PARALYZED AMBITION
 By AussieHottieMjM

DISCLAIMER
Bailey Malone, Rachel Burke, John Grant, George Fraley, and Grace Alvarez are characters owned by Cynthia Saunders, NBC Studios, and Kronish and Company. Phoebe Halliwell, Piper Halliwell, Paige Matthews, Leo Wyatt, and Darryl Morris are characters owned by Constance M. Burge, Paramount, and Brad Kern. I am in no way affiliated with their creator and owners. No infringement is intended.

RATING
This fic is rated T, suitable for teens, because it contains adult situations, violence, and the use of profanity.

SYNOPSIS
A murder in San Francisco is so violent and brutal that the San Francisco Police Department calls upon the Violent Crimes Task Force for help.

SETTING
This story is set in Profiler: Season Five. This story does not cover and/or include the plot of Joel Marks, Demian Canarez, and Rachel's imprisonment; it picks up as if it had never happened (although Danny is deceased). It is also set in Charmed: Season 8, in which Darryl Morris is still included with the show.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I began writing this story nearly two years ago. I wanted to finish a good majority of it before I started posting. I'll try to update around every ten days. Also, this story is meant to play out as a typical season one or two Profiler episode, which means that aside from the teaser at the beginning, the killer is not seen until the end of the story nears. In addition, the story is told from the Task Force's point of view, and therefore the Halliwells do not have scenes by themselves.

x x x

CHAPTER ONE

"Witchy wench," drawled a deep, hoarse voice as the dark figure it belonged to glided toward its prey. It drew a crooked blade out of what seemed to be nowhere, and began to move it ever-so-slowly toward the hysterical, shaken woman. "Don't you know you should not play with spells? They can be awfully dangerous," he growled.

He slithered forward, snake-like, the weapon at the ready; the murderous intent was so evident in his eyes that it was surprising the woman managed with her last breath to finish, "So mode it be."

x x x

The scorching San Francisco sun kept most onlookers only present for a short time. After all, the yellow Caution! tape kept them far from what they were interested in seeing, so there really was no point in letting the heat torture their sweaty, reddening bodies any further.

"There has been a murder," one brunet onlooker gossiped to a newly arrived neighbor. "Amber Cartier was stabbed fifteen times!"

The new onlooker gasped, and she shook her head despairingly. "Oh, poor Amber. My daughters will be so upset! This is supposed to be one of the safest neighborhoods that San Francisco has to offer! What kind of danger will this put my kids in? After such a disturbing event, Nancy, how will my kids feel safe playing outside in the back yard when their favorite babysitter is murdered inside her own home?"

The woman Nancy shook her head in mournful agreement. "My family will not feel safe coming in for July the Fourth. That much is certain!" She sighed deeply before adding, "How are you going to act by this, Rebecca?" Her neighbor cast an incomprehensive glance before Nancy clarified, "What are you going to do to keep your family safe?"

"I do not know," replied Rebecca truthfully. "It is so hard to feel safe these days."

Rebecca looked as if she would be heading back into her own house before she saw an impressive line of sparkling clean, black SUVs pull up outside the house. Two men and a woman stepped out of the first of three; the second one had four men; and it seemed as if the third was meant as a cache for supplies and evidence, since the only person occupying the vehicle was the driver.

"What do we have?" Bailey Malone asked an African-American cop, who seemed like he had been hit over the head by a two-by-four. The cop seemed to be mesmerized by one of Bailey's co-workers. When the man did not reply, Bailey cleared his throat.

"Oh, right," the man started. "Uh, Amber Cartier was stabbed fifteen times in the stomach. The murder weapon has not been found."

"Of course it hasn't," sighed the red-haired woman. "That would make things easier for us."

It was then that Bailey remembered his introductions. "Lieutenant Morris, these are Agents Grant and Burke," Bailey said as he gestured to the two individuals standing on either side of him. John put out his hand but did not miss Morris' antagonizing look before he took it. Then Rachel proceeded to shake the Lieutenant's hand.

The quartet entered the house while the other four men from the second car checked the perimeter. The room burst with activity, from camera noises as an officer photo-documented the scene to the usual speculation between officers. Lieutenant Morris directed the three's attention to a chalked outline of a body tainted with stains of crimson blood in a corner on the floor. The chalk was quite noticeable on the black-and-smoke-tiled kitchen floor. As the three agents began to inspect the outline, Lieutenant Morris turned away as he pulled out his cell phone.

