d been good, clean fun. They laughed, cut up and enjoyed each other’s company, as though both marriages would last forever. Neither marriage did, with Paul’s ending in divorce a few years back and John’s ending with Abby’s murder. Through it all, the two men grew even closer, sharing a bond they could neither discuss nor describe. And right now, that bond fused once again in a joint effort to keep the valiant news lady safe.

  After an awkward pause on the line, Paul broke the silence. “You did the right thing today, you know.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Keeping Lexie away from the primary crime scene. You knew she wanted to go inside.” Paul arrived on the scene after Lexie then waited outdoors with all of the remaining media circus, which meant he knew firsthand how frustrated she had been with having to stay away from the remainder of the task force.

  Did Paul also know John could’ve let her in if he’d wanted? “Lexie didn’t need to see that, even if it was a clean kill. She’s too close to the investigation. I can see it in her eyes when she examines the prior cases. I assume it’s because she’s female and fits two out of three of his criteria.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve gotta admit her empathy toward the victim helps her portray this guy the way he needs to be defined, as a ruthless killer. You can’t see her segments and not feel as though those victims were someone you knew. When I watched tonight’s footage about Vickie Jones, I could’ve been hearing about my sister, or even my wife—” He cut off the word, but not fast enough.

  John’s chest tightened. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I wasn’t thinking. It’s late, and it’s been a long day, but that’s no reason for me to forget about Abby.”

  “You didn’t forget about her. You just said what was on your mind. None of us will ever forget her.”

  “That’s true.” Paul changed the subject. “Anyway, when you told the other media folks you’d deal exclusively with Lexie, that was a stroke of genius. It kept her busy relaying the information to the various news crews, and I think it helped her cope with the reality that last night’s attempt to save that woman failed.”

  John leaned his head back and let his neck brace against the headrest. “Why was that woman, Vickie Jones, so alone in the world? Who knows how long she’d have been there if that waitress hadn’t come over to check on her? Even her Facebook page had remained stagnant since she moved here from Florida, as though she had no friends, no life.”

  “Cami Talton was a loner too,” Paul reminded. “No one even checked on her when she missed five weeks of work at the paper mill. They assumed she’d quit. She might not have been found at all if her landlord hadn’t started smelling something.”

  “Maybe the killer is targeting women without ties now, but that wasn’t a factor in the past. Abby had ties.”

  “Could be he thinks the cops are getting close, so he’s trying to pick victims who won’t be missed.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Tucker’s thoughts were muddled from two nights without sleep. “But I still can’t figure out how he knew Vickie Jones was pregnant.”

  “You checked with the doctor to see who knew she was there?”

  “I’ll see her first thing in the morning. She was out of town today for Easter. All I got was the answering service.”

  “Figures. Well, it was a smart move to have Lexie over media coverage. It’s also a good way to get the information you want out there, instead of some lowlife reporter’s interpretation.”

  John had to smile at that. According to Paul, all reporters who didn’t work for WGXA were lowlife. But he’d done the right thing selecting Lexie as their media rep instead of someone more set on portraying the facts than the emotion. Lexie delivered both. Plus, the public loved her.

  He couldn’t blame them.

  “So, you got any ideas on suspects?” Paul asked. “Off the record, of course.”

  John watched a swarm of gnats circle around a lamppost in the police department’s parking area. Flitting and floating close to the light, but never landing. Never getting burned.

  How close to the light was the killer? Or was he trying to land, trying to find a way to that proverbial light, the one they heard about so many times at kids, listening to fire and brimstone from the pulpit. He and Ryan and Lou and...Paul.

  “Did you look at Jackson’s update to the profile?” John asked. “Lexie included it in her broadcast, I’m sure.”

  Paul exhaled through the receiver. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Well then, you tell me. Any ideas?”

  Paul waited two telling beats before answering. “You know folks around here don’t believe that mess anymore.” He confirmed that he’d thought the same thing as Tucker, that the killer’s plan could be linked to the Fellowship.

  “I know that’s what we were told, but she pegged it, didn’t she? It was a sacrifice. Vickie Jones, and all the others before. Every one of them pregnant. Children growing inside of them, Paul. Children, the symbol of power.”

  “I think you better make certain you know what you’re doing before you go stirring up that kind of trouble.”

  “I’m not stirring anything yet. We still haven’t got the missing persons information from back then, but when we do, if there’s some tie to the Fellowship, we won’t be able to deny the truth.”

  “And what do you think that truth is?” Paul’s voice lowered to a hush, even though John knew he was locked tight in his office.

  “Same thing you do. Someone in the Fellowship has developed another set of rules, inspired by Brother Moses, another creed that wields power. And that someone has been fulfilling his personal requirements for that power every seven years.” Relief spread through him as he said it out loud. “Go ahead. Admit it. You thought it too.”

