The Profiler

Whatever got them to Evelyn the fastest.

But where was she? Kyle peered through the crowd, assessing. Residents fleeing the pepper spray, fighting with the cops, pushing a handcuffed man toward a truck. Two cops down by a patrol car. Two more standing back-to-back, holding shields to protect themselves as the crowd jostled them. The police chief ducking as a resident threw a punch. And there, by the side of the station... Kyle squinted. Was that Evelyn?

The crowd shifted and, oh, shit, it was. She was down, and in real danger of being trampled.

He had to get to her now. Kyle jumped down next to Gabe and pointed. “She’s over there.”

“Let’s go.”

They’d been partners for three years, so he and Gabe didn’t need to talk. They spent hundreds of hours each year training with live rounds, when knowing exactly where your partner was meant the difference between a successful training exercise and a real death.

They’d also been friends for three years, so Gabe knew how deep his feelings for Evelyn ran, how complicated they’d become. Gabe would understand that, right now, he was feeling pretty damn desperate.

Kyle waded into the crowd, sticking to the side, where he’d encounter less resistance. Gabe tracked along beside him, far enough away to allow room to maneuver, but close enough to provide assistance.

Kyle felt his eyelids swelling as he skirted the back of the cop car, close to where the pepper spray must have been dispersed. Residents—a few women but mostly men—rushed past him, heading in both directions, not seeming to know whether to flee or fight. Someone took a swing at him, and Kyle sidestepped it, twisting the man around and down onto the trunk of the squad car without breaking stride.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Gabe dodge a pair of men running full out for the street.

The crowd was dangerous, but it was relatively small. And he and Gabe had helped break up a prison riot last summer, so in comparison this was a piece of cake. At least here no one was trying to shank him.

As he closed in on Evelyn’s position, he saw her roll away from a guy in a suit who’d stepped back to kick her.

Kyle put on a burst of speed and tackled the man before he could try again, throwing him off to the side.

Gabe came up beside him as Kyle yanked Evelyn up and over his shoulder. He felt a surge of relief the second he had her off the ground where he could protect her.

He heard more cars coming in, sirens blaring, as he rushed for the station door. The crowd scattered, moving faster; most of them had obviously abandoned thoughts of fighting.

But the man Kyle had tossed aside had gotten to his feet—Kyle hadn’t thrown him hard enough to knock him out, hadn’t wanted him to get trampled by the crowd. And instead of running away, he was coming back for more, fury on his face and a police baton in his hand, up and ready to swing.

Kyle just kept going, stepping over a bullhorn, and taking Evelyn farther away from the rushing man. Gabe moved in front of them fast, as Kyle had known he would, using the man’s own momentum to push him against the brick of the station wall. Instead of forcing him onto the ground, Gabe twisted his arm behind his back, making him drop the baton, then pushed him inside the station alongside Kyle.

Kyle lowered Evelyn off his shoulder, steadying her as she swayed. He pushed her into a chair as she pressed a hand to a bump swelling her forehead. Tilting her head back to check her pupils, Kyle stared into her eyes. They were clear, the pupils normal-size and tracking. She looked a little dazed, but she was okay. Damn, when he’d seen her on the ground, he’d wanted to forget strategy and just plow straight through the center of the crowd.

He glanced back at Gabe. His partner had the man he’d brought inside cuffed to a metal bar on the station wall. When he caught Kyle’s gaze, he nodded toward the door.

“Stay here,” Kyle told Evelyn. “I’ll be right back.” Then he followed Gabe outside.

The mob was pretty much under control now. Most of the residents were long gone. A few were on the ground, being cuffed by the additional officers and FBI agents who’d arrived. The police chief was helping the cops near the squad car to their feet. A gruff-looking veteran officer set down his shield and grabbed a Glock from the ground, tucking it beside his own weapon.

“Where’s the profiler?” the veteran cop asked, scanning the ground as if he’d seen her go down.

“She’s in the station,” Gabe said. “She’s okay.”

The cop scowled. “She shouldn’t have been out here. She shouldn’t be here at all.” He spun away from them and handed the weapon he’d picked up to one of the newbies by the squad car.

