The Profiler (21 page)

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.”

“We worry about you, Clayton. The things we’ve been hearing on the news—it sounds scary. We both know how serious you take your job. You’re not responsible for this madman, you know.”

Clayton closed his eyes, grimacing as he rubbed at the spot across his forehead where the headache had become more persistent. “I know, Janet. I know and I appreciate your saying so. But I’m here to find him. People are relying on me. That’s why I’m here. To find him.”

Janet sighed on the other end of the phone, but remained silent. Clayton was grateful she didn’t try and argue with him. She knew better than that.

“Anyway,” he added with forced cheerfulness. “Say hello to Olivia for me when she gets home. Tell her I’ll Skype her tonight.”

“Of course, Clayton. You take care, you hear?”

“Yes, Janet. And thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Clayton ended the call and slipped the phone back into his shirt pocket. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and headed toward his desk. He needed to go over everything again. Every scrap of evidence they had. There wasn’t much, and he had to do it.

The pressure of responsibility sat surely and squarely on his shoulders, no matter what Janet said. He’d been called in to put together a profile of the monster they hunted—a profile that would lead to the killer’s exposure. So far, he’d failed everyone.

He glanced across at Ellie’s still-vacant desk and his thoughts went back to the anger and desolation that had suffused her features just before she’d stormed out. That had to be more than just a reaction to the child’s death.

She was a professional, a cop of some years’ experience. As tragic as the toddler’s drowning had been, it hadn’t warranted the utter devastation he’d caught in her unguarded eyes.

It had been personal. Way too personal. And he had no chance in hell of prying it out of her.

The door to the squad room swung open and Clayton looked up in surprise as Ellie walked back in, her face unreadable. She tugged off her coat and headed for the locker room.

* * *

Ellie closed the bathroom door behind her. Catching a glimpse of herself in the tarnished mirror that hung above the solitary sink, she sighed and ran her fingers through her windblown hair in a vain attempt to regain some semblance of order. The riotous curls defied her, springing back as quickly as she could smooth them down.

With a sigh, she gave up. Turning on the tap, she bent over the sink and splashed cool water onto her face before patting it dry with paper towel. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and cringed.

Her eyes were huge in her pale face. Pain stared back at her, dark…fathomless. Memories buffeted her consciousness, but she refused to give them access. She was at work, surrounded by colleagues—people who didn’t know about her son. She couldn’t afford to break down, to give the memories free reign. If she did, she’d splinter into a thousand pieces and she’d never be able to put them back together again.

If her colleagues found out she’d be an object of pity, of whispered conversations, of sick curiosity. Not again. She couldn’t go through that again.

Determination surged through her and she riffled in her handbag for a brush. With vicious strokes, she dragged the bristles through her hair, unwilling to stop until it had been returned to an almost-normal state. A quick slash of rouge across both cheeks added vital color. She finished with her usual plum-colored lipstick.

Stepping back, she surveyed the results and decided she’d pass muster from the casual observer. Only people who knew her well would see the shadows of darkness beneath her veneer.

It would have to do.

Tossing her handbag back into her locker, she shut the door and made her way back to the squad room. Her gaze glanced off Clayton. He sat at his desk, surrounded by paperwork, a frown darkening his features.

She owed him an apology.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped beside his desk and waited for him to look up. When he did, she almost reeled back from the anger in his eyes.

Misunderstanding its cause, she stumbled over her words. “Clayton, I’m… I’m sorry. I was such a bitch. I-I don’t know why I yelled at you like that. It wasn’t your fault. I know that.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

The anger in his gaze slowly faded and his shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh.

“It’s all right, Ellie. I’m not mad at you. I wish you’d tell me what happened to make you so upset, but it’s not you I’m angry at. It’s me.”

She gaped in surprise. “You? Why would you be mad at yourself? I was the one behaving like an immature brat. You were only trying to be nice. You’re always trying to be nice.” She shrugged. “It irks me sometimes.”

A tiny grin tugged at the corner of his bottom lip.

Her heart leaped in response.

“Really? Why would being nice irk you?”

“I don’t know. As I said, I can be a bitch. It’s not you; it’s me. And don’t go trying to change the subject. You haven’t answered my question. Why would you be mad at yourself, Clayton?”

Shadows flitted across the blue of his irises, deepening them to cobalt.

“I was brought up here to find a killer and I haven’t. He’s still on the loose. Will probably strike again. May have already struck again. And what have I done to stop him? Nothing. Zilch. Zero. If any other women lose their lives to this maniac, it will be on my head.”

“No!” The word was wrenched from her with a surge of anger. “Don’t be ridiculous. How could you even think such a thing? We’re a team. You’re part of a
team
. No one expects you to solve this on your own. Not a single person on this taskforce expects that of you. Don’t you dare go putting that kind of pressure on yourself. How can you hope to function with a clear head when you’re filling it with that kind of bullshit?”

Her breath came fast. Her cheeks were hot. She looked at Clayton and saw the tiny grin had morphed into a full-blown smile and gratitude and a flash of admiration had already replaced the shadows.

“You sure do have a way with words, Ellie. I’ll give you that.”

She returned his grin. “So, are we friends again?”

He stared at her. His gaze wandered over her face and then lower, to pause on her bottom lip. When he met her gaze again, his eyes had darkened with unfathomable emotion. “It’s a start.”

Ellie blushed from the intensity in his eyes. Her mouth went dry and all of a sudden, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I—um…”

“Clayton, Ellie. I’m glad you’re both here. I just got off the phone to Samantha Wolfe. She called as soon as she heard. The lab… They’ve found some fingerprints.”

* * *

Ellie raised her voice so that Clayton could hear her over the chatter of nearby patrons who were also enjoying an after-work drink at the Hilton’s Marble Bar in the heart of Sydney.

“After all the excitement, I didn’t even find out where the fingerprints were found?” she said and leaned over to take a sip of her iced water.

Clayton smiled and nodded toward her glass. “Glad to see you don’t always hit the hard stuff.”

Heat stole up her cheeks. She offered an embarrassed grin. “Every time I think of that night, I cringe.”

“Don’t.” His voice lowered. “I had a good time. It was nice to know you felt comfortable enough to let your guard down.”

His gaze filled with warmth and she looked away. A pulse throbbed in her neck and the room suddenly felt overheated.

After driving into the city from Penrith, she’d pulled up outside his hotel, fully intending to wish him a quick farewell and then head to her unit in Darling Harbour. Her only thought had been to kick off her heels, open a bottle of merlot and put the day behind her, but he’d turned to her as soon as she’d pulled up at the curb and had issued the invitation.

Despite some reservations, she’d eventually succumbed to the pleading in his eyes and had agreed to go with him for a drink—a celebratory drink after their first real break in the case. With criminals being fingerprinted for eons, there was a much higher likelihood they’d find a match than with the relatively recent DNA database.

Notwithstanding the shitty start to the day, they’d managed to end it on a high. An almost perfect set of fingerprints. She should have felt elated. She would have felt elated, if she wasn’t so damn nervous.

He cleared his throat. “To answer your question, it was the good old trash bag. The one they found part of Angelina Caruso wrapped in.” He grimaced. “The one they overlooked.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”