Trevor appeared next to Jocelyn. He showed the woman his badge. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” The waitress pointed slowly to Jocelyn, confused. “She did.”
“We’re posing as husband and wife to draw our subject out,” Jocelyn said.
“You pretended to be married?” the waitress asked, looking from Trevor back to Jocelyn, not believing.
Had they acted that well? Maybe they hadn’t acted at all...
“Well, no, not really,” Jocelyn stammered. “I mean, we are married. We work together and we’re married. We just got married. This week, in fact.”
The waitress looked from her to Trevor, not understanding. Why had they said they were pretending?
“Anyway,” Jocelyn said. “We’re sorry to have upset you.”
“Who are you trying to find?”
Revealing too much may tip off Regina. If word spread that two agents had posed but not really posed as a married couple to try to draw out a serial killer, they might damage their sting operation. The damage may already be done, but no way could Jocelyn leave without making things right with this woman.
“Thank you for your cooperation.” Trevor took her arm and guided her toward the exit.
Chapter 7
Trevor watched Jocelyn light a tall candle in the center of the table in their second-story apartment. On a slim budget, the bureau had put together a cozy place for them. The two-bedroom apartment had an open living room, the biggest room, with a kitchen island and a small rectangular table—just enough to seat two. Jocelyn sent him another of her side glances. She’d been looking at him that way ever since the restaurant. He had encouraged her too much. He didn’t want to mislead her, not when he felt so mixed up.
Life had swept him up onto a fanciful sled and now he careened down a slippery slope. No control. No way of predicting the future. He’d never felt this way before. And he didn’t like it. One day he’d been going through his days as every other, working, investigating, no doubt as to where he headed, and the next his whole world had flipped inside out.
Jocelyn had cast a spell on him. He couldn’t pinpoint when or how...well, how he had a pretty good idea. Especially when she leaned down to put a plate of steaming spaghetti in front of him. That low top enticed him. Those flashing eyes and upturned mouth.
“What has you so happy?” he asked.
She put her own plate down and sat. They hadn’t had a chance to eat at the restaurant. He was starving. But if she kept this up, he wouldn’t be hungry for anything except her.
“You,” she said.
Away he went on his slippery slope again. He’d told her he wanted her and this family—for real. He’d spoken the words but felt conflicting emotions. The truth was, he wasn’t at all sure about this. Leading her to believe anything else would upset her, though, so he hadn’t explained.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Jocelyn twirled her fork in the juicy spaghetti and lifted it to her mouth. “You’ll get the hang of this.” She put a bite into her mouth.
He’d made his declarations and she knew he was still out of sorts over their marriage, the baby. She may have the wrong idea, may be too confident in her assessment of his feelings. Love didn’t describe his inner turmoil. Or fear of it. He wasn’t sure what did.
Her beautiful eyes sparkled, flirting and content. He couldn’t look away.
She amazed him. And magnetized him. Drew him into her, faster than he was comfortable.
He decided to let her be happy. He liked seeing her that way. Her happiness would cultivate a good family. Their child would have a healthy home.
He grew disconcerted when Jocelyn put down her fork and pushed her chair back to stand. She moved to him. The look in her eyes spelled trouble.
When she reached his chair, she straddled him and sat.
“What are you doing?”
She looked down at his mouth, where the words had come out raspy. “Playing your wife.”
He didn’t understand. But when her mouth touched his, fire roared to life and he understood. She kissed him once, and again. Then raised her head.
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel that.”
“Oh, I feel it.” That wasn’t the issue.
Putting her hands on each side of his face, she said, “That’s all we need for now.”
Trevor wished he felt as sure as her.
* * *
The next morning, Trevor got a lead on where to find Hershel, Erica Morgan’s ex-boyfriend. They’d tracked him to Houston, where he’d gotten a job as a controller at a start-up technology corporation. He’d been there a few months and several years at his previous place of employment. Steady at work. Married once for ten years, but not since. He seemed a decent guy, but appearances could be deceiving.
Trevor and Jocelyn followed him to a nearby pub, where he went to the bar and sat alone. Professional worker who partook in happy hour on a regular basis. Finance could be stressful. So could women.
Jocelyn stood on one side of the man and Trevor the other, each showing him their badge.
Hershel looked from her to him, alert and apprehensive. A well-dressed, neatly trimmed man, he’d loosened his tie a bit and his face looked a little drawn beyond his surprise.
After some quick introductions, he asked, “What do you want with me?”
“You were seeing Erica Morgan before she was murdered,” Trevor said, tucking his wallet back into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Jocelyn clipped hers to her belt.
“Yeah. So? Do I need a lawyer?”
He was awfully defensive. And he knew not to talk. Experienced criminal? He had no priors.
“We’re just here to talk,” Trevor said.
“How’d you find out about me?”
“Caressa Franklin gave us your name,” Jocelyn said. “She and Erica were friends. But I’m sure you knew that.”
Trevor saw how he looked sharply at her and then returned his attention to his beer.
“How do you know Caressa?” Jocelyn asked.
