Chapter Three
"We've got a lead!" George exclaimed, furiously typing on a laptop wired in Bailey's office.
"How? Where!" Both John and Bailey asked simultaneously.
"The APD just sent us a copy of a 12-20 call from downtown. You're not going to believe this, but a woman called in the 12-20, a disruption of peace, at around nine this morning. It seems she was exceedingly bothered by the sound of a screaming baby from the house next-door to hers. That wouldn't necessarily be out-of-the-ordinary, except the baby had been at it non-stop for the whole night and the house has been on the market for the past seven months. A baby shouldn't be there." George finished, smiling a huge grin.
"Do you think its Jack?" Grace asked, turning to Bailey.
"It couldn't hurt for us to try."
When the cars screeched to a halt in front of the immodest home, a figure in black was just exiting the wooden double doors. The federal cars and squad cars, lights flashing, pulled right onto the front lawn after their drivers saw that the figure was indeed that of the infamous Jack-of-all- trades. The tires left ugly black tracks, marring the crisp greenness of the grass. Doors opened and heavily armed men emerged, the letters FBI emblazoned on their navy-blue jackets in yellow. From the squads came men with bulletproof vests, APD written in white. A black van pulled into the empty driveway, SWAT members spilling out onto the lawn, then dispersing around the house to cover any retreat by the serial killer in the doorway. He held a small bundle.
John and a small group of APD officers waited behind their open car doors despite the fact that John wanted nothing more than to pump as many bullets as he could into Jack then run into that house for Sam and his baby.
"Don't move!" Bailey shouted to Jack, still on the house's top step. "Put down the blanket, and put your hands up!" Jack bent and laid the bundle in his hands down on the step next to him. "Step down and walk forward!" Bailey continued, still shouting. "On the ground! Get on the ground!" Jack complied. As they all watched, the most vicious serial killer they had ever encountered slowly kneeled on the ground and pressed his face to the cold pavement. To them, Jack looked willing to be arrested, willing to be locked away in a maximum-security prison, willing to be sentenced to death.
When Jack was down, Bailey waved his hand and three of his agents went to the door, guns trained on Jack. They handcuffed him, trying their hardest to control their tempers. They pulled him roughly into a standing position, then shoved him down the walk, right past John. Jack planted his feet firmly on the concrete and refused to move. John's green eyes looked straight at Jack, their depths filled with hatred and disgust.
"Now I know why you married her," Jack stated, staring right back despite the fact that John had six inches on him, "She is superb in bed…even pregnant." He added, smirking. John's temper exploded and he swung at Jack, his fighter's fist hitting the killer's face with a sickening thwack. Dark red blood immediately flowed from Jack's nose. John was going to go for him again, but his officers held him back.
"It won't do any good, Captain." One of the officers consoled as John seethed with anger, "We have him, he'll get what's coming to him." Suddenly, Jack broke free of the three agents holding him and headed for a space between two squads, running awkwardly with his hands restrained behind his back. It was then that John took the opportunity to avenge the abduction of his wife and child as well as the deaths of thirty-two people. Firing only once, John's expertly aimed bullet pierced Jack's heart. The killer fell to his knees with a thud, as John lowered his gun. It all happened within a matter of seconds.
"It's the baby!" a young officer yelled from the doorstep. He had picked up the blanket Jack left on the step. The law-enforcement teams forgot about Jack's dying form and focused on the baby. John re-holstered his gun and ran to the child he instinctively knew was his.
The young cop pulled the blanket away from the baby's small face. Blue eyes, as big as saucers, glowed up at them. They weren't really blue; they were a shade of deep violet, unusual for a baby, unless its mother had the same colored eyes. They were the eyes that had mesmerized John from the moment he had met Sam.
John remembered when he had first met her; the APD had asked the FBI for help with the "Saturday Night Stalker" and Bailey had brought Sam in to create a profile. She and John, then just a detective, had butted heads instantly.
