A Baby for Agent Colton

by Jennifer Morey

  Jocelyn bought that.

  “I haven’t seen Erica in years,” Caressa said.

  “A friend of hers said she came to see you two days before her murder. Would you tell us about that?” She hadn’t told Trevor that piece she’d gotten from the PI. Maybe she wanted to punish him at least a little bit for turning last night into a one-night, scandalous affair. She’d thought for sure they’d see each other for a while. She hadn’t expected anything from him other than to explore where such great sex would lead. She felt him glance over.

  “I refused to talk to her.” Caressa averted her gaze a moment. “I turned my back on her.”

  Erica had come to see her and she’d ignored the knock or doorbell. What had caused their falling-out? “You were friends, right? How did you know her?” Erica had never mentioned her. But then, Jocelyn had always felt closer to Erica’s mother.

  “She was a friend of my sister’s. We started out fine. Great, in fact. We had a lot in common. She was always so nice and talkative. A good person...or so I thought.” Caressa lowered her head and seconds passed while she went into her own world. Guilt. Regret.

  Jocelyn wondered if this woman was ever happy. She didn’t have many laugh lines around her eyes. And while anyone would feel bad about an old friend being murdered, Caressa seemed to exaggerate her reaction, or maybe some other reason warranted that extreme. Or maybe guilt over rejecting her friend’s attempt to see her made her seem flighty.

  She stole a glance at Trevor, who hid his analysis of Caressa’s reaction to them questioning her. He must have noticed, though.

  He caught her look and winked, a playful reassurance that tickled her feminine side, especially when a gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair.

  Why did he do that? Preserving a work relationship? Keeping the peace? Or was he taken by her and couldn’t control his actions?

  “Am I a suspect?”

  Caressa put her back in check. In an instant, Trevor could stir her senses, take her right out of a moment, even one as important as this.

  “We’re trying to piece together her last days,” Trevor said. “You were one of the last people to see her alive.”

  Caressa scoffed. “I saw her through the window beside my front door, a small window.” She covered her mouth, choked up with emotion. “My sister tried to call me and I didn’t answer because I thought she was going to argue with me over it. I didn’t know Erica was murdered until...until I finally answered one of her calls.” She breathed through a threatening sob and moisture glistened in her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  Clearly, Erica’s death had devastated her. She’d known she was one of the last to see her estranged friend alive and the estrangement could give her motive to kill. She’d feared that.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jocelyn said.

  “Why were you estranged from Erica?” Trevor asked before she could. And the way he asked impressed her, so unassuming...and yet right to the point.

  Caressa’s face sagged with hurt. “She had an affair with my husband. My marriage was in trouble, I admit that. It gets hard to keep the relationship together if you aren’t made for each other. You don’t realize these things until you can look back, get out of the stagnant routine and see the big picture. But I just could not believe my closest friend would betray me.”

  Jocelyn didn’t know. Stagnant routine? What was that? She supposed people got complacent with their life situation, lulled by false security. No change felt safer. Caressa probably knew in her heart things weren’t right between her and her husband, she just hadn’t faced it until she was forced to. Jocelyn never wanted to live like that, settling for mediocre. But she could definitely understand the betrayal.

  A car drove by at a slow speed, turning at the end of the parking lot lane just as a couple emerged from the market. Caressa turned to look as Trevor took out a picture of Regina Willard, their prime suspect in the case.

  Trevor held the picture in front of her. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Caressa looked at the photo and then shook her head. “No. Who is she?”

  She didn’t know Regina. Or recognize her. Jocelyn had hoped she would.

  “Did Erica ever mention anyone named Regina Willard?” she asked on a long shot.

  Caressa shook her head.

  Jocelyn nodded to conceal her disappointment. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. She never told me about anyone named Regina.” She looked down at the photo and asked again, “Who is she?”

  “If you’ve watched the news, you’ve likely heard of the Alphabet Killer,” Trevor said. “One of the victims positively identified Regina Willard before she died. While we have no evidence to prove it yet, we believe Erica was one of her victims.”

  Caressa drew her head back in something of a flinch. “But...that can’t be. Erica didn’t know anyone named Regina Willard. You have to be wrong.”

  “We don’t believe so,” Jocelyn said.

  “What about Josie Colton? Isn’t she the one you should be looking for?”

  “Josie Colton is innocent,” Trevor said.

  “The perfect cover for murder.”

  “Josie Colton is Agent Colton’s sister,” Jocelyn said. When Caressa gave her a blank look, she glanced over at Trevor. “Him.”

  Caressa’s eyes widened and she faced Trevor. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry, I meant no disrespect to you, it’s just, all the talk around town and...”

  Trevor held up his hand. “No need to apologize. But it’s Regina Willard we’re after. Most of the victims appear to have encountered her in a restaurant. We believe she works as a waitress under false identities.”

  Caressa absorbed that a moment and then said, “You have no idea how upset I am over her death.” Ravaging sorrow drew her mouth down.

  Jocelyn reached over and touched her arm. “You had no way of knowing. She tried to contact you. That means she wanted to try to earn your forgiveness. She cared.”