Pride rose up in Trevor when she thought to ask that question. Hershel might expect them to ask his association with Erica, but not so much Caressa.
“Erica talked about her, but I don’t know her. She said she was going to go see her and try to patch things up.”
“She told you about their estrangement?” Trevor asked.
He shrugged and drank a gulp of beer. “Yeah. It bothered her, especially toward the end.”
Trevor caught onto the way he added the last part. “What happened toward the end?” The end of what?
“Ah... I just mean...before she was killed.”
Trevor wondered if that was all he meant.
“Weren’t you two split up? You and Erica?” Jocelyn asked. “Toward the end?”
He loved how she tagged that onto her well-planted question.
“Yeah, but we still talked,” Hershel said.
“Did she break up with you?” Trevor asked, forcing himself to concentrate.
“She needed space.”
Wasn’t that what they all said when they just wanted to get away? Jocelyn looked over at Trevor. He’d said pretty much the same to her after they’d had sex the first time.
“Were you upset about that?”
Hershel smirked at Trevor. “Why? Do you think I’d kill her for breaking up with me?”
Trevor said nothing.
“When is the last time you saw her?” Jocelyn asked.
The man still seemed apprehensive, nervous, as he searched his memory. Then he said, “I met her at that all-night diner a day or two before she was killed.”
“Which was it? A day or two?” Jocelyn probed.
“I can’t remember,
” Hershel answered, irritated. Or was he defensive?
“Why did you meet her?” Trevor asked.
He turned to him. “I picked her up after she met a woman there. She said her name was Josie Colton.” Hershel’s gaze roamed down to the pocket where Trevor had put away his badge. He’d seen his name.
Jocelyn’s brow twitched. Trevor felt the same confusion.
“Erica met with Josie?” A glance at Jocelyn told him she didn’t believe this, either. Josie hadn’t returned to Granite Gulch until after Erica’s murder.
“Are you sure it was Josie Colton?” Trevor asked. “Did you meet her?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Erica introduced me to her before we left.”
“Why did you pick up Erica if you’d broken things off?” Jocelyn asked.
Herschel adjusted himself on the stool as though to get comfortable. “Erica and I have always been on and off. We split up, but we stayed in touch. We were friends.” Regretfully, he looked away and Trevor could see he told the truth. “That’s why we never gave up, not completely.”
“Why did you break up?”
“Like I said, she needed space.” After a bit, he shrugged again and added, “We fought a lot. Couldn’t seem to find common ground.” He looked up at Jocelyn. “But I wanted to try.”
If he felt so much for Erica, why lie about Josie? Hershel may not know the FBI had a strong suspect in Regina Willard. For some reason, he feared implication. Did he know something about Erica’s murder or was he lying to throw them off? Why else bring up Josie Colton?
“Where were you when Erica was murdered?” Trevor asked.
“I was home.” He shifted his gaze to Trevor, holding up his beer. “I was home,” he repeated before taking a long drink.
Not a detective to leave any suspect uninvestigated, Jocelyn asked, “Would you come to the station to give your statement? Maybe provide up a DNA sample? We’d like to eliminate you as a suspect.”
“I have nothing to say to you. And you don’t need my DNA. I didn’t kill Erica. I loved her.” He dug into his pants pocket and opened his wallet. Dropping cash on the bar, he stood up, making Trevor take a step back.
“Josie Colton couldn’t have killed Erica,” Jocelyn said.
Trevor didn’t think her last attempt to keep him from walking out the door would work.
“She was in witness protection,” she went on. “Living in another city at the time of Erica’s death.”
Hershel stopped and faced her in disbelief.
Trevor removed his wallet once again, this time to take out a business card. He handed it to the man. “In case you change your mind and decide to come talk to us some more.”
Snatching the card, Hershel turned his back and headed for the door.
“What do you think of that?” Jocelyn asked.
“I think something has him spooked.”
* * *
The flash of blue jolted Josie awake. The book she held dropped to the coffee shop tabletop and she realized she’d drifted off into one of those half-asleep nods. She’d hoped the light, action-packed story would distract her enough to relax, forget the years she’d spent looking over her shoulder. Rubbing the back of her neck, she picked up the book and noticed the sun had set. Well, at least the book had been good enough to give her an escape for a while.
Outside, a warm breeze carried the remnants of a hot Texas day. She walked toward the street where she’d rented a redbrick colonial town house, passing beneath the bright illumination of streetlamps and through the darkened spaces between. Turning off Main, she headed down a side street, noticing her porch light had burned out. As she drew nearer, though, she saw the light had been broken.
She stopped, breath catching, heart jumping into flighty beats.
Nothing moved in the shadows. A car passed on the street. Just one. The otherwise quiet night seemed peaceful, but foreboding sent her on high alert. Approaching the porch, she saw broken glass from the light fixture scattered on the wood planks. It had been fine this morning. Who would do this? Someone who wanted her porch dark for when she arrived home?
