Profiled (18 page)

John nodded, but Lexie knew the sharp detective sensed the truth. He’d studied the victimology and knew about Aunt Bev, but he didn’t know the rest. Lexie would have to tell him. Soon.
After
she talked to Angel.

“We’re going to catch him, Mr. Truman.” John said the words with conviction.

Nicholas nodded. “Good. Milton.”

All color drained from John’s face.

“Granddaddy, this is John. John Tucker.”

“Milton.”

And while she watched, Tucker’s blue eyes widened once again. “Did you know Milton?”

Lexie waited.
Milton?

Her grandfather nodded. “Milton. Tuck-er.”

“You knew my father.”

“Good. Man.”

A tender smile covered John’s face. “Yes. He was.”

Milton Tucker. Why did that name sound familiar?

“Milton. Helped.”

The memory clicked into place, and Lexie swallowed hard. Of course, she should’ve remembered that name. Milton Tucker, the Sheriff for Bibb County twenty-eight years ago, and the man who’d been so kind, who’d helped Lexie feel better, in spite of what had happened. He’d had a caring smile, jet-black hair and the bluest eyes...

She looked at John. No wonder she’d felt so safe around him. No wonder she’d been so drawn to him. Milton Tucker
was
a good man. And so was his son.

Nicholas Truman looked away from John to the television, where Lexie’s footage ended and the local news anchor provided the updated profile on the Sunrise Killer. With his jaw set and his green eyes intent, Nicholas Truman demanded, “Get him. Tuck-er.”

“I will. I promise.”

Her grandfather bobbed his head, nodding in small jerks while frowning at the television. He didn’t return his attention to the two people on either side of him; rather, he stared at the screen. His morning talk had ended.

Lexie didn’t want to go, but if she and John were going to “get him,” as her grandfather had requested, they needed to work on the case. “Granddaddy, we need to go to Macon now. I’ll come back soon.”

He bobbed his head, but didn’t look her way.

Lexie tamped down her emotion and stood from her chair. “You ready?”

“Yes. It was nice to meet you, sir.” John held out his hand, but this time, Nicholas ignored the gesture. Instead, he nodded and stared at the television. The newscast ended and a margarine commercial took center stage, but Nicholas Truman didn’t seem to notice.

Lexie leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

Then she and John started to walk away, but her grandfather’s words, spoken more clearly than any others this morning, made her stop and listen.

“Love. You. AJ.”

Lexie stared at the back of John’s truck as she followed him up I-75 from Valdosta to Macon. Peach orchards and pecan groves zoomed past as they progressed toward home, but she hardly noticed the exquisite Georgia scenery for remembering the look on John’s face when he realized who she was.

He looked—betrayed. And that look stabbed her heart. He hadn’t said a word when they left
Murrell’s, just climbed in his Grand Cherokee and led the way back to Macon.

She swallowed, preparing to say
something
when they got back, but she didn’t know what to say. And before she could decide how best to explain, John Tucker jerked his truck to the right, then slammed on the brake when it hit the side of the road.

Lexie followed suit, relief flooding through her when she didn’t run into the rear of his truck in the process. Her head banged against the back of the seat when her car stopped, then fear gripped her when the big gorgeous detective climbed from his truck, stormed to the passenger’s side of her Lexus, got in and slammed the door.

“I thought you trusted me.” The muscle in his jaw clenched between each word.

Her throat closed in. She shouldn’t tell him everything, not until she spoke to Angel, but how could she tell him only half of the truth?

“When were you going to tell me your mother was one of the victims? And why would you keep something that important from the task force?” Each word pronounced his frustration. “Why would you keep it from
me?
”

“I don’t know.”

“You thought it was me, didn’t you? You thought I killed Abby and all the others? When did you change your mind? Tell me the truth.”

“No. No, I didn’t. Never did I think that, even before last night.” Before the kiss that cemented how much she did trust this man.

His lips formed a flat, unconvinced line.

“I didn’t.” Lexie moved toward him, took her hand to his face and touched the firm jaw, felt the morning stubble that made him look even more intense, even more hurt. “I
never
thought it was you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me your mother was a victim?” He still looked at her as though she were a stranger.

“Not my mother, my aunt. And I was going to tell you. I was, but there are more people involved.”

“Like?”

Lexie felt sick. She did trust John, more than any man, but she couldn’t tell him everything yet. She wouldn’t do that to Angel. She couldn’t.

“I need to talk to someone first.” She slid her fingers up the side of his face to that beautiful sprinkle of silver at his temple. “But I promise, I’ll tell you everything.” She moved even closer and saw his features relax. “And I promise, I never, ever thought you were the killer. In fact,” she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his unyielding lips.

He growled low in his throat, pulled her close and accepted her kiss. His hands slid around her neck, then tunneled through her hair as he deepened the intimacy of the gesture.

Lexie moaned her approval. Her body tingled everywhere, surrendering to the pull, to the allure, of John Tucker.

After breaking the intoxicating kiss, he searched her eyes. “In fact…what, Lexie?”

“In fact, I trust you completely.”

He smiled, and she welcomed the change. If he only knew, he’d done more for her in the past week than anybody else had managed to do in twenty-eight years. He’d taught her to trust men again, taught her to trust
him.
She enjoyed his touch, and desired, truly desired, his kiss.

“I’ll give you time to talk to—whoever—but I want to know the story, Lexie, and soon. There’s a killer out there, and like it or not, you’re linked to him through your past. I’m assuming no one in Macon knows your family history?”

“One person.”

“The one you need to talk to?”

She thought of Angel. “Yes.”

