yet most of the men seemed oblivious to the fact. John Tucker, however, gave the profiler a look that would melt steel.
Angel didn’t seem to care.
Lexie’s chest swelled with admiration.
In her yellow leather jacket, tight blue jeans and Timberland boots, the young woman with the long blonde ponytail didn’t fit the “guys in black suits” image Lexie had always associated with the FBI. But regardless of her attire, her sex, or her beauty, Angel Jackson composed one tough female, intent on finding a killer.
Lexie had every intention of helping her accomplish that goal. Since she had also met some of these men for the first time today, Lexie jotted notes during their introductions.
After each task force member finished his spiel, Angel asked him the same series of questions. In a normal meeting, no one would’ve thought much of her queries; they’d have seemed commonplace in a getting-better-acquainted discussion. In this room, and in the midst of this investigation, they took on a new meaning.
“How long have you lived in Macon?”
“Are you married? Divorced? Single?”
And if they’d been married, Angel jumped right into, “When did you marry? Any children?”
Lexie wrote each detail, and the manner each man responded, when he realized he was under Angel’s meticulous scrutiny.
Captain Ed Pierce scowled about providing the information, but quoted his wedding date, 6-13-86 as though captured by terrorists and providing name, rank and serial number, then he added they had no children and hadn’t wanted any anyway. “You can’t be a cop without seeing the evil out there, and I wasn’t about to bring another kid into it.”
“And how long have you lived in Macon?”
“Moved here in ’92. Before that, I was on the force in Valdosta.”
The corners of Angel Jackson’s mouth dipped for a brief second, but then she nodded and moved on.
Lou Marker stated he’d been born and raised in Macon, quoted his wedding date, pulled a photo from his wallet to show Angel his new grandbaby and noted his twenty-fifth anniversary would occur next month.
Acknowledging his turn, Ryan Sims shifted in his seat. “I’ve lived here forever, got married in 1985, divorced in ’92. No kids.”
Angel opened her mouth as if she were going to ask more, but then nodded at Sims and moved to Zed. Zed coughed and sputtered through a ten minute tribute to his “dear sweet Ruthie” and elaborated on how their thirty-two years together weren’t enough.
Although Lieutenant Sims looked as though he wanted to put a hand over the older man’s mouth to shut him up, he didn’t. No one did. And Lexie was glad no one stopped him from expressing affection toward his wife. At the end of his monologue, he withdrew a white handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
Next in line, Lexie gathered her courage then followed their lead. “I moved to Macon eight months ago from Atlanta. I’m an investigative news correspondent at WGXA and hope to inform the city as to what they should watch for regarding the Sunrise Killer.” She paused, then added, “And I plan to air the story informing the world that he’s been caught.”
Angel nodded, and Lexie expected her to move on to the last person in the room, John Tucker, but the profiler didn’t let her off the hook.
“And are you married? Divorced? Single? Have any children?”
Lexie blinked. Angel knew the answers to all of the above. However, the men at the table weren’t aware of that, and she’d had to ask, to maintain consistency. Lexie should’ve anticipated the questions.
“Divorced. And I have a son attending college at the University of Georgia.”
“Shoot, you ain’t old enough to have a kid that age.” Zed Naylor tilted his head and tried to pinpoint her age.
“I married young.” Though answering Zed, she looked at Angel. “And I had my son at nineteen.”
Angel gave her a tender smile then drew everyone’s attention to the man on
Angel didn’t seem to care.
Lexie’s chest swelled with admiration.
In her yellow leather jacket, tight blue jeans and Timberland boots, the young woman with the long blonde ponytail didn’t fit the “guys in black suits” image Lexie had always associated with the FBI. But regardless of her attire, her sex, or her beauty, Angel Jackson composed one tough female, intent on finding a killer.
Lexie had every intention of helping her accomplish that goal. Since she had also met some of these men for the first time today, Lexie jotted notes during their introductions.
After each task force member finished his spiel, Angel asked him the same series of questions. In a normal meeting, no one would’ve thought much of her queries; they’d have seemed commonplace in a getting-better-acquainted discussion. In this room, and in the midst of this investigation, they took on a new meaning.
“How long have you lived in Macon?”
“Are you married? Divorced? Single?”
And if they’d been married, Angel jumped right into, “When did you marry? Any children?”
Lexie wrote each detail, and the manner each man responded, when he realized he was under Angel’s meticulous scrutiny.
Captain Ed Pierce scowled about providing the information, but quoted his wedding date, 6-13-86 as though captured by terrorists and providing name, rank and serial number, then he added they had no children and hadn’t wanted any anyway. “You can’t be a cop without seeing the evil out there, and I wasn’t about to bring another kid into it.”
“And how long have you lived in Macon?”
“Moved here in ’92. Before that, I was on the force in Valdosta.”
The corners of Angel Jackson’s mouth dipped for a brief second, but then she nodded and moved on.
Lou Marker stated he’d been born and raised in Macon, quoted his wedding date, pulled a photo from his wallet to show Angel his new grandbaby and noted his twenty-fifth anniversary would occur next month.
Acknowledging his turn, Ryan Sims shifted in his seat. “I’ve lived here forever, got married in 1985, divorced in ’92. No kids.”
Angel opened her mouth as if she were going to ask more, but then nodded at Sims and moved to Zed. Zed coughed and sputtered through a ten minute tribute to his “dear sweet Ruthie” and elaborated on how their thirty-two years together weren’t enough.
Although Lieutenant Sims looked as though he wanted to put a hand over the older man’s mouth to shut him up, he didn’t. No one did. And Lexie was glad no one stopped him from expressing affection toward his wife. At the end of his monologue, he withdrew a white handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
Next in line, Lexie gathered her courage then followed their lead. “I moved to Macon eight months ago from Atlanta. I’m an investigative news correspondent at WGXA and hope to inform the city as to what they should watch for regarding the Sunrise Killer.” She paused, then added, “And I plan to air the story informing the world that he’s been caught.”
Angel nodded, and Lexie expected her to move on to the last person in the room, John Tucker, but the profiler didn’t let her off the hook.
“And are you married? Divorced? Single? Have any children?”
Lexie blinked. Angel knew the answers to all of the above. However, the men at the table weren’t aware of that, and she’d had to ask, to maintain consistency. Lexie should’ve anticipated the questions.
“Divorced. And I have a son attending college at the University of Georgia.”
“Shoot, you ain’t old enough to have a kid that age.” Zed Naylor tilted his head and tried to pinpoint her age.
“I married young.” Though answering Zed, she looked at Angel. “And I had my son at nineteen.”
Angel gave her a tender smile then drew everyone’s attention to the man on
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