Profiled (31 page)

John followed her from the room and sprinted after her toward the side exit of the hotel and toward her car, with the Feds from the lobby right behind them. “What did she say?”

“I’m not the intended victim. Lexie is.”

Chapter Eighteen

Lexie washed her face. Nothing different tonight, she’d follow her evening ritual: wash face, brush teeth, comb hair, everything the same as the nights when she didn’t expect a killer.

Her decision had been easy to make when she realized that her stomach bug—and the fact that John’s truck had been outside her home every night—made her perfect in the killer’s eyes. Blonde. Single.

And supposedly pregnant.

The fact that she’d asked for a pregnancy test at Dr. Weatherly’s and then left her doctor’s receipt on her desk at work didn’t hurt. The receipt showed a pregnancy test had been administered. It didn’t, however, provide the results.

Lexie had placed the receipt out in plain sight and then left the rest to Melody. True to form, Melody wasted no time. Paul called Lexie in Valdosta and told her to stay put. He also said he wouldn’t tell Tucker about the baby, but said she’d better tell him, since Melody had already broadcasted it to the entire town.

On Lexie’s way back to Macon from Valdosta, she decided to make certain the killer knew he had a new target. She went to the drug store closest to the police station, in case he was on the task force, or a cop, as Angel suspected. Then she bought all three brands of pregnancy tests.

Last but not least, she returned to Dr. Weatherly’s office with questions about “her condition.” True, she’d only asked the doctor how long she thought the stomach virus would last, but those in the waiting room, as well as anyone watching, would have seen her at the doctor’s office.

John and Angel had been secluded in her hotel all afternoon with the additional federal agents standing guard outside. Believing Lexie had left town hours ago, they prepared for the killer’s strike. Little did they know, so did she. She’d saved Angel from this killer twenty-eight years ago, and she didn’t want to give him another chance to take her away, especially since Angel had a precious baby on the way. And Angel had acted different lately, talked more about life and the baby. She suspected that Angel was finally finding God.

Let me save her again, Lord. Give her the chance to know You, love You, the way I do.

She finished scrubbing her face then brushed her teeth. No reason to have the gun yet. He wouldn’t come until the chosen day, and that day wouldn’t occur for—she looked at the clock—twelve more minutes.

Leaning over the sink, she pulled cool water into her mouth, swished it around and rinsed. Same old, same old. Nothing different than normal. If the killer could see her now, he’d see her getting ready for bed. No big deal.

She sighed, picked up a bottle of leave-in conditioner and sprayed it over her blonde waves, the signal of purity according to the Fellowship and something the killer required in his victims. Good. In his eyes, if her trips to the doctor today worked, Lexie met every requirement.

Stroke by stroke, she pulled the comb through her hair and watched the thick waves loosen with the silky substance. She finished and placed the comb back on the counter. Then she looked in the mirror. A blonde, single and supposedly pregnant female in a silky white nightgown stared back. She produced the picture-perfect image of innocence...with an exceptional aim and a quest for vengeance. “Ready.”

The verses John quoted about God’s vengeance played through her head and she wondered…was she trying to “play God” by taking matters into her own hands? What if this wasn’t His plan for taking care of the killer? Would He approve of what she was doing? Would He help her succeed?

God, please forgive me. And please, God, stay with me now. Protect me, Lord.

She looked at the clock. 11:55. She’d purchased several indiglo nightlights and had placed them throughout the house. They cast the interior of her home in an eerie blue haze.

Moving to the bedroom, she flipped the switch on her radio and listened to the DJ on the talk news station. While he continued with the same topic he’d featured all week, the Sunrise Killer, Lexie slipped her hand beneath the pillow and touched the gun.

“As I mentioned earlier, we are mere minutes away from the day the Sunrise Killer is anticipated to attempt another murder. If we’ve done our job right with the media, and I believe we have, this killer won’t be able to complete his goal. Why? Because, thanks to broadcasts like this, as well as local television and newspapers throughout the Macon area, women who fit his criteria have left the city limits.”

Be with me, Lord.

“We’ve had several women call in from various parts of Georgia, as well as neighboring states, letting us know they not only left Macon during the time period of this scheduled attack, but they will not return until the killer has been caught. Due to safety issues, we won’t release the names of our callers; however, we can allow you to listen to some of their feelings regarding the fear this killer has instilled in all of Macon.”

