Profiled by Renee Andrews Read Free Book Online

all the correct conclusions. Everyone knew he missed the mark when he pegged the detective with the foolproof alibi. But Stan had been too young, too ready, too eager. Angel wouldn’t make the same mistake. She had no doubt Carlton’s error cost him his case. Her case now.
    True, Carlton had been conducting an investigation in Miami when Cami Talton’s body had been found, but the guys at the top knew they were dealing with the Sunrise Killer. And they’d left Carlton in southern Florida.
    That told Angel plenty. They didn’t trust Stanley to get the job done. He tried twice, and both times he failed. Angel’s track record, on the other hand, neared ninety percent. And she wouldn’t let her numbers fall now, not with this killer, the one she wanted more than any other.
    “Therefore,” Stan’s voice continued on the CD, “the rationale for Detective John Tucker as the key murder suspect is due to his direct correlation to the profile detailed earlier and outlined within the case files. Unfortunately, his alibi has been authenticated, so that Detective Tucker could not have committed the crime, at least not in regards to the murder of Abigail Tucker.”
    “Unfortunately? Stan, what did the guy do to you to make you so certain he killed his wife? You sound like you hoped he did it.” Merely a month ago, Angel had fallen prey to the charm of Stan Carlton and had briefly thought she’d fallen for her handsome fellow profiler. Then she’d thought better of the notion and broken ties, telling him they shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. He’d been fine with the break, and then he’d left for Miami. And Angel got the assignment he’d wanted, right here, in Macon. She ejected the CD as she crossed the Macon city limits sign at three minutes past six, while her windshield wipers beat a staccato rhythm against the glass. She never arrived late for anything, but she also never sped in the rain. Too many post-accident photos engrained in her memory kept her from battling the elements for a few extra seconds.
    Thick, gray clouds cloaked the city, making it much darker than she’d expect at this time of day in March. Dark and ominous and foreboding, they were in direct association with the case she’d come to conquer, but she would conquer it. And conquer him.
    “Welcome to Macon,” she whispered, “Ninety-one thousand residents and no telling how many are blonde, single and pregnant. Perfect victims for a hungry killer with a unique appetite.”
    She found the police station, parked her black SUV in a visitor’s spot and eyed the building, while one part of Stanley’s theory kept ringing through her thoughts, the main part they agreed on. The killer would want to be close. Close to the information. Close to the case. Close to, if not part of, the task force.
    “If even half of Stan’s theory is correct, there’s a good chance I’m about to meet the man who killed my mother.” She dropped Carlton’s CDs in her briefcase and gathered her thoughts, while waiting for the rain to slack off.
    Within seconds, the drizzle converted to mist, and FBI Profiler Angel Jackson climbed out of her vehicle and headed inside. Time to meet the good guys. And maybe, the monster.
    Heaven help her if she couldn’t tell the difference.
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
    Angel’s boots slapped a shallow puddle as she darted toward the building. At least she hadn’t worn open-toed sandals. Although she’d been on her own for the past ten of her twenty-eight years, she still followed her aunt’s rules of fashion etiquette. No exposed toes, white pants, or pink lipstick prior to Easter or after Labor Day.
    Two more days until open toes. Which also meant two more days until the Sunrise Killer attempted another strike.
    A large dark-skinned woman, her hair pulled back so tightly her eyes slanted and an exaggerated hairpiece bobbing atop her round face, waited in the entry of the police station and opened the door for Angel. The wind