Kyle looked at Gabe and pointed back to the station, and his partner followed him inside.

Evelyn got to her feet as they came in the door. The bump on her forehead was nasty and her eyelids were almost swollen shut from the pepper spray. Her suit was torn at the knee and shoulder, and from the way she hobbled when she walked toward them, he guessed a heel had come off her shoe.

But it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked. “I heard a gunshot.”

“It didn’t look like anyone was shot,” Gabe said.

“Good.” Evelyn bent down and took her shoes off, then peered up at them. “What are you guys doing here?”

“What do you think?” Kyle asked, a little more harshly than he’d intended. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t Evelyn’s fault things had gotten dangerous. And it wasn’t her fault his emotions took over wherever she was concerned.

He didn’t quite know how it had happened. But sometime between a year ago, when he’d first seen her in the BAU office, and now, everything had changed. She’d gone from the newbie agent he couldn’t resist teasing to the woman he flat-out couldn’t resist.

“We heard what went down. I was worried you were in the middle of it.”

She frowned back at him, but then seemed to realize what she was doing, and said, “Thanks for the help. It got nasty out there fast.”

“Is the station going to need reinforcements?” Gabe asked as cops streamed back inside, some hauling prisoners.

Evelyn shook her head, then put her fingers gingerly against the bump on her forehead. “I don’t think so. They just didn’t expect this reaction to bringing in Brittany’s father.”

“What a fucking mess,” the veteran cop with the shield contributed as he came in the door hauling a cuffed and bleeding resident.

“Is anyone hurt, Jack?” Evelyn asked as Gabe signaled a free cop and swapped the cuffs on the prisoner he’d brought inside.

“Nothing serious.” Jack pushed the resident into a chair. “Stay there,” he told the man, then turned his gaze on Evelyn. “What the hell were you doing out there? Inciting them with the bullhorn? Are you crazy?”

Kyle forced back a response, because he knew it would piss Evelyn off to have anyone stand up for her. It always did.

“I was trying to calm them down, remind them what we all need to be focused on,” Evelyn replied, a lot more calmly than Kyle had expected.

Jack snorted. “Yeah, that worked well.”

Kyle couldn’t stay silent any longer, but he tried to keep his tone nonconfrontational. “The problem wasn’t trying to talk the crowd down. The problem was not planning better for that arrest.” He should know. He’d helped execute arrests on enough high-profile targets.

Jack shot him a look, then turned pointedly to Evelyn. “How do you know those guys? Who are they? More feds?”

Instead of answering Jack, she asked Kyle, “Can you give me a ride back to the hotel?”

“You’re just going to leave now?” Jack cut in.

What was this guy’s problem? Kyle stepped closer, angling into Jack’s line of sight with the kind of warning glare he liked to use on uncooperative targets.

“Let me grab a file, okay?” Evelyn raced off as though she hoped her disappearance would make Jack lose interest.

But Jack just moved forward, giving Kyle his own cop stare.

“You might want to watch your prisoner,” Gabe said mildly as Jack got in Kyle’s face.

“Shit!” Jack took after the bleeding resident he’d brought in a minute before, who was hobbling for the door.

Then Evelyn was back, and Kyle ushered her out the door toward Gabe’s car. “What’s with that guy?”

“Apparently he’s held a grudge for eighteen years.”

Kyle steered her around the broken glass from the patrol car headlights since she wasn’t wearing shoes. “He had a grudge against a twelve-year-old?”

Gabe looked questioningly between them as Evelyn shrugged. Evelyn had told Kyle about her past, but Gabe didn’t know what this case meant to her, or her history here.

Kyle had tried to respect her privacy and keep it to himself, but if she was in danger—and with a town that fast to mob, she definitely could be—he’d have to tell Gabe soon.

And he really didn’t like the atmosphere in the police station, either. There was definitely something off about Jack.

To hell with sleep. When he got back to the hotel, he was going to check into the guy’s history. “What’s his full name?”

“Jack Bullock,” Evelyn answered. Then she seemed to realize why he’d asked, and added, “I think it’s just this case. He was on it eighteen years ago and couldn’t solve it then. It’s probably haunted him ever since.”

Like it had haunted her.

