Ah, much better ground. “Regina Willard is a suspect.”
He’d like nothing more than to put Matthew behind him once and for all, but this copycat killer prevented that. He could talk about the case much easier than he could about foster care, how bitterness had ruled, how he’d blamed Matthew—and still did—for taking his normal, stable life from him, life with a family. But all of that had been an illusion. Did normal and stable really exist for biological organisms? He kind of doubted it, since biological organisms all came to their inevitable, unwanted, terrible, dark deaths. Some died worse than others, like his mother. She’d been murdered by her own husband when she discovered what he was doing.
“She probably works as a waitress and that’s where she encounters her victims,” Jocelyn said in his lapse, filling Josie in on what they knew so far. “Women with long dark hair trigger something for her, women who upset her, maybe rude diners. It reminds her of something from her past, sets her off.”
“A man?” Josie asked. “Scorned woman syndrome?”
“She could be going after women who remind her of the one who stole her man,” Trevor said. “Or it could be her father, women her father chose. Maybe they treated her poorly, according to her code.” All that had gone into his profile notes.
Jocelyn sat back against his office desk chair, making him wonder what thoughts were going through her head right now. He could tell when she started to have ideas in a case. What idea had struck her now?
The three fell into silence for another moment. Rather than talk the case with Jocelyn now, he turned to Josie. She leaned forward as though weighed by her own thoughts, head bent, brow low.
“You okay, Josie?” He had to admit to some overprotectiveness toward his little sister.
She looked up and seconds passed before she responded. “Someone’s been following me. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not. I’m so used to looking over my shoulder that it’s hard to stop. I’m not quite used to living with a sense of security.”
This, Trevor hadn’t expected. Someone was following her? Who? Why? She hadn’t come out of hiding very long ago. She needed time to adjust. Maybe she had imagined someone following her, but what if she hadn’t? It alarmed Trevor.
“You’re not sure?”
She opened her hands in frustration. “I saw him, but...no, I can’t be sure. I don’t want to take any chances. Are you sure Desmond Carlton is in prison?”
“Locked away and won’t be let out. Yes, I’m very sure.” He’d reassure her, but if Carlton hadn’t been the one who followed her, who had?
“What did the man who followed you look like?” Jocelyn asked, getting a notepad out from Trevor’s center desk drawer.
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Josie said. “I didn’t recognize him or his car.”
“It was a man?” Jocelyn probed, taking out a pen next.
“Yes.”
“Anything strike you about him? His hair? Maybe a hat?”
Josie shook her head. “He was too far away. Short hair, not thick. Sunglasses.”
Jocelyn jotted down the information. People remembered more than they thought when they were being questioned by police. “Close-cropped hair?”
“No, just thick and not long.”
“Okay. Good. How high did he sit in the seat?”
Josie sat straighter, eyes narrowing as she searched her memory. “Not high. Not low, either.”
“So average build, you’d say?”
Josie nodded. “Yes.”
“Where were you when you saw him? Is that the only time you saw him?” Trevor asked.
“When I came out of the market about a week ago. And again outside my house, except he drove past that time and didn’t seem to notice me.” She looked from Jocelyn to Trevor, clearly worried. “Can I trust the word of a reporter that everyone associated with the kingpin is either dead or in prison?”
Trevor didn’t want to frighten her. “Not the word of a reporter, but I’ve seen no indication that you should be concerned.”
Josie’s eyes closed briefly and she sighed. Then she waved a hand and stood. “It’s nothing. I’m being paranoid.”
Trevor let her go to the door. He may not have given her cause for concern, but he’d keep a close eye on her.
She smiled back at them. “I’ll leave you two love doves alone now.”
He’d make sure his brothers were aware of this and put an agent on her. As for her parting comment...he’d just forget she’d said such a thing.
* * *
Jocelyn couldn’t stop thinking about Josie’s visit earlier today, what she’d made her begin to ponder. The sounds and sights of the busy and brightly lit diner outside Granite Gulch faded away. Of course Trevor would have a hard time as a fourteen-year-old whose father had murdered his mother and been thrown in prison as a serial killer. She hadn’t considered how that might mar his ability to maintain relationships. She’d thought he’d want what he hadn’t had—a family. But he didn’t. He may fantasize about having one, but he didn’t embrace the reality. He consumed all of his time with work. He’d dedicated his life to his profession as an FBI profiler. She’d always understood why, or she’d thought she did. His father, of course. But why did he shy away from close relationships?
Workaholism bandaged his insecurity. Jocelyn almost blanched with the word in her head. The weakness didn’t fit the man. But he kept his insecurity hidden, even from himself. His affair with another agent supported her theory. The woman must have welcomed her ex back after seeing the hopelessness of investing her heart in a relationship with Trevor. He must have distanced himself from her—as he’d done with Jocelyn.
She respected his flaw. She did. Who could deal with a murderer as a father? She would stumble and perhaps fall, too. Few could handle that without emotion, and if they could, Jocelyn was sure something was wrong with them, too.