  “Yes.” She struggled to subdue a sob. “But she died believing I wouldn’t forgive her.”

  Jocelyn lowered her hand. Caressa would have to work through her regrets on her own. What the living thought or felt regarding the dead no longer mattered. They were dead.

  “Is there anyone else Erica might have talked to about Regina?” Trevor asked, getting the conversation back on track. “Your sister, perhaps?”

  “No. I would remember that.” She paused as though something dawned on her. “My sister did mention Erica had an ex-boyfriend. She kept him secret, which I found odd.”

  That seemed off to Jocelyn. Why keep a secret ex-boyfriend? She could think of a few possibilities. Drugs. Infidelity. Disapproval from her family and friends.

  “I have a photo.” She ducked back and retrieved her cell phone from her purse and began navigating to find it, eager to help find the killer of her lost friend.

  Jocelyn caught Trevor’s familiar silent look that said they may be wasting their time.

  Caressa showed them the photo.

  “I think we have enough for now,” Trevor said. “We appreciate you talking to us.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Jocelyn added. Trevor must have decided this was going nowhere.

  “Wha...”

  “We’ll let you know if we learn anything new.” Trevor turned and headed back for their vehicle.

  “Why did you do that? The boyfriend might know something,” she said quietly, still too close to Caressa. A glance back confirmed the woman watched them walk through the parking lot.

  “Ex-boyfriend. Male.” His eyebrows lifted in skepticism.

  “Right. Doesn’t fit the profile.” They’d established that without words. The boyfriend wasn’t the Alphabet Killer.

  “Hey, that’s my job.”

 
Smiling big at the sexy sound of his voice and the easy way of communicating they had, Jocelyn said, “But we should check out the boyfriend. He may have seen Erica before she was killed and may be able to tell us something about Regina.”

  “And that’s your job,” Trevor said with his grin still in place. “Thinking like a smart detective.”

  Jocelyn walked beside him, disconcerted that the charming man she’d never known before sex interested her more than the dead end in their case.

  Chapter 3

  Trevor looked on the bright side of going to see Matthew Colton in prison. A, he had some time apart from Jocelyn, and B, he might be able to extract more information. Matthew enjoyed his visits. He enjoyed the game. He enjoyed his kids’ desire to find their mother’s body, the power he held over them by drawing out when and how he offered clues. A clue in exchange for a visit from each of his kids. Josie was the last to get her clue. She’d gone once and Matthew had toyed with her without giving her the clue. Now she refused to go back. Going the first time had been too much for her. She wasn’t ready to try again. Maybe she never would. Trevor couldn’t blame her. Visiting Matthew made him sick to his stomach.

  “Hey, Trevor.”

  Trevor turned to see Mac approach, the corrections officer who’d taken him to see Matthew the other times he’d been here. “Mac.”

  “Come with me. We’ve got him in the room just as you requested.”

  Trevor walked beside him down a white, windowless hall. An eye-aching row of rectangular lights reminded him of the painted lines on highways. “How’s he been?”

  “He was treated for dehydration after some chemo treatment he received. He’s recovered from that, though. Doing all right, considering.”

  Considering he was dying of cancer. Trevor felt no sympathy for the man. “As long as he can talk.”

  The officer chuckled. “He loves to do that.” He opened the door to the round communal room. “Just let the guard know when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” Trevor entered, seeing Matthew sitting at one of the tables in the overcooked-pea-green-painted room. It just so happened Trevor had come during visitor hours. There were three other tables with inmates meeting with loved ones. He’d been offered a private room to talk, but he’d declined. Maybe meeting around other people would ease the discomfort of having to face his murderous father.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Matthew asked.

  “The pleasure is all yours.” Trevor sat on the other side of the table.

  “You should be nicer to an old man who only wants to help you.” Matthew had lost a lot of weight with his illness. His skin sagged and had a ghostly pallor, and those evil, beady eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull.

  “Feel like talking about Regina Willard today?” Trevor asked.

  “Any admirer of mine is worth discussing. Besides, what else do I have to do in here?”

  “Have you received any more letters?” That any woman would send letters to a killer like Matthew befuddled Trevor. Matthew knew something about the killer, and Trevor suspected it had something to do with the letters. But so far, Matthew refused to reveal anything.

  “What do I get in exchange if I did?”

  “A clear conscience?” Trevor couldn’t keep his sarcasm out of his tone. Matthew was always looking for leverage.

  He sat back as he observed Trevor. After a long study, he finally said, “You were a wild kid. I remember when you ran off while we were at that amusement park and I had to go to the lost child booth. You remember that?”

  Trevor did. He had run off to get away from his dad, tired of his weak ego and smart mouth. The way Matthew had spoken to their mother had gotten Trevor in trouble more than once. He’d often gone toe-to-toe with the man, who’d shut him down with his bigger size. Matthew, though smart, had needed too many compliments to feel like a man. And he had never responded well to criticism.

  “Now you think you’re some hotshot FBI profiler.” Matthew scoffed. “Hell, you can’t even find your own mother’s grave.”

  Anger simmered low and hot. “You insult her memory by calling where you dumped her a grave.”