She didn’t have to say it; the words were written all over her face.

But considering why she was here, she was handling it a lot better than he’d expected. Maybe she was still too numb from learning that her best friend’s abductor was back to really take in what was happening, or maybe she was just burying it all.

Either way, the calm wasn’t likely to last long.

* * *

Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed in her hotel room, a police file on her lap. She needed to remove her dirty, torn clothes and take a shower. She needed some ice for her forehead. But she couldn’t think about any of it until she looked in the file.

Inside was the original FBI profile of the Nursery Rhyme Killer.

She hadn’t reviewed it when she wrote her own, because that could have subconsciously influenced her analysis. Now that she’d given her independent profile, it was time to look at everything else—from the original suspects to the original profile.

Since she’d profiled the abductor as being the same man from all those years ago and not a copycat, now was the moment of truth.

Did her profile match the one prepared eighteen years ago?

Back then, when Cassie had gone missing, an FBI profiler had come to Rose Bay. Evelyn had seen him at the police station once, confident and a head taller than most of the cops. She’d been leaving after another round of questioning from Jack Bullock. She’d seen the agent studying the volunteers as she’d walked at the rear of the search parties with her grandparents. When she’d spotted him leaving the Byerses’ house, she’d run over and demanded to know who he was and when he was going to find Cassie.

He’d leaned down to her level and actually shook her hand. He’d been aware of who she was, of course, but back then she hadn’t known why. Then he’d told her his name and explained what he did for the FBI.

And that conversation had changed the entire direction of her life.

She’d never seen Philip Havok again. But she could still remember the exact shade of his sharp blue eyes, the dark gray of his suit, the quiet confidence in his voice. He was the picture she’d had in her head all the years since, the idea of what she wanted to be. A profiler. Someone who could bring girls like Cassie back home.

She’d looked him up when she’d been accepted to the Academy, wondering if he was still in profiling, and discovered he’d retired the year before. He’d spent nearly twenty-five years in the Bureau—meaning, he’d been granted an exception to the FBI’s mandatory retirement. More than half of that time had been spent profiling serial predators. Now it was her turn.

Evelyn opened the file. The basic description was right at the top: “white male, between the ages of twenty and thirty, works a job with flexible hours.” Add eighteen years and that matched what she’d profiled.

She kept reading. “Unclear whether he is single, but if married, the relationship is controlling. Could have his own child, and if so, likely to be the same age as the victims.”

Evelyn paused, realizing she hadn’t considered every angle about kids. She’d thought about them as a reason the perp could have started the abductions—because he’d lost a child that age. And she’d thought of them as a reason he could have stopped the abductions—because he had an easy victim at home who had reached the age he wanted. But she hadn’t considered the other possibility. That he might be abducting other children so he’d stay away from his own.

Evelyn closed her eyes, feeling gingerly around the tender skin on her forehead where she’d bumped it. An image of Cassie filled her mind, vibrant, laughing and full of life. What had happened to her after he’d ripped Cassie away?

Evelyn pushed back the sleeves on her suit, opened her eyes and kept reading. When she finished, she closed the file and stared blankly at the bare hotel walls.

Philip had come to the same conclusions she had. Possible molester, possible delusions of being a “savior.”

But how the hell did she figure out which one? And how the hell was she going to catch him before Brittany ran out of time?

* * *

There was just one man from the original list of suspects who hadn’t been cleared or moved out of state in the past eighteen years. And he didn’t match the profile in a very key way.

Still, with Walter Wiggins not talking, he was the best lead Evelyn had. She’d checked with Carly and discovered he was on their list for follow-up, but it hadn’t happened yet, because he wasn’t a high priority. Then she’d checked with Tomas and learned that the only officer not running down other leads was his head detective, Jack Bullock.

So, the two of them were driving to the nearby town of Treighton. They’d been on the road for fifteen minutes, but Jack had kept up a steady stream of questions that gave no sign of ending.

“If you think Darnell Conway is worth investigating, does that mean we should just disregard your entire profile?” Jack kept his tone casual, his hands loose on the wheel of his police vehicle. But the question fairly screamed his resentment.