But even rationalizing all of that didn’t ease the trepidation creeping over her. He didn’t want to be involved with her because of his father. Mass murderer. Killer of his mother. Mind game player.
That had to mess with a kid’s head.
Did he have no sense of family? That had to be it. What glimpse he’d had of a family unit had to have been unusual. His father must not have been home much, and he had to have had interpersonal issues. Serial killers were renowned for their intelligence. Matthew Colton may have personified himself as a normal, even charismatic man, but no one would have known him like those who shared his house.
Did she care that much? Yes. She worked with Trevor. She’d had sex with him. And then the matter of her feelings compounded the rest.
“Something on your mind?”
Jarred from staring across the room, realizing a woman sitting with a man glared at her for doing so, thinking she’d been staring at the man, Jocelyn lowered her hand from her chin, leaned back and contemplated Trevor.
Rather than take up that discussion with him now, she broached something she’d been thinking about lately. “I want to pose as bait for Regina, see if we can draw her out.”
Instantly, Trevor’s brow dived for his nose. “What? Where did that idea come from?”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “When your sister Annabel pieced together that the victims frequented restaurants, I got to thinking. I have long dark hair. Regina doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know I’m an FBI agent. I’m a rookie. I’m in the background in this investigation. So are you. We haven’t been in the media.”
The Alphabet Killer would pay attention to the news. She might even enjoy hearing about her work.
“No way.” Trevor shook his head. “No.”
She slapped the tabletop. “Trevor, stop trying to protect me. You’ve done that ever since I started working with you.”
“Because you have long dark hair a
nd your name starts with a J. Really? You’d risk your life for this?”
“Wouldn’t you?” She shook her head, shaking off what he insinuated. “I won’t be a risk until I agitate her. We need a plan, a surveillance plan and a cover story. We’re getting nowhere. We need to move in, get closer and catch her!”
Trevor sighed long and hard, glancing over the diner, seeing everything. The man didn’t miss a thing, even when something distracted him like this. At last his eyes returned to her. She felt their dark intensity.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked. “Because I can tell you’ve thought about this in detail.”
She smiled. How did he, and when had he gotten to, know her so well?
“I could create a fake identity and start going out to all the local restaurants.” She looked around. “This one. All the others in town, and any outside the area. That’s something we need to research. We can’t limit the locations, but we should start with a perimeter and work with that set of establishments first.”
“What fake identity?” he asked.
“A real estate agent. There’s a vacant building at the edge of town. I contacted the owner. We can lease it.”
“What if Regina checks your background?”
She’d encountered a few criminals in her rookie days. She knew where to go to get a fake ID. But her cover had to be good. She needed Trevor and the rest of the task force on her side. He’d persuade the rest of the team to set up a sting operation. She didn’t respond. He wouldn’t agree, not easily.
He rubbed his fingers over his jaw, having shifted his position “Jocelyn.” He lowered his hand and she saw his sincerity. “This is a dangerous killer.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
He put his hands up as though to calm her down. “I’m not trying to be condescending.” And then his expression changed as something struck him. “Hold on a second. Why did you say we? Do you want the whole team involved?”
What else did he think? Or better yet—why did he think involving the whole team was so far-fetched? What was with him? “I’m part of this team. You’re the only one who’s against me.”
“I only mean to keep you safe—not do something foolish like put you in the path of a psychotic killer.”
“It’s not foolish. You’re being overprotective of me. Let me do my job.”
He stared at her for long seconds. “You expect me to convince them to set up a sting operation?”
“I’m an agent. Just like you. Why do you think they’ll be so hard to convince?” He was starting to make her really angry.
His lips flat-lined, assurance his patience waned. “I won’t let you pose as bait.”
“It’s not your decision to make.”
“I outrank you.”
Jocelyn had had enough. She stood, planting her hands on the table and leaning over, furious. “Damn it, Trevor, stop being so pigheaded!”
“I won’t let you do it.”
She felt like throwing something. How could she get through to him? She wouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow her to pose as bait.
Now deflated and so angry she could spit, all she wanted was to retaliate somehow, to poke back at him.
“Yeah? Well, you let me get pregnant easy enough.”
Trevor’s face turned to stone. “What?”
She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but...
“I’m late. And I’m never late.” Regretting the outburst, she straightened and turned, walking briskly toward the exit, aware of the table next to where she and Trevor sat, watching her. They’d heard her.
Ah, entertainment.
Outside, she walked up the sidewalk, her leather work shoes soundless. She heard Trevor come up behind her. Of course he’d come after her.
Walking beside her, she felt him looking at her profile. She refused to look back.
“You’re making that up.”
She wished she was. “Nope. I’m late.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re pregnant.”
That made her look at him. He was in denial if he believed that.
“Have you been to a doctor?”
“I don’t need a doctor. Not for that.” She was pregnant. She just knew it. And, like him, she’d been in denial for about a week now.
