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Lexie McCain was every ounce a female. As if the loose blonde curls framing big green eyes and pale pink lips didn’t announce the fact to the world.
    John cleared his throat. Now wasn’t the time for observing females. “I didn’t do you any favors, Ms. McCain. I requested you because you’re the best.”
    She smiled, a big bright Julia Roberts smile that claimed her face. “You’re right. I am the best.”
    He laughed at that, grateful for her ability to provide him that luxury today. The calendar might declare the day Good Friday, but before she stepped through his door, there hadn’t been much good about it. However, even though Lexie McCain was a welcome relief from the bulky men who would soon fill up the conference room as part of the task force, he hadn’t requested her for visual appeal.
    She placed her thin leather briefcase on the floor beside her chair then withdrew an overstuffed file from its center. “I brought my notes. After Cami Talton's body was found, I gathered everything I could find on the past murders.” She opened the file, but paused and looked at him. “You haven’t learned anything else about her killer, have you?”
    “Nothing. Everyone who knew the woman has an alibi, and all indications point to the Sunrise Killer.”
    She nodded, and her mouth dipped at both ends. “But we’ll find him. And stop him.”
    “That’s right, we will.” He indicated her file of information. “However, I do need to add some details for you before the remainder of the group meets. As you know, the task force has worked together on the two previous murder series.”
    “In 1999 and 2006.”
    He nodded. “Although they weren’t identified as a task force in ‘99, the same officers were all involved and know the killer’s history. During those times, we didn’t have a reporter onboard, although I can see why the FBI and the District Attorney believe you’ll help us get the word out.”
    “I agree.” She straightened the papers in her file. “And I’ve gathered every scrap of information I could find from the past killings. What details am I missing that the rest of the group has?” Her throat pulsed as she swallowed and she straightened in her chair. Although she tried not to seem anxious, Lexie McCain wanted to know everything about the case. Good. If they were going to catch this madman, she’d prove a key factor in the equation.
    “I’ll give you the current info sheets along with everyone else at our meeting. However, I needed to ask you something before the remainder of the group arrives.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “The fourth victim from 1999,” he said and watched her thumb through her notes.
    “Abigail,” she paused, “Tucker.”
    “My wife.”
    She nodded, her awareness evident in those big green eyes.
    “You’ve seen the profiler’s statement released in 1999.”
    “I did.” She peered at Abby’s photo on the front page of the Telegraph. “And that’s the part that didn’t fit you. He thought the first victim would have been someone the killer knew. You never met Molly Taylor, the first victim.”
    “When Abby and I separated, and then she became one of the killer’s victims, Carlton, the profiler, set his sights on me. In his mind, regardless of my non-relationship with the initial victim, the remainder of the profile had been covered, and her death sealed my fate as their best fit.”
    “I’m sorry.” The concern in her voice, in her eyes, made his throat tighten. She’d made the statement before, during that interview last year. He’d never learned how to respond to the appropriate statement concerning his loss, so he remained silent. But most stopped with “I’m sorry.” Lexie McCain didn’t. “I’m sorry about your wife...and your baby.”
    John’s pulse quickened, gut tightened. He swallowed through the physical response and shrugged. And he praised God for the fact that Ms. McCain didn’t know the baby wasn’t his. His main purpose for