Lexie listened to a blonde, pregnant and single female from Macon describe how she’d driven to Tallahassee to visit friends and family until this “horrible man is taken care of.” Then she heard another hiding out in Atlanta. After her description of how scared she’d been in Macon and how she hurt for this year’s two previous victims, the announcer broke back in.

“One minute until midnight. Please, all Macon residents, take extreme care during the next twenty-four hours. Although we believe we’ve done everything in our power to eliminate his chances to find a victim, we have no idea how this killer thinks or what he’ll do when provoked. And if you see anyone or anything that seems suspicious at all, please dial 911.”

The small wooden clock above Lexie’s mantle chimed at the stroke of midnight, and her hand curled around the handle on the gun. She hoped he didn’t wait too long.

“We’ll continue with our taped conversations from women who’ve left Macon, but our phone lines are open if you have any thoughts or concerns you’d like included in our broadcast. Again, we’re covering Macon’s Sunrise Killer...”

Lexie leaned over and twisted the dial on the radio, dropping the sound of the DJ to a light whisper. She wanted the company of his voice so she didn’t feel quite so alone, but she also wanted to hear the killer’s arrival.

Her ears pricked at a sound that seemed close. In her home? Or in this room?

One of the things she loved about owning an older home, those tiny creaks and groans that occurred with the house’s “settling,” would be her undoing tonight. How would she tell the difference between the sounds of her house and the sounds of an intruder?

She took a deep, calming breath and lay still in the darkness as her clock struck the last chime of midnight.

Silence.

Lexie waited, keeping her eyes open as long as possible before blinking. Straining her ears to hear every tiny sound, every creak, every breath.

Breath?

Had she heard someone breathing? An exhalation, like a soft mist within her room? She scanned the bedroom and despised her decision to purchase the indiglo lights. The blue haze made it appear like something straight out of a horror movie and sent a frisson of pure terror down her spine.

Her hand tightened around the gun. The red digital numbers of the clock beside her bed glared in direct contrast with the blue haze filling the room and identified four minutes past twelve. Lexie’s pulse drummed in her ears way too fast, and way too hard, but she couldn’t make her heartbeat slow. Breathe in, breathe out. Watch. Wait. Hand on gun.

Angel’s words from the firing range filled her head. Time and time again, her cousin had instructed her on what to do. At the time, Lexie joked and laughed about Angel’s serious instructions. She didn’t laugh now. Oh no, she remembered, and planned to adhere to every word.

“One of the first things an FBI agent is taught is you only shoot to kill. If you draw your weapon, you have made the decision to shoot. And if you have made the decision that the situation is serious enough to warrant shooting, you have decided it is serious enough to take a life.”

Lexie blinked, then popped her eyes back open. Without a doubt, serious enough. But could she, would she, pull the trigger?

More silence. Then another sound. A little louder than the one before. He’s here. Or is he?

She would hear him breaking in, right? Maybe, or maybe not.

Lexie kept her breathing low and steady so she could focus on the sounds. She strained her ears.

A bang echoed from the front of her house, and Lexie’s hand squeezed around the handle, her pulse skyrocketed on its own accord, and a hot wash of adrenaline surged through her veins. She steadied her wrist, moved the gun forward beneath the sheets.

Another loud sound, then another. Then rapid banging in succession.

Then she got it. Knocking. Her eyes blinked while she wondered what to do. Did he knock on the victim’s door? Was that why there was never any sign of forced entry? What woman in her right mind would open the door after midnight? The questions spun through her head and made her stomach lurch. Oh no, she would not get sick now. She couldn’t.

More knocking. Louder. She pulled the sheets aside, slid her feet from the mattress to the floor and stood with the gun clutched in her hand. No, this wasn’t the scenario she’d planned, but even so, she could do it.

She had to.

One step away from the bed, with the cold hardwood floor against her bare feet. Another step. Then another, while the banging grew to a fever high pitch.

Didn’t he care if a neighbor heard?

But Lexie’s home wasn’t all that close to her neighbors’ houses, and even if it were, most of her neighbors were elderly and couldn’t hear banging on their own doors, much less hers. The crazy thought flitted through her mind as she reached the hallway, took a deep, thick breath and progressed toward the large shadow on the other side of her door.

“Lexie, open the door!”