  “Yeah, I thought it. But we can’t jump to any conclusions. Besides, you realize if it’s true, almost every man our age living in Macon is a potential suspect. Everyone was part of the Fellowship back then. You and I would be suspects, Tucker. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is to catch the killer and stop him before he kills again.”

  “I want that too, but I thought we’d put all of that behind us.” He cleared his throat. “Did you say anything about this to the profiler? Or to Lexie?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t. Not until you’re sure. One thing you have to remember about pointing a finger, John. When you point one straight out, you’ve got three pointing right back at you.”

  Tucker grimaced. That’d been one of his father’s favorite sayings when he led his chapter of the Fellowship. “I remember.”

  “Twelve-thirty. Time to hit the hay before tomorrow’s run. I’m gonna send Lexie home.” Paul paused, then added, “Tell me something, John.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got your eye on her. I’m assuming the feeling’s mutual?”

  John sat straighter in his seat. “I think it may be.”

  When Paul didn’t respond, John leaned his head back again, stared at the flitting bugs once more. “You interested in Lexie too, Paul?”

  “We always went after the same girls, even back in high school. But I saw the way she acted every time you stepped out of that house today.”

  Tucker could’ve pointed out that every reporter perked up when he exited the
crime scene today, given he led the homicide investigation and therefore became their primary source of information. But he didn’t point out the obvious. Besides, he liked thinking Lexie wanted to see him for more than information about the case.

  “She’ll be home soon. I’m assuming you’re gonna be there before her?”

  “Yeah. I’ll make sure she gets in okay.”

  “You do that.” Paul’s voice sounded more crisp than usual, but Tucker’s exhaustion rendered him too tired to care.

  They disconnected, and John started his truck. Then he drove away from the swarming bugs, away from the station, and toward the woman who had become his primary source of light.

  Lexie pressed the accelerator a little harder than necessary, and the Lexus surged forward at her command. Finally, something in this day that she could control. She reached toward the passenger seat, slid her hand inside her purse and fingered the contents until she found her industrial-sized bottle of Ibuprofen. At the next stoplight, she opened it and popped two pills dry.

  Darkness covered the town, again. And the city housed a killer, again.

  Again? No. Chances were he always lived here, even during the years between killing sprees. He drove the same streets Lexie drove, went shopping in the same stores where Lexie shopped and communicated with some of the same people Lexie communicated with on a daily basis. Then again, he could be one of the people she communicated with on a daily basis.

  The pills hit her empty stomach, and she cringed. Or did she cringe because of the reality? The killer had been here for twenty-eight years. Closing her eyes, she tried to make her brain focus. Why couldn’t she remember? If she had interacted with him, if she had seen him, wouldn’t she remember?

  Lexie wasn’t sure. But that wasn’t the question that bothered her most.

  Would he remember her? Did he ever see her on the evening news and think her face looked a little too familiar? Did he ever wonder why?

  A car horn sounded, and she jerked her eyes open. How long had she been sitting at this light? How long had it been green? Thank goodness the horn pulled her out of her daze, the same killer-induced daze that had crept upon her throughout the past twenty-eight years.

  Within minutes, she approached the “cozy cottage” she purchased eight months ago. Built in the 1920’s, the house wasn’t large, but it had tall ceilings, stained windows and two bedrooms, so Phillip, Jr. had his own room for visits. Plus, the neighborhood had been dubbed one of the safest, according to the realtor and the police reports. Lexie had checked the latter before moving in. She always checked police reports. Some habits never die.

  But even though there’d been hardly any criminal activities recorded within a mile of her quiet little street, and although she should feel comfortable going for an evening walk without locking her door, she didn’t. Especially tonight, after she’d witnessed firsthand the aftermath of the killer’s actions. Well, secondhand, since Tucker relayed the information. Lexie hadn’t seen Vickie Jones’ body atop an unwrinkled bed in her waitress uniform with her hair combed and her makeup flawless.

  That had been what bothered her most about John’s description of how the woman had been found. If Vickie Jones had struggled, her hair would’ve been mussed. And after a long night of waitressing, she shouldn’t have had any makeup left at all, much less after trying to fight off a killer. But she did. “Coffin ready,” as Elijah Lewis had told Henry. His phrase choice had bothered Lexie as much as the killing itself. Almost.

  Her front porch light illuminated a crescent of asphalt on the street ahead. Home. After this horrendous day, and after two nights of hardly any sleep, she would rest. For a while. Tomorrow she’d provide a brief segment on the aftermath of the murder, since the task force wasn’t scheduled to reconvene until Tuesday. Captain Pierce had determined the police would work on their own processing the crime scene information from today’s murder before they added Vickie Jones to the growing bulk of Sunrise Killer victimology. Plus, another day gave the State a chance to locate and send the missing persons data from February of 1985.