John resented Bailey and Sam's very presence on his case. He was a typical big-city cop: bothered by outside help, but still wanting the killing to stop. He needed results. If they didn't solve the five murders, it was his head, badge, and reputation on the line as well as more lives. The killer struck every Saturday, so they were racing the clock before Number Six came along.
Sam also increasingly bothered him. Bailey had introduced her only as "Sam", nothing else. She was extremely beautiful, brilliantly smart, and very young to be the Bureau's top profiler. He had no doubt that she didn't know what she was doing; she had profiled him when he had been hounding her.
"You want a theory?" She had asked, her indigo eyes blazing as she faced him, a tough little thing full of spirit. She stood at least six inches shorter than him, but took him on. "You've got Chinese food in your fridge, you like your Scotch straight, your women in heels, and yourself definitely on top."
He was speechless, but broke into a boyish grin. She had hit it right on the head. Except for that "on the top" thing. Hey, he was willing to experiment.
"But, it's just a theory." Sam added, walking away, flashing him a stunningly sarcastic smile and arousing his curiosity once more.
"But who is she?" John had pushed, "Is she FBI?"
"No, not technically." Bailey replied, doing nothing to abate John's fascination for the stunning blond whose blue-violet eyes seemed to hold a terrible secret. Sam Waters had retired from the Bureau so was not an "actual" member of the FBI.
"Then who does she work for?" John pressed.
"Just leave it alone, John. All you need to know is that she's the best forensic psychologist I've ever met. Everything else is irrelevant."
John didn't pursue it any further, not until Sam had found an overlooked clue at the scene of the fifth murder. The case could turn on her information and John wasn't going to risk it.
They had closed the case, because of Sam, but John had uncovered her secret in the process.
"I told you to let it be, but you couldn't. You had to dig stuff up. You had to snoop around, be nosy. You could have cost Sam her life!" Bailey exclaimed, coming to John's apartment the night after the younger man and George had tapped into FBI databases searching for information on Sam. They hadn't found anything, only increased their own curiosity. If she worked for the FBI, she had disappeared from all their records. Why was the FBI protecting her?
"We didn't find anything." John informed Bailey as he put his take-out box of chicken chow-mien back in his fridge.
"That doesn't matter."
"You know me by now, Bailey. You can trust me. I just want to know. There's just…just something about her."
"I know." Bailey agreed, smiling.
"Why are the Feds protecting her?"
"They're not. They don't even know where she is. To the FBI, Samantha Waters doesn't, and never did, exist." Bailey watched John. The detective was eager for answers. He decided to go on. John was a good guy, trustworthy. Besides, maybe he could help Sam. "You remember the serial killer Jack-of-all-trades?" he asked.
"Sure. Eighteen different victims, each killed a different way, all across the country,"
"Eighteen we know of. I brought Sam in on the case in '94, after she helped catch Ted Kazynsky. She made some headway; we were catching up to him. Then, Jack found out about her, became obsessed.
"He started sending her things, calling her at home, at work, when she was out with her family. We don't know how he found out about her; profilers aren't as visible as lead investigators, but he did and saw her as his only equal. Genius versus genius.
"We put guards on her and her house around the clock, but it didn't stop. She was scared for her husband and daughter, who was four at the time, so she passed the case along to someone else. Jack missed her, felt betrayed and angry. He wanted her back, so he upped the ante and did the one thing he knew would bring her back into the loop. He killed her husband while her daughter slept upstairs.
"Sam retired, sold the house, and moved into a farmhouse in the country that was owned by her best-friend, Angel Brown. She disappeared. She didn't have a job, so didn't pay taxes, and cut up her credit cards. Her mail was forwarded to me and Chloe started school under a different last name.
"Jack's not the only thing she's hiding from. She's also hiding from us. Sam is special." Bailey went on. John knew she was special, he was already planning to ask her to dinner. "Sam is five years ahead of her Bureau counterparts. She's a genius, skipped straight to second grade in elementary school and entered Wake Forest University with sophomore standing at sixteen. Quantico accepted her six years later and she worked on her Ph.D. while she went through her training with the Behavioral Science Unit which took only four years rather than six or seven. She's not psychic; she just knows everything there is to know."