She stopped. Familiarity rang through the voice, but in her frenzied state, she couldn’t place it. She
knew
the killer? But who?

Another step. Then another. She had the gun ready in her right hand. Her left hand stretched forward, primed to unlock and open the door. Or could she shoot him from this side? Would the bullet go through? Could she kill him without the confrontation?

Did she want to?

And
, the back of her mind whispered,
what if this isn’t him?

She couldn’t do it, not until she learned the owner of the voice, and determined for sure whether the man who killed her aunt stood on the other side of her door.

God, please. Help me know what to do.

“Lexie, open up!”

She stopped walking and recognized the voice.

No
.

“Listen, John called me because I was closer. They know who the killer is, Lexie. We’ve identified him. The Feds tracked him through his computer, but they haven’t got him yet, and we need to keep you safe. John knows what you’re trying to do, and he asked me to watch after you until he gets here. You should’ve left town when I told you to. And why didn’t you tell me that you hadn’t told him about the baby?” Paul Kingsley asked from the other side of the door.

“There is no baby.” Her whisper wasn’t loud enough for Paul to hear.

Paul, John’s friend. Paul, member of the Fellowship, who seemed angered when she’d called it a cult. Paul, mid-forties, the right age to fit the profile. Paul, who knew Hannah Sharp, as well as Abby Tucker. Paul, who’d been involved with the case and had known every move the task force made, thanks to Lexie’s careful reporting.

Paul.

Lexie reached the door—and the killer on the other side—then she stretched her left hand forward, twisted the lock and backed up, ready.

Paul flung the door open and bounded inside. “Lexie—”

She forced her hand not to shake...and pulled the trigger.

Chapter
Nineteen

“What time is it?” John asked, pressing the accelerator so hard he could feel the vibrations from the motor against his sole.

“Midnight, straight up.” The Grand Cherokee hit a railroad track while doing eighty and went airborne. “Hurry!”

“Where are your men?”

“Right behind us.” She jerked her head around to make sure. “She’d better be okay.”

“Etta called the police, right. You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Try Lexie again—now!”

She withdrew her cell phone and dialed Lexie’s number. Like the other two times, the ringing continued. “She’s got it turned off. I’m sure of it.”

John’s hands flipped over each other on the steering wheel through another hard turn. His jaw clenched tight. “Paul better have gotten there in time.”

Lexie stared at the body face down on the floor. He wasn’t moving, but was he still breathing? With the muscles in her arm and shoulder still burning from the first shot, she lifted the gun to shoot again. Finger moved to the trigger.

Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.

She couldn’t do it.

He wasn’t moving, wasn’t going anywhere, and wasn’t going to hurt any woman—Lexie or anyone else—tonight. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t release another bullet. If he died from the first shot, so be it. But she wouldn’t do it again. She’d call John and Angel, let the authorities handle it now. It was over. Finished.

This man, this monster, had taken Aunt Bev’s life in front of her, taken John’s wife and his father, and taken countless other women’s lives, along with the children they carried.

The gun still in her hand, she backed across the room to find her purse and withdraw her cell. Within seconds, and while keeping one eye, and the gun, on Paul’s body in the foyer, she fingered the contents of her purse then located the phone. She’d turned it off, not wanting it to ring when the killer came. She’d planned everything, and she’d caught him, after all these years. The phone came to life, and she glanced down to dial John’s number.

The blow to her extended arm sent the gun flinging to the floor, then skittering across the hardwood. She opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand stopped her cold, while his other arm circled her torso and yanked her against his muscled frame.

No!

As he jerked her backward down the hall toward the bedroom, she stared in horror at the man she’d shot.

Paul.

Panic, fierce and commanding, filled her senses, made her vision blur. The killer had her, like he’d had her aunt, and Lexie knew what he planned to do, but she didn’t know how to stop it. She jerked within his grasp, moved her legs to kick against his shins as they rounded the bedroom door, but her bare feet did little damage against the hard male. Gritting her teeth, she tried to move her neck, to get her mouth free so she could scream, but his tight grip and the leather of his glove pressing against her nose made her short, sharp breaths come out in spine-chilling hisses.