Evelyn didn’t even glance his way. “You read the Charlotte Novak file, right? You know why I want to talk to him.”

“So, the profile...”

“Can have details that are off. The thing is to focus on the profile as a whole, not fixate on a particular point.”

“That’s a pretty huge point.”

Evelyn shifted in her seat to face him. “The murder of his girlfriend’s daughter was never solved. But after the investigation went cold, Darnell and his girlfriend left the state and came here. Do you know how old Charlotte would’ve been eighteen years ago, at the time of the first abduction, if she’d lived?”

Jack’s mocking expression slipped off. “You’re kidding.”

“She would’ve been twelve that summer. Same as the Nursery Rhyme Killer’s original three victims.”

“So, then why the hell aren’t those other FBI agents—the ones who specialize in this—chasing this guy down with everything they’ve got?”

Evelyn shrugged. “He was never arrested for that crime. He was a suspect, but obviously the cops didn’t have enough on him to make a case. It’s possible he didn’t do it. He’s got no other criminal history. And that case is the only reason he showed up on the list of suspects eighteen years ago. Which was probably a lucky fluke, since he was never charged.”

“That’s some fluke. How did they find out?”

“He was part of the search parties back then. The profiler had a weird feeling about him and did some digging. And I trust the profiler’s gut on this. I just want to feel Darnell out, see how he responds to my questions.”

“What if he’s the perp? You said not to get too close to Wiggins so we wouldn’t scare him into killing Brittany if he’s got her. Isn’t the same true here?”

Evelyn leaned her head back against the headrest, still tired from the mob scene that afternoon. She glanced at her watch, realizing it had now been a full twenty-four hours since Brittany was grabbed.

She closed her eyes, trying not to dwell on something she couldn’t change, but she could hear it in her voice when she told Jack, “If Darnell did kill his girlfriend’s daughter, it was within a few hours. Walter is different. His MO was to get his victims comfortable with him first. He wanted to believe they were willing participants. That’s part of his fantasy.”

“Okay, but just like Wiggins...”

“I know. Darnell Conway would probably be noticed on High Street. But I need to check. And there’s only so much I can tell from a copy of a cold case file. I need to see Darnell’s face when I ask him about it.”

Jack gave her a pensive glance as he drove over the bridge separating Rose Bay from Treighton. Fifty feet below them, the water looked calm in the fading light. Peaceful.

That instantly transported her back to when she was ten and she’d first come to live in Rose Bay. Her grandpa’s car had been too warm as they drove over the bridge in the middle of the night. She’d kept quiet, knowing the heat was for her—wearing a pair of threadbare, tattered pajamas and no shoes. Her grandpa had tried so hard not to let her see his anger, his sadness, his guilt.

His weathered hand had folded around hers as they drove, as he’d promised her she’d never have to go back. She was going to live with him and Grandma from now on and they would take care of her. They would protect her.

She’d never been more sheltered than her first two years with her grandparents. But then Cassie had disappeared. And the world had seemed to slide out from under her again.

“...don’t you think?”

“What?”

Jack sent her a perturbed look and she saw that he was on his cell phone.

“Well, maybe you should try to get the dad to let you in the house now.” A pause. “He refused? You think he has something to hide?”

“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked.

“Okay. Fine. Bye.” When he hung up, Jack told her, “Wiggins woke up. He’s in pretty bad shape, though, so they’re keeping him in the hospital. Apparently he’s not too happy about it, but he doesn’t want to press charges against Brittany’s dad. Which is good. Shit like that—protecting the perverts and criminals—is not why I became a cop.”

“So Walter’s dad won’t let police search the house?”

“You got it. You think he knows the girl is there?”

Evelyn shook her head. “I doubt it. I know he wants to protect his son, but that’s taking it pretty far. I’ve seen the families of pedophiles do their best to deny what their kid is, even when the proof is staring them in the face. But to be complicit in the abduction? You know his dad better than I do, but that seems like a stretch.”

Jack nodded. “True. Though his dad’s in bad health these days. I doubt he can walk down those basement stairs anymore. Maybe in his heart he knows she’s there, but just doesn’t want to believe it?”

Evelyn felt her lips twist downward. “Unfortunately, that’s a real possibility.”