"We've got a lead!" George exclaimed, furiously typing on a laptop wired in Bailey's office.
"How? Where!" Both John and Bailey asked simultaneously.
"The APD just sent us a copy of a 12-20 call from downtown. You're not going to believe this, but a woman called in the 12-20, a disruption of peace, at around nine this morning. It seems she was exceedingly bothered by the sound of a screaming baby from the house next-door to hers. That wouldn't necessarily be out-of-the-ordinary, except the baby had been at it non-stop for the whole night and the house has been on the market for the past seven months. A baby shouldn't be there." George finished, smiling a huge grin.
"Do you think its Jack?" Grace asked, turning to Bailey.
"It couldn't hurt for us to try."
When the cars screeched to a halt in front of the immodest home, a figure in black was just exiting the wooden double doors. The federal cars and squad cars, lights flashing, pulled right onto the front lawn after their drivers saw that the figure was indeed that of the infamous Jack-of-all- trades. The tires left ugly black tracks, marring the crisp greenness of the grass. Doors opened and heavily armed men emerged, the letters FBI emblazoned on their navy-blue jackets in yellow. From the squads came men with bulletproof vests, APD written in white. A black van pulled into the empty driveway, SWAT members spilling out onto the lawn, then dispersing around the house to cover any retreat by the serial killer in the doorway. He held a small bundle.
John and a small group of APD officers waited behind their open car doors despite the fact that John wanted nothing more than to pump as many bullets as he could into Jack then run into that house for Sam and his baby.
"Don't move!" Bailey shouted to Jack, still on the house's top step. "Put down the blanket, and put your hands up!" Jack bent and laid the bundle in his hands down on the step next to him. "Step down and walk forward!" Bailey continued, still shouting. "On the ground! Get on the ground!" Jack complied. As they all watched, the most vicious serial killer they had ever encountered slowly kneeled on the ground and pressed his face to the cold pavement. To them, Jack looked willing to be arrested, willing to be locked away in a maximum-security prison, willing to be sentenced to death.
When Jack was down, Bailey waved his hand and three of his agents went to the door, guns trained on Jack. They handcuffed him, trying their hardest to control their tempers. They pulled him roughly into a standing position, then shoved him down the walk, right past John. Jack planted his feet firmly on the concrete and refused to move. John's green eyes looked straight at Jack, their depths filled with hatred and disgust.
"Now I know why you married her," Jack stated, staring right back despite the fact that John had six inches on him, "She is superb in bed…even pregnant." He added, smirking. John's temper exploded and he swung at Jack, his fighter's fist hitting the killer's face with a sickening thwack. Dark red blood immediately flowed from Jack's nose. John was going to go for him again, but his officers held him back.
"It won't do any good, Captain." One of the officers consoled as John seethed with anger, "We have him, he'll get what's coming to him." Suddenly, Jack broke free of the three agents holding him and headed for a space between two squads, running awkwardly with his hands restrained behind his back. It was then that John took the opportunity to avenge the abduction of his wife and child as well as the deaths of thirty-two people. Firing only once, John's expertly aimed bullet pierced Jack's heart. The killer fell to his knees with a thud, as John lowered his gun. It all happened within a matter of seconds.
"It's the baby!" a young officer yelled from the doorstep. He had picked up the blanket Jack left on the step. The law-enforcement teams forgot about Jack's dying form and focused on the baby. John re-holstered his gun and ran to the child he instinctively knew was his.
The young cop pulled the blanket away from the baby's small face. Blue eyes, as big as saucers, glowed up at them. They weren't really blue; they were a shade of deep violet, unusual for a baby, unless its mother had the same colored eyes. They were the eyes that had mesmerized John from the moment he had met Sam.
John remembered when he had first met her; the APD had asked the FBI for help with the "Saturday Night Stalker" and Bailey had brought Sam in to create a profile. She and John, then just a detective, had butted heads instantly.