  She yawned, tired. Could she sleep? She didn’t know, but she had to try. She nor Angel could accomplish their goal if they continued running on empty. She knew her pounding headache wasn’t due to today’s stress. Her body needed to rejuvenate, and tonight she’d sleep—if it killed her.

  She shivered at her train of thought. Sleeping wouldn’t kill her. The Sunrise Killer, though, would…if he knew Lexie had seen his face. Then again, he’d laugh out loud if he knew the rest of the story—that she’d erased it from her memory.

  At just past 1:00, she pulled her car into the driveway beside Tucker’s Grand Cherokee. She’d known he’d be here when Paul told her it was, “time to go home,” then escorted her to the car. She didn’t mind the two of them playing tag team. Paul had always taken a special interest in her because he wanted a relationship, but even when Lexie told him she didn’t feel that way about him, he’d understood and backed down from pressuring her for more. Now though, he’d become something of a big brother, someone who watched over her and made sure no one hurt his friend.

  Her connection with John Tucker, however, didn’t feel sibling-like at all. His presence reminded her of what it felt like to be a woman and to want a man, something she hadn’t experienced in quite a while. Maybe because of that emotion, and the fact that she was letting her guard down with the detective, she wanted nothing more than to punch him. Hard.

  She climbed out of her car, turned on her heel and headed down the brick pathway leading to her front porch without so much as a wave goodbye at the mountain of a man sitting in his truck.

  Her dismissal would’ve made a stronger impact, however, if she didn’t have such a big purse, and if her keys didn’t always find the perfect cranny somewhere in the bottom. She dug her hand around, her fingertips hitting lipstick, loose change, a wadded tissue, everything but the essential strip of metal that would get her beyond the big oak door with the stained glass center.

  She heard his truck door slam, then footsteps approaching.

  So much for a flamboyant statement.

  He eased his way on the porch, while Lexie continued to look down, shaking the purse and hearing the jingling keys defying her goal. If she’d have felt her cell phone within the clutter, she could’ve used it to light her bag. But it was MIA too.

  “I see you made it home.”

  She didn’t answer him. How many compartments did this purse have anyway?

  “I could have let you come in her house today, could have authorized your presence on the scene.”

  Lexie stopped searching and looked up to view his strong face, solemn from the events of the day, his eyes sad and forlorn, like a man who’d seen...a woman’s dead body.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He stepped forward but made no effort to touch her, a smart move, since she hadn’t dismissed the impulse to hit him.

  “You didn’t need to see her, Lexie. You’ve been hurt. I don’t know what happened or who did it, but I’d have to be blind not to see the signs. Plus, I’m a cop. We tend to pick up on these things.” He offered her a slight shrug and a curve of a smile.

  She blinked. Did everyone see what he described? People always commented on how “together” she was, how calm, how cool. It wasn’t until she started getting her chance to report on the Sunrise Killer, that she’d felt that old tinge, that nightmarish fear, niggling its way back into her life. But she’d disguised it well. Or so she thought.

  “Only me.” He read her thoughts without a word from Lexie. “I haven’t heard anyone else comment on it.” Then he shifted from one foot to the other and one corner of his mouth twitched. “Other than Paul.”

  She should’ve assumed that, of course. The two men who were around her most and who both expressed an interest in “something more” would sense the truth. Maybe she shouldn’t have let them get close enough to see.

  “What is it that the two of you think?” Her strained
voice defied her usual confidence, but Lexie didn’t have the wherewithal to fake it tonight.

  “That you’ve been hurt by some man in the past. I don’t know what he did, but I know you’re fearful of another relationship. I can tell that you don’t want too much too soon. And that’s okay.”

  She stuck her chin out. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel. I’m just willing to give you whatever time you need. I felt it, Lexie, last fall. That connection, that spark, between us. I think you felt it too, and I’m willing to bet that’s the reason I didn’t see you at all between that interview and when I ran into you Friday morning outside your office.” He paused, swallowed, and Lexie’s eyes were drawn to the thick pulsing of his throat with the action. “Am I right?”

  “Maybe.” Her stomach fluttered with the admission. Goosebumps trickled down her arms.

  “Are you scared of me, Lexie?” He moved even closer, so close, in fact, that if he wanted to, he could kiss her.

  She blushed, looked down at her purse and saw her keys, cradled within a wadded tissue. “There they are.” Smiling, she pulled them out.

  “Do I?” He didn’t let her off the hook. “Do I scare you?”

  “No, you don’t, but—”

  “But what?”

  “But what I’m feeling toward you, that scares me.”

  “I’m thinking that’s not a bad thing.” He grinned, a big beautiful smile that set another round of goose bumps traipsing over her flesh.

  “And,” she continued.

  “And what?”

  “And being alone, while he’s still out there, that scares me.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage as though it would bust right out of her chest if it weren’t confined.