When Jack’s hands clutched the wheel so hard the muscles in his arms bunched, Evelyn added, “But honestly, I still have a real problem seeing Walter being able to stalk and abduct a girl here. He’s got motive, sure, but means and opportunity?”

“Well, he’s at the top of my list,” Jack said as he pulled onto a dark street. “And frankly, a black guy like Darnell Conway on High Street would get noticed, too, especially eighteen years ago. Isn’t that why you profiled the killer as white?”

Evelyn didn’t answer as she gazed out the window at Darnell’s neighborhood. The houses were small and close together, the yards overgrown; beware of dog signs were posted everywhere. Every house was in need of a coat of paint, most needed new roofs and every yard could have benefitted from an attempt to landscape. The sun was setting, making it hard to see, but Evelyn would bet there wasn’t a single flower on the entire street. From the broken plastic kid’s slide in the front yard of one house to the car without wheels up on cinder blocks in the next, the whole street was depressing.

The house Jack pulled up to was the best of the bunch by far. Darnell Conway might not have planted a garden, but he’d at least mowed his lawn. As they walked up to the front porch, they discovered he definitely believed in security. Next to Darnell’s beware of dog sign was a security company sign; the lock on the door meant business, and all the shades were blackout-style.

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Seems like he’s got something in here he wants to keep locked tight.”

Evelyn nodded, frowning. “I noticed that.”

“And judging by the lack of barking, I’m thinking most of those dog signs are for show.”

“It is pretty silent,” Evelyn agreed, glancing around. The kind of neighborhood where no one saw anything.

“Well, let’s see what he has to say.” Jack lifted his hand to knock on the door, but before he could, they heard bolts sliding back.

Three bolts slid free before the door swung open to reveal Darnell Conway. Evelyn knew he was in his late forties, but he looked younger, with smooth dark skin and close-cropped hair. It was only his deep brown eyes that showed his age. And something about the anger lurking in the depths of those eyes made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.

Was he the Nursery Rhyme Killer? Had he taken Cassie eighteen years ago? Had he stalked Evelyn, intending to grab her, too?

Did he recognize her now? It was hard to tell, because Jack reached in his pocket and held up his police shield, drawing Darnell’s instant attention.

It had been twenty years since Darnell had first been investigated by police, when he found the body of his girlfriend’s daughter. But as soon as he saw Jack’s badge, hatred and fury raced across his features, so fast that if she’d blinked at the wrong time, she would have missed it.

Judging by the way Jack’s eyes darted to hers, he hadn’t blinked, either. “Mr. Conway, I’m Jack Bullock, Rose Bay PD.”

“What are you doing in Treighton?” Darnell asked, his voice as smooth and even as his expression.

Jack motioned to her. “This is Evelyn Baine, FBI.”

Darnell’s eyebrows twitched, and then his lips did the same. “FBI, huh? Anything I can help you with?”

If her name meant anything to him, she couldn’t tell. Damn it.

“Can we come in?” Jack asked.

From what little Evelyn could see of the house behind Darnell, she realized the inside was a hell of a lot nicer than the outside. Not just clean and tidy, but expensive furnishings. So, why live in this neighborhood?

Darnell’s gaze flicked to Jack, then to her. “No.”

“We’re investigating the disappearance of Brittany Douglas,” Evelyn told him.

“Never heard of her.”

Jack scoffed. “Her abduction has been all over the news.”

“I drove up the coast for a few days. Got back yesterday.”

“She was abducted yesterday.”

Darnell’s eyes, hard and shuttered, settled on Jack. “Like I said, never heard of her.”

“She’s twelve years old,” Evelyn said.

Darnell didn’t blink, just stared at her.

“That’s only two years older than your girlfriend’s daughter was when she was killed.”

Darnell’s expression shifted into fury. “Are you implying something, agent?”

“You found her, didn’t you?”

“So what? I wasn’t arrested twenty years ago and there’s a damn good reason. I didn’t kill Kiki’s kid. Leave me alone and get the hell off my property!”

He slammed the door so hard Evelyn took an instinctive step back.

“That went well,” Jack said dryly. But as they got back into the car, he asked, “You think he did it?”