John resented Bailey and Sam's very presence on his case. He was a typical big-city cop: bothered by outside help, but still wanting the killing to stop. He needed results. If they didn't solve the five murders, it was his head, badge, and reputation on the line as well as more lives. The killer struck every Saturday, so they were racing the clock before Number Six came along.
Sam also increasingly bothered him. Bailey had introduced her only as "Sam", nothing else. She was extremely beautiful, brilliantly smart, and very young to be the Bureau's top profiler. He had no doubt that she didn't know what she was doing; she had profiled him when he had been hounding her.
"You want a theory?" She had asked, her indigo eyes blazing as she faced him, a tough little thing full of spirit. She stood at least six inches shorter than him, but took him on. "You've got Chinese food in your fridge, you like your Scotch straight, your women in heels, and yourself definitely on top."
He was speechless, but broke into a boyish grin. She had hit it right on the head. Except for that "on the top" thing. Hey, he was willing to experiment.
"But, it's just a theory." Sam added, walking away, flashing him a stunningly sarcastic smile and arousing his curiosity once more.
"But who is she?" John had pushed, "Is she FBI?"
"No, not technically." Bailey replied, doing nothing to abate John's fascination for the stunning blond whose blue-violet eyes seemed to hold a terrible secret. Sam Waters had retired from the Bureau so was not an "actual" member of the FBI.
"Then who does she work for?" John pressed.
"Just leave it alone, John. All you need to know is that she's the best forensic psychologist I've ever met. Everything else is irrelevant."
John didn't pursue it any further, not until Sam had found an overlooked clue at the scene of the fifth murder. The case could turn on her information and John wasn't going to risk it.
They had closed the case, because of Sam, but John had uncovered her secret in the process.
"I told you to let it be, but you couldn't. You had to dig stuff up. You had to snoop around, be nosy. You could have cost Sam her life!" Bailey exclaimed, coming to John's apartment the night after the younger man and George had tapped into FBI databases searching for information on Sam. They hadn't found anything, only increased their own curiosity. If she worked for the FBI, she had disappeared from all their records. Why was the FBI protecting her?
"We didn't find anything." John informed Bailey as he put his take-out box of chicken chow-mien back in his fridge.
"That doesn't matter."
"You know me by now, Bailey. You can trust me. I just want to know. There's just…just something about her."
"I know." Bailey agreed, smiling.
"Why are the Feds protecting her?"
"They're not. They don't even know where she is. To the FBI, Samantha Waters doesn't, and never did, exist." Bailey watched John. The detective was eager for answers. He decided to go on. John was a good guy, trustworthy. Besides, maybe he could help Sam. "You remember the serial killer Jack-of-all-trades?" he asked.
"Sure. Eighteen different victims, each killed a different way, all across the country,"
"Eighteen we know of. I brought Sam in on the case in '94, after she helped catch Ted Kazynsky. She made some headway; we were catching up to him. Then, Jack found out about her, became obsessed.
"He started sending her things, calling her at home, at work, when she was out with her family. We don't know how he found out about her; profilers aren't as visible as lead investigators, but he did and saw her as his only equal. Genius versus genius.
"We put guards on her and her house around the clock, but it didn't stop. She was scared for her husband and daughter, who was four at the time, so she passed the case along to someone else. Jack missed her, felt betrayed and angry. He wanted her back, so he upped the ante and did the one thing he knew would bring her back into the loop. He killed her husband while her daughter slept upstairs.
"Sam retired, sold the house, and moved into a farmhouse in the country that was owned by her best-friend, Angel Brown. She disappeared. She didn't have a job, so didn't pay taxes, and cut up her credit cards. Her mail was forwarded to me and Chloe started school under a different last name.
"Jack's not the only thing she's hiding from. She's also hiding from us. Sam is special." Bailey went on. John knew she was special, he was already planning to ask her to dinner. "Sam is five years ahead of her Bureau counterparts. She's a genius, skipped straight to second grade in elementary school and entered Wake Forest University with sophomore standing at sixteen. Quantico accepted her six years later and she worked on her Ph.D. while she went through her training with the Behavioral Science Unit which took only four years rather than six or seven. She's not psychic; she just knows everything there is to know."