Stepping back, she took out her phone and called Trevor. Turning to hurry back toward Main, she glanced back in time to see a figure taking shape in the shadows on her porch.
“Just who we need to talk to,” her brother said. “Where are you?”
The dark figure raised a gun. Josie screamed and ducked behind a tree as the first shot exploded. If she ran toward Main, she’d be in direct line of fire. Looking the other way, she could take cover at the side of her building and make a run for the strip mall.
“Josie?” She’d lowered her phone but heard her brother’s yell.
She lifted the phone, checking on the figure and seeing it move to the steps.
“Someone is shooting at me!” She ran for the side of the building.
Two more shots cracked through the night, one hitting the building just as she reached the side.
* * *
Trevor swerved around the turn onto Josie’s street and screeched to a stop at the curb in front of her town house. They’d been on their way here when she’d called. He caught sight of something disappearing around the next street corner. Josie’s complex took up a block, flanked by other houses and some commercial businesses.
Readying his pistol, Trevor alighted from the SUV, leaving it running as he ran toward the corner of the building. Passing Josie’s porch, he saw the broken light fixture. Someone had planned to wait for her, to attack. The broken light would be enough to tip off most. Whoever had done it hadn’t planned well. In a hurry? Or not the best criminal?
Jocelyn ran with him, gun drawn, as well. At the corner of the building, he paused to check for whomever he’d seen. No movement, but clouds made the night inky black.
Where was Josie? He kept his fear in check as he searched the darkness.
The explosion of gunfire made him duck for the cover of brick siding. Jocelyn leaned against the stone beside him. He wished she had stayed in the SUV, but he also knew the request—no, the demand would go unheeded.
Things settled down early in this neighborhood. No one walked the street. A car drove by and another turned into the parking lot of the strip mall. Screams followed by a gunshot coming from the pizza restaurant turned him in that direction. The woman who’d pulled to a stop in front of the place got back into her car, cell phone to her ear and reversing to get away. She’d call for help.
Jocelyn ran beside him, gun drawn and aimed at the ground for now. He ran ahead of her so he’d reach the entrance first. More screams spread as the diners saw them.
“FBI! Stay down!” Trevor shouted, more to calm them down than to protect them. He saw right away that the shooter wasn’t there anymore.
He ran through the dining area and into the kitchen. Cooks and waitresses cowered behind stainless steel counters and appliances. The back dock door was open.
He jumped down and turned to help Jocelyn, but she’d already jumped after him. Searching the alley, he didn’t see anything but heard another gunshot in the commercial space next to the pizza restaurant. The back door had been kicked in. Windows still had stickers on them and a Dumpster full of debris indicated renovations were underway.
Easing into the darkened building, he didn’t see or hear anything. Jocelyn covered him as he moved and searched.
She tapped his shoulder and pointed her gun to the far corner. The space was open with one wall extending out near the back door.
The shape ducked out of sight.
Trevor stepped to the end of the wall and peered around it. Stacks of plywood and hanging plastic blocked his view.
Where was Josie?
Jocelyn pointed two fingers from her to the far end of the plywood and then from him to the nearest side.
He sh
ook his head and pointed from himself to the far end and from her to the nearest.
Pursing her lips, she shook her head.
He jabbed his fingers harder, repeating his order. She’d better do as he said. He was still her boss.
With a roll of her eyes, she headed for the nearest end.
Trevor took the far end, inching to the edge, glancing back to make sure Jocelyn took the same precaution. She had, meeting his look with a nod, a sign for him to make the first move. Her respect for his authority rushed in with adrenaline. He peered around the plywood—and saw Josie just as the shape of someone in an oversize hoodie appeared from around the other side.
Trevor grabbed his sister’s arm and yanked her out of the way. She sprawled on the concrete floor with a grunt as Trevor fired his pistol.
The gunman jumped back behind the plywood. Trevor ran there, pausing to look around the corner. The gunman ran in Jocelyn’s direction.
“Jocelyn!”
“I got it!”
Did she? He checked on Josie, who’d gotten up and leaned against the plywood next to him.
“Wait here,” he said to Josie and retraced his steps to the other side of the plywood.
The gunman ran out from behind the plywood on Jocelyn’s end, firing a gun. Jocelyn ducked for cover.
“FBI! Stop!” Jocelyn yelled at the same time as him.
They both ran after the person. Trevor didn’t want to kill the shooter. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. He needed to identify the person.
Out the back door, he and Jocelyn stopped, aiming weapons, covering each other as they searched the alley. The person in the hoodie was gone, vanished as though a ghost. The back door to the pizza restaurant was closed, the alley void of people. Everyone had taken shelter.
The sound of sirens assured the gunman would flee as fast and far as possible.
“You got here fast.”
Trevor lowered his weapon and turned to his sister.
“We were on our way when you called.” Jocelyn put her pistol into her holster, drawing Trevor’s eye to what he knew to be a soft, smooth hip. “We talked to Erica Morgan’s ex-boyfriend. Just came from there. He had some interesting things to say about you.”
A Baby for Agent Colton Page 10