He turned her toward the bed, released her mouth, and before she had a chance to force a scream from her throat, he covered the lower half of her face with a rag, then secured it behind her head, jerking on her hair so hard her eyes watered. Then he twisted her to face him, and Lexie’s eyes bulged wider. Her heart hurt in her chest, and her mind raced to the past, to that day so long ago, when her world changed forever by this man. This man, whose face had aged twenty-eight years, but who Lexie could see now, her fear and terror pushing the memory forward.

She saw him then, a teenager with sandy hair, an evil glint in his dark eyes, and a sadistic smirk on his face. And she saw him now, with less hair, but the same intense eyes, and the smirk that had so often appeared on his face when he voiced his objections in the conference room.

Lexie couldn’t control the tears that burst forward, dripping down her cheeks to pool against the cloth binding her mouth. She couldn’t control the agony at realizing all this time he’d been so close, yet so far away, his image locked tight in the recesses of her mind. She saw Aunt Bev’s eyes, wide with horror, and the way she’d shaken her head to instruct her to be silent. She saw her blonde hair, tumbling over the back of the seat as he slammed his fist against her face. Then she heard the sounds. The hideous grunts and growls from the man who killed her aunt, while the eight-year-old in the back floorboard listened in terror. And she heard the whimpered pleas, Aunt Bev begging for him to save her, pleading for him to have mercy for her unborn child.

And then Lexie saw his face. The face of a teen possessed by something too horrible to name, a determination to conquer, to kill, to destroy Angel’s mother.

The face of Ryan Sims.

“Well, Lex, you worked this out right nice, didn’t you?” He shoved her on the bed, then laughed while he yanked her hands above her head.

Lexie stared as he bound her wrists and gloated about his victory. “Just think, in a little while, I’ll get to visit the scene of the latest crime, like always, but this time, what do you know? I’ll find the killer. All dead and taken care of by his victim. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Even setting up ol’ Tiny Tina to take the fall for the beloved sheriff didn’t work out this nicely. And who’d have thought? Paul Kingsley, my old buddy from the Fellowship, the Sunrise Killer. Sounds like lead story material, huh? A shame you won’t be around to air the details.”

He leaned over her, pressed his wet lips against her ear. “You remember when you first moved to town, Ms. McCain? I tried and tried to get you to pay me a bit of attention, have coffee, dinner, anything. You were so pretty and so smart. I thought you were the perfect one, the one meant for me. Well, you’re smart. Smart enough to find someone to take the blame for the murders. Poor Paul. Bet he never saw it coming.”

She cried out, the sound muffled within the cloth boundary.

“Funny thing will be when all those girls who left town come back, then one of them has to die in forty days. Real hilarious, don’t you think? I’m guessing that pretty profiler will peg it as a copycat killing, and then they’ll start the search all over again, looking for a different kind of guy, one totally different from me.”

Lexie’s eyes darted around the room. What to do? Angel had taught her so well. Gun use. Self-defense. Everything. Why couldn’t she make herself remember what to do now?

“You’re still trying to think of a way to do me in, aren’t you, McCain? Yeah, well, go ahead. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Don’t you understand? You hold the power. It’s in here.” He pressed a palm against her belly and pressed down hard. “And soon, I’ll claim it. You have no right to that power, and you don’t even understand. It’s for the chosen, the ones who’ve refrained from the sin, who are willing to adhere to the plan. I knew you and Tucker had been together. And then your office buddy saw your doctor receipt and called the police station so you’d be protected. Wasn’t that…thoughtful?” He laughed, the sound sinister, cold, evil.

She shook her head, willing him to stop.

Stop him, Lord. This is the time for Your vengeance. Please, save me.

He glared at her, the whites of his eyes looking sick in the blue haze of her bedroom. “It can’t be undone. You did this, like Hannah. She did this. She started it all, when she chose Finley over me, when she let him do the things to her that I never did. And then she carried the power, power that should have been mine. Now you have to pay the price. It’s decided. It’s done.”

Lexie’s tears came harder. She couldn’t stop the flow, and she couldn’t stop thinking of John.

John.

She’d found love again with John. And now, because of her stupidity, she’d die without knowing how far their love would’ve gone.

Determined to save herself, she kicked out, but his hands tightened against her neck.

“I’d thought the perfect one was the profiler. Imagine my surprise today when I learned it’s you.”

Lexie closed her eyes. She’d failed. She’d tried to avenge her aunt’s death, to make the killer pay for what he’d put her through back then, for what he’d put her grandfather through, and Angel, and all those victims’ families in the years that followed—and John—but she’d failed. And she couldn’t bear to watch him complete his goal.