“Okay. Talk to that person, but then, talk to me.”

“I will. I promise.” She kissed his cheek then scooted back to her side of the car, while John cleared his throat.

“She was your aunt?”

“Aunt Bev.”

“I remember the articles said the senator lost two daughters. That’s what they claimed caused the heart attack and the mental breakdown.”

“My parents died in a car wreck the week before my aunt was murdered.” She took a breath, then let it out. It had been a long time since she’d said it aloud. “Losing my mom and Aunt Bev so close together was too much for him to handle. My grandmother had died the year before, so I guess he felt like everyone he loved was being taken away. But—”

“But?”

“But it was the way Aunt Bev died, the way the killer murdered her and the fact that she was pregnant, that made him the way he is now, locked inside his head.”

“Did he have any other kids?”

“Aunt Carol. She was the youngest of the sisters, and she’s the one who raised me.”

“Where is she now?”

“Died last year.” Lexie didn’t add that her aunt’s death had been the second most horrible day in her life. And in Angel’s.

He slid his hand across the seat and placed it on top of hers, sending a blissful warmth of understanding over her skin.

“Thank you.” Emotion filled both words.

She didn’t have to ask what for; she knew. This all-powerful male had been moved by her willingness to share, to trust.

“One more thing. AJ. What does it stand for?”

“Alexandra Jane.”

“Alexandra Jane.” He smiled. “I like that.”

Angel stood outside Dr. Weatherly’s office and watched the nurse unlock the door promptly at 8:00. Then she waited another fifteen minutes in order to survey the surrounding area before going in.

Pierce had a cop in an unmarked car watching the place; however, it didn’t take Angel but a few seconds to realize it wouldn’t do any good. Macon’s biggest city park bordered one side of Yvette Weatherly’s office, and in the short time Angel waited on the doctor to arrive she viewed no less than six men who visibly fit the profile. People enjoying the crisp spring weather packed the area. Joggers ran around an asphalt track. Elderly and young alike ambled through the park walking dogs, feeding birds and chatting.

The numbers in the area would go up as the day progressed, and it’d be impossible to spot their killer in the midst of the crowds. Even if a man returned periodically, that wouldn’t produce a red flag. Most people who ventured to parks came often, which meant the cop in the car down the street was wasted effort. But it wasn’t Angel’s place to tell the police how to do their job. She didn’t catch the criminals; she identified the type they were looking for then let the cops do the rest.

However, in the case of the Oklahoma City rapist, she’d taken an active role even though that wasn’t included in a profiler’s job description. But the task force in Oklahoma City had approved her idea, agreeing that she’d be most likely to recognize their perpetrator and capable of handling herself in a dangerous situation. That time, the local police were on hand at the restaurant and at the ready for anything to occur.

This time would be different. She couldn’t inform the task force, because three men on the force were potential suspects. Lou Marker, Ryan Sims and John Tucker all fit the bill. Therefore, she’d called Leon Hawkins and relayed her idea, then Hawkins called Quantico. Now she needed to set everything in motion with the doctor. She’d tell Lexie later, after everything was set. No doubt her cousin wouldn’t approve. Lexie didn’t agree with lying or deception, regardless of whether it was necessary in the line of duty. Angel, however, hadn’t grown up with the same moral compass as Lexie, and didn’t have a problem with either. If God had wanted her to be good, He wouldn’t have let her life begin with her mother’s murder. And now she’d do whatever it took to catch a killer.

“Good morning.” A woman, whose nametag read Nita, welcomed her to the office. “Come on in.” Nita walked ahead of Angel through the airy entry.

“Morning.” Angel followed her then watched her disappear through a side door. The waiting room had peach walls, teal chairs and a television centered on one wall. Within seconds, Nita reappeared behind the window of the reception area, slid the glass open then placed a large white clipboard and a pink pen advertising mammograms on the counter. “You can go ahead and sign in. You’re a new patient, aren’t you?” She grabbed a second clipboard from a side shelf. “I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork regarding insurance, contact information, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I don’t have an appointment this morning, but I do need to speak to the doctor for a few minutes.”

“Are you having problems? Experiencing discomfort?” Nita raised the pen.

“No, I need to talk to her regarding two of her former patients.” Angel displayed her credentials. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Nita frowned, put down the second clipboard. “Let me go ask if she can see you. Now would be a good time, since it looks as though our eight o’clock is going to be late.” She gestured to the empty waiting room. “I’ll be right back.”

Angel waited at the window, while Nita retreated down the hall and a second woman entered. She smiled at Angel, then booted up her computer. “Do you need help?”

“Just need to ask Dr. Weatherly a couple of questions.” Angel nodded toward the hallway Nita had entered. “I believe Nita’s talking to her now.” Might as well get on a first name basis with the nurses. Familiarity encourages conversation, and conversation equates to information. Angel needed all the information she could get.

“Okay.” She opened a side drawer in her desk and dropped her purse inside, then yawned. “Definitely need coffee.”

“Oh Mandy, if you’re getting some, will you bring me a cup?” Nita re-entered the tiny reception room they shared.

Mandy smirked. “Sure, but the next cup is on you.” She looked at Angel. “Want a cup? We have decaffeinated, if you’re expecting.”

Expecting? Angel fought the urge to laugh. Searching for serial killers didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships, let alone a pregnancy. And her brief infatuation with Agent Stanley Carlton had last less than a week. “I’ve already had some this morning. Thanks.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back, Nita.” Mandy headed out to get the coffee.

“Doctor Weatherly said she’ll see you now.” Nita dropped some files on her desk, then moved back to the side door to let Angel in. “Last door on the right.”