John winced at the grungy smell of blood and spoiled what-must-have-been dinner. "Poor girl didn't even finish supper," John said remorsefully.

"Which of course is the first thing you notice," Rachel snarked playfully.

"For your information," John began matter-of-factly, "your phone call did not come early enough for me to get myself some breakfast."

"Hey, I was just forwarding from Bailey! Gripe at him," she said.

John smirked. "Strike two for you, Malone!"

"What was 'strike one'?" Bailey asked with a slightly whiney voice as he disconnected a phone call to George, asking the computer hacker to look for any information on the victim.

"Waking me up in the first place," John grinned.

"Oh please, John," Bailey played along. "We all know you were just dying to see my beautiful Italian face."

"Half-Italian," John said, before turning his attention to Rachel, who had been exploring the victim's kitchen. "What are you thinking about?"

Rachel half-turned before refocusing her attention at the table, "I do not think she was eating dinner when he attacked her. She had probably fixed herself this meal, ate a few bites, and turned her attention to whatever she had been doing previously." Rachel began to wander from the kitchen to the open walk-in pantry door. She cocked her head to the side. "Why would you leave the pantry door open if nothing is obstructing it?" she asked as she opened and closed the door a few times.

"Maybe she took a few bites and forgot, like, a spice or something. When she opened the door, maybe the killer was waiting inside. He chased her into the corner, trapping her," John offered.

"It's a good theory," Rachel replied. After she had closed the door again, she noticed an indention in the wall. "But here it looks as if the door flew open."

"So she was heading in that general direction when he flew out at her," John revised.

"Could be," Rachel said. Rachel had learned the hard way that she should not shoot down her co-workers' opinions, especially since they wanted to solve the team's cases just as badly as she herself did.

"I don't know, but this pantry is much more spacious than the one by the refrigerator over there," Bailey pointed.

"Why does one person need two pantries?" Rachel asked.

"You'd be surprised," John said with a grin.

Bailey cleared his throat, then, drawing both their attention and indicated the Lieutenant, accompanied by a brunet woman, heading their way. The Lieutenant looked disheveled while the woman looked enraged.

"You son of a bitch," accused the woman as she marched toward the three, her eyes burning into John's figure. The three looked quite taken aback as the woman continued, "How the hell–? What the hell are you doing here?!"

John swallowed hard as confusion spread across his countenance. "I'm... investigating a murder?"

"If this is some sad, depraved attempt at getting me back, you can just forget about it!" she spat. "I swear that I am going to you-know-what you, Cole Turner!"

It was then that John realized she had been thinking he was someone else. "Oh! I'm sorry, Ma'am, you've got me confused with someone else. My name is John Grant, and—"

"John Grant, my ass! If you think that I am stupid enough to believe you are someone else, you are sadly mistaken, Mister!"

"Uh – what is your name?" Bailey intervened.

"Phoebe. Phoebe Halliwell."

"Well, Miss Halliwell, John Grant is one of the best cops that I've ever worked with, and I've known him for a very long time. I think you have him mixed up with someone else." Bailey took a protective step forward in an intentionally intimidating manner albeit not a threatening one. Halliwell seemed to have been caught off-guard, but she did not otherwise falter.

"Well, I guess that I will just have to leave John Grant to solve this murder," she said mockingly. She then muttered, "Although he probably committed it."

"What did you just say?" John said, now outraged.

"You heard me, you evil bastard!"

"You are so lucky you at least resemble a woman," John scoffed.

Phoebe hmphed before letting an embarrassed Lieutenant Morris lead her out of the house.

"Do you know her?" Rachel asked, an amused smile donning her features.

"No!" John replied defensively. "You think I'd date a woman as bitter as that?"

"Well, she does appear to be your type of conquest."

"Appearance isn't everything, Rachel. Contrary to popular belief, I am not so shallow. It's not like I aim to be a player, I just don't like committing. And women leave because they don't want to wait around for me to want to," John said.

"Do you think that she is afraid of committing?" Rachel asked. John's discomfort with the conversation began to amuse her.

"I think she's been burned," John said as he shifted awkwardly.

Bailey interrupted the two before Rachel had any more fun. "Whoever she is, I have a feeling that this will not be our last encounter with her."

"Especially since she seems so into you, John," Rachel added.

"All right," Bailey said. "That is enough."