Chapter 5
Sunlight warmed the ground. A breeze brushed tall grass. Birds chirped, soft and Beethovenian. An old ash tree shaded a spot by the barn. She walked there, letting her hand trail through the feathery tops of grass, tipping her face up to the clear blue sky to savor the lovely summer day. Passing the barn, she walked and walked, through endless, swaying grass.
The landscape didn’t end. Fields of beautiful grass extended as far as she could see. The land rolled, down a hill and then back up. She had the sense that she’d get nowhere like this.
Her mood shifted. Foreboding began as a harmless shadow and grew, steadily intensifying as she walked. Except now she didn’t seem to be walking anymore. Floating. Skimming over the grass. She wanted to turn around and go back to the ash tree, where she’d felt safe and at home.
A force pushed her from behind. She had to keep going. Reaching the top of the hill, she saw a fence, painted as blue as the sky. White daisies moved to the breeze. The grass had been trimmed here.
The fence began to blur. Clouds gathered overhead. The air cooled.
Danger.
She tried to turn and run, but something pulled her down to the ground. Her feet locked into place among the daisies. The sky darkened. She struggled to free her feet.
Then the daisies began to wilt. Their petals turned black and their stems lost their leaves and bent over. The cold wind whipped and swirled around her. She’d be swept away in this eddy of horror that shouldn’t be horror at all. The once peaceful place had come under attack by some strange and ominous force.
A paintbrush dripping with blue paint morphed into a sword. Blue paint changed to red. Blood dropped to the ground. The face of a man emerged just before the rest of his body. He now held the bloody sword, his eyes black and evil. He raised the sword for a swing...
Hearing her own muffled cry, Josie sprang up on her bed, sweating, breathing fast and in tempo with the frantic pace of her heart.
A dream. It had only been a dream.
“Damn you, Trevor.” All that talk about Dad had spooked her. That and whoever had stalked her...
* * *
With the pregnancy test long ago thrown in the trash, Trevor paced from one end of the living room in Jocelyn’s condo to the other. She sat on her gray sofa before the stacked gray rock wall, a fresh vase of yellow lilies on the coffee table, reminding him that her chosen profession missed the mark. What hit the mark was what had him pacing the room. Her. Pregnant. Raising babies in a warm, inviting home like this one, in a gated community with a pool and clubhouse, or in a house with a backyard.
He knew what he had to do. He just couldn’t believe he actually would.
Without hesitation, he stopped pacing in front of the sofa, looking at Jocelyn over the tops of cheery lilies. “We have to get married.”
That blunt announcement removed her annoyed observation of him digesting the unsavory idea of his impending fatherhood. Just the opposite. Now shock rounded her eyes and parted her lips with a grunt.
“Will I be at gunpoint?” she finally asked.
Beyond her sarcasm, he knew she felt at least a little like him, forced into having a baby. She’d accepted her situation a lot quicker than he had. Maybe as a woman that came naturally. But what would she do? Have the baby without him? He couldn’t fathom not being involved in his own child’s upbringing. He’d lived through that as a young teenager. Despite not being ready to take this on, his resolve would not bend.
“Love isn’t important rig
ht now,” he said, knowing he came on strong on this point. “The baby is what’s important. No child of mine is going to be raised in a broken home.”
She stood up. “Nothing’s broken in my home.”
She kind of went low on that one. His home was broken. Did she mean him or his dad? Both, probably.
“I won’t get married just because I’m pregnant,” she said. “I want love. Love is important to me, equally as much as this child.” After a beat, she added, “And I thought you didn’t mix personal relationships with your professional ones.”
“I don’t, but a baby changes everything. I won’t be my father. I won’t tear apart a family and destroy the lives of my children. I’ll give them support and the best chance at a good life as I can.”
He’d do anything, go to any length to avoid turning out like his father. He was no murderer. He had sanity. And he was on the opposite side of the law from his father. That was where he’d stay.
“You’re a piece of work,” Jocelyn said, walking around the big square coffee table to face him off. “We have sex and the next day you spout off about keeping our relationship professional and now you want to race off to the altar.”
“There’s a baby involved now. An innocent life will be our responsibility in less than nine months. That cancels out professional relationship options.”
She took in his face and registered his words. And then something changed in the way she regarded him.
“I can see how this would be important to you, with your dad turning out to be a cold-blooded killer and all, losing your mother the way you did and going into foster care at fourteen, but what about me?”
She needed some major convincing. He wasn’t doing a very good job of that, bulldozing with his determination to do right by their baby. “All of my brothers and sisters were sent to different foster homes. Our family ceased to exist after our mother was killed and Matthew was arrested. I know it’s rushed. I know we only had sex once and before that we were coworkers. But do you really want to share custody and swap our child back and forth for eighteen years? Think what that will do to the kid. Think of the child, Jocelyn.”
A Baby for Agent Colton Page 6