The shot rang through the bedroom. Then the second one followed.

Lexie jerked her eyes open, saw Ryan’s body tense above her as a trickle of blood spilled from his mouth. Then he dropped to the floor.

She jerked her head to the doorway to view her rescuer.

There were two. Angel and John rushed into the room. John removed the boundary from her mouth and pulled her close. “Don’t
ever
scare me like that again.” He cradled her head. “Promise me now.”

“I promise.” She waited for him to untie her hands, then raised up to see Angel hovering over Ryan’s body on the floor. “He’s dead?”

“Oh yeah. I shoot to kill, remember?”

“
You
shot him?” Lexie looked at John.

“We both took a shot. If she wants to think hers did the trick, that works for me.”

“Mine did do the trick.”

Lexie remembered her boss and jerked upright. “Paul!”

“He’s going to be okay. The medics were right behind us, and they’re working on him now.
You
weren’t shooting to kill.” Angel cocked a brow at her cousin. “Which, in Paul’s case, is a good thing. You hit his side. He’s going to be in some pain, but I figure he’s gonna have you indebted to him for life, as far as working at the TV station. Might as well be ready for it.”

John wrapped Lexie in a blanket then scooped her into his arms. “I could’ve killed you for what you did.”

“You wouldn’t have had to. He’d have done it for you.”

He didn’t laugh, though Angel did manage a chuckle.

Ed Pierce and Lou Marker entered the bedroom with their guns leading the way.

“It’s all clear here.” John still cradled Lexie.

“The Feds were right,” Pierce said. “They traced TRUTHLUVR to Ryan’s IP address, but I still didn’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” Angel stepped away from the body. “He fits the profile, remember?”

“I know, but I never saw it.”

Zed Naylor entered, jerked his attention to the floor. “Dead?”

John nodded.

“Ryan.” Zed shook his head, strands of his gray hair catching the blue light and looking like neon silver.

“The CSI van is here.” Lou leaned back to peer down the hall. “And the medics have hauled Kingsley to the hospital. Who shot him? Sims?”

“No, I did.”

“Lexie? Why’d you do that?”

“I thought he was the killer.”

“Man, talk about the wrong way to go about getting a raise.” Lou grinned. “You okay, McCain?”

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Two hours later, the CSI team had completed their evaluation of the scene, the coroner had pronounced Ryan Sims dead, and the task force assembled once more, along with Etta Green, who’d hurried across town to verify Lexie was safe. This time, they weren’t gathered around a conference table at the police station to share lukewarm, bitter coffee. Instead, they gathered around Lexie’s kitchen table and sipped on hot, delicious coffee.

“So, you and Jackson are cousins?” Pierce stared at Lexie and Angel. “Guess I should’ve seen it. I mean, you favor in the eyes, but it isn’t a strong resemblance.”

“I favor my mother,” Angel said, “Which is nice, since I never had the opportunity to know her.”

“And I favor my father,” Lexie completed. “But we both have Granddaddy Truman’s eyes.”

“Who we’ll go visit tomorrow,” Angel added, “And let him know the killer is finally gone. Who knows? Maybe that’s all he needs to bring him out of his self-inflicted barrier and let him face the world again.”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Lexie looked from Angel to John. “If he could come back to us?”

“And get to know his future grandson-in-law.” John’s comment caused all heads, including Lexie’s, to turn toward the handsome detective.

“You trying to tell me something?”

“Trying to ask you something. And if you say yes, I hope your grandfather will be able and willing to give you away.”

Lexie’s chest flexed tight around her heart, overflowing with emotion for this man who’d given her a life she thought couldn’t exist for a girl terrorized many years ago. With lip quivering, chin trembling and tears trickling, Lexie McCain looked into the brilliant blue eyes of the man she loved and gave him the answer he wanted. “Yes.”

Etta Green pumped her arm in the air and let out a loud
whoop
, at the same time that Lexie’s cell phone beeped from the living room floor, where she’d dropped it when Ryan grabbed her.

“It’s after two in the morning. Who’d be calling now?” Angel crossed the room, picked it up and viewed the caller identification screen. “It’s the hospital.” She handed the phone to Lexie.

“Hello.”

“McCain.” Paul’s voice, thick and gravelly, rasped through the receiver.