  “Your mother was a good woman up until the end.”

  She’d put up with Matthew, loved him, even. To the public he’d appeared normal and even likable. But living with the man had revealed a lot more. He’d kept his murdering ways hidden up until Saralee had discovered what he’d been doing. That had gotten her killed and had led to Matthew’s arrest.

  “Tell me,” Matthew said. “What’s your profile of me?”

  Matthew actually wanted him to say? Trevor would take pleasure in this.

  “You’re insecure and that insecurity led to your first murder. You never measured up to Big J Colton. He always made more money than you.”

  Matthew’s face began to color, the most life Trevor had seen in that skin so far.

  “You never got over him buying you out of the family ranch. You felt he gave you no other option. You were never going to feel like a man living in Oklahoma, where Big J lived. So you ran off to Texas, where you were still never able to measure up.”

  “You always were a smart-mouthed kid. I should have beaten you more, taken you down off that high horse you like to ride so much.”

  Trevor grinned, taunting. “You hated Big J. That’s no secret. It’s what drove you to kill those men. They reminded you of him. You compensated your weakness by killing your brother over and over again. As long as you killed, Big J stayed dead.”

  Matthew liked that analogy. Trevor watched him go back in time to his kills, relishing the experience of killing his brother over and over, because to Matthew, each victim was his brother.

  “Except now you can’t kill anymore,” Trevor said. He would not allow this monster to enjoy his crimes. “You can’t kill Big J. In fact, Big J is doing just fine in Oklahoma. Richer than ever. Successful rancher. Happy as can be. Nothing you’ve done has changed that.”

  Matthew started to stand. “You son of a—” The security guard took a step forward, his hand on his gun. Matthew saw this and sat back down, glaring across the table at Trevor.

  “You asked me to profile you,” Trevor said, checking his phone for the time. “I’ve got to go. You’ve wasted yet another of my visits.”

  “Wait.” Matthew’s temper cooled. He didn’t want this visit to end, this escape from everyday prison routine. “You convince that daughter of mine, Josie, to come and see me?”

  “She already came to see you.” It had been a brief visit. Josie had given up and left.

  “If you want another clue, bring Josie to see me.”

  Trevor wasn’t sure he could convince her. “She thinks you’re bluffing. You don’t give out information easily.” He’d refused to give Trevor any clues. Maybe because Trevor came to see him the most. He knew Trevor would come to see him. Josie was more of a challenge. But Josie had been through a lot. A person could only take so many doses of evil at a time.

  “You can give me her clue,” Trevor said. He’d tried every time to get information.

  Matthew scoffed. “What fun would that be?”

  Matthew didn’t consider Trevor a challenge. He also despised him for what he represented. Law enforcement. FBI profiler. And though Matthew would never admit it or say it to Trevor’s face, he knew he was good at what he did.

  “Give me Josie’s clue. You’ll find peace knowing your wife will have a respectable burial.”

  “Peace,” Matthew sneered. “You left that part out of your profile. I am at peace.”

  He would not bend. He would not hand out any more clues until Josie came to see him again. Killing all those people, Saralee included, didn’t bother him.

  “You want to know where your mother is buried, you’ll do as I say. No more
clues until I see Josie.”

  That put him in a bind. Josie didn’t believe Matthew would give a clue. She also struggled with the drama. Going to see Matthew would be painful for her, bring up old memories she didn’t welcome. None of them did. He couldn’t blame her, but he wished she’d at least try to get the clue, go see Matthew more than once if that was what it took, even if he never divulged what he owed them all.

  * * *

  When Trevor arrived back at his office, the visit at the prison had left him emotionally drained. He sighed and tipped his head back, shutting his eyes and trying to block the image of Matthew Colton from his mind. His grayish pale skin. Empty eyes that only livened up when he felt in control. His frail body. On the drive back here, Trevor had actually felt a tinge of sympathy for the man. He’d die in prison. Cancer would be the weapon to do the job. Justice.

  Why or how he could feel any sympathy for his murderous father confounded Trevor and upset him. As he examined his feelings, he supposed the sympathy came from the basic fact that Matthew was his father. A biological fact. He mourned the loss of a real father, one who didn’t kill and hold a psychotic grudge against his brother.

  The justice, however. Ah, the justice. Trevor smiled a little at that. Matthew was where he belonged. Cancer would take him from this world, and Trevor and his brothers and sisters would never have to see him again.

  A knock preceded Chris Colton saying, “Must be good. Did you catch the Alphabet Killer?”

  Trevor lowered his head and sat forward. His younger brother’s sharp blue eyes crinkled in a half smile. Tall and muscular with dark blond hair, he made an imposing presence. He’d gone into private investigation, something Trevor had always been proud of, especially the similarity to his job. Except he’d seemed reserved around him since they’d reunited, more collateral damage that cancer would hopefully remove from their lives.

  “Chris.” Trevor got up. “I’m surprised to see you.” Chris didn’t come to his office much, if ever.

  “Yeah.” He moved into the office and closed the door.

  Trevor stopped. A closed-door meeting? What was this all about? Chris didn’t talk much about his feelings, but Trevor sensed that was what had brought him here.