Chapter 12
Blue. Pretty blue. Josie fell into the part as painter, with flamboyant brushstrokes back and forth, arching and shooting straight along the wood, sending splats of paint over her cheeks and probably her shirt. More paint dotted the white daisies and grass at the base of the picket fence. Delightful. Her mother had allowed her this freedom today, to let her creativity take flight with blue paint.
“You missed a spot.”
Josie looked up at her beautiful mother, smiling with light in her eyes, trim and youthful even though she was a lot older than her. She pointed at the spot of peeling white. Giggling, Josie sank her brush into the pan and brought it dripping up to a wood plank. The fence needed a fresh coat. Time to get serious. Paint the fence a solid color rather than the Picasso she’d imagined.
Her mother stood straighter and looked out across the farmland. Sunlight splashed the sky into a gem-like blue. A warm breeze lifted her hair. Perfect weather made the day more fun. No rain today. That and being with her mother had a strangely nostalgic feel, as though she’d been deprived of her, as though she missed her. But yet her mother acted different. Her smile seemed pasted on and didn’t seem to reach her eyes, which looked...well, kind of dead.
Even that smile faded as the light changed. Josie followed her mother’s gaze, seeing a cloud moving over the horizon, dark and ominous. Closer and closer it came, casting the landscape and her mother’s face into something that could be out of an Alice in Wonderland movie.
The landscape changed, too. The ground moved where it shouldn’t, escalators going in different directions. She sometimes experienced that when she got migraines. She hadn’t gotten them when she was a kid, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was just stuck in a time when she had been, when she’d spent a day with her mother, painting this fence.
The wind kicked up. Overhead, clouds began to circle. And in the distance, darkness began to swallow the land, escalators and all.
The fence blurred and melted away. The magic vanished.
“Run, Josie!” her mother shouted.
Josie stumbled to her feet, kicking the pan of cheery blue paint over. It turned black as her foot sank into it. As she took her first step, the paint became glue. She couldn’t run. Frantically, she searched for her mother. She’d gone. Vanished. Had the blackness taken her?
Where was she? She looked all around and saw only blackness.
Yanking her foot, she freed it from the muck and ran. But something else took hold of her. This had happened before. Her feet were stuck in the middle of the daisies, which had begun to wilt.
A cold wind picked up, blowing hard. If the ground didn’t keep her in place, she’d be taken in the wind. She coughed and tried to protect her face.
The shape of a man emerged from flying debris and blackness. He held a sword covered in blue paint. He raised the weapon high over his head, striding toward her, growing more identifiable as he neared. His steps hastened, as though eager to quench his deathly thirst.
The paint changed to blood, dripping to the ground. The face of a man grew visible just before the rest of his body. He raised the sword for a swing...
Matthew. Her father.
The image dissipated with the sound of smashing glass.
Josie woke with a jolt, a scream locked in her throat as she struggled to organize reality from terrible dream. An instant later, she realized the smashing glass had actually happened. And now she heard someone moving through her house, feet on the hardwood floor in her living room and rapidly approaching her bedroom. She sprang off the bed just as a woman appeared in her doorway with a gun.
Josie choked back another scream and ducked at the side of the bed.
“There’s no one to protect you now!” the woman hissed.
She hadn’t shot at her yet, but she moved slowly, stalking what she must view as caught prey.
“You think you got away with it, don’t you?” the woman said, clearly overly confident she’d at last accomplished what she’d set out to accomplish.
“Sneaking around, dodging me. You must think you’re real good at what you do. You’re a sicko.”
Josie begged to differ. She wasn’t the one going after an innocent woman with the intent of killing her. For what reason?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I’ve caught you, and now you’re going to pay!”
Biding her time just right, Josie waited until the woman had almost reached the side of the bed. Then she stood and lunged for her, grabbing a hold of her wrist as the gun went off. She landed on top of the woman, someone she’d never seen before. The woman bared her teeth as she struggled for control of the weapon. She wrapped her leg around Josie’s and arched upward, rolling so she now loomed over her. Josie didn’t let go of the bigger woman’s wrists and struggled to keep her from aiming down at her.
“I won’t let you get away with it!” the crazed woman hissed some more.
As the woman pushed hard against Josie’s resistance, her head lowered just enough. Josie rammed her forehead against her head.
Disoriented, caught off guard, the woman loosened her grip and Josie shoved her off, kicking with her knee. The woman sprawled onto the floor at the foot of Josie’s bed.
Still holding the gun, the woman recovered from the hit that still stung Josie’s forehead. She was going to shoot her!
Josie dived to the other side of the bed as the gun went off. She scrambled to the nightstand, where she picked up a ceramic-based lamp. The woman appeared at the foot of the bed and Josie threw the lamp, hitting the woman in the head. Both woman and lamp fell down, the lamp breaking.
Josie didn’t waste any time. She ran from the bedroom and into the living room, grabbing another lamp in there, this one made of metal.
When the woman appeared in the doorway, dazed but unrelenting in her determination to kill Josie, Josie put all her strength in the next throw. She missed the woman’s head but caught her arm. The gun sailed upward, hitting a bookshelf and somersaulting to the floor near Josie’s feet.
Josie leaped for it, colliding with the woman. Josie grasped the handle, but the woman dug her nails into Josie’s hands. Josie put all her weight into a shove and felt a powerful surge of relief and triumph when the woman fell onto her hip.
Hands on the floor, knees bent, the woman stared up at Josie in shock. Her crazed look vanished as she realized she’d lost the fight.
“Who are you? Start talking or I’ll let the police take you out of here in a body bag.”
In the next instant, the agent watching over her busted open her door with his gun drawn.
* * *
Jocelyn went with Trevor to Buckaroo Burgers. Right now they waited for the general manager to come out and talk to them. Her entire body went rigid from being so close to Trevor and hyperaware of each time his forearm or even a piece of his clothes touched her, the lapel of his leather jacket, the bump of his leg in dark slacks. G-man. She wished he didn’t do that to her, attract her to his masculinity, fill her with so much feeling.
The general manager appeared, a tall, dark-haired, dapper man in slacks, dress shirt and tie. “Let’s have a seat over here. I’ve instructed my staff to keep customers out of this section.”
He’d protect the restaurant’s reputation along with giving them privacy.
They sat at a booth in one corner of the establishment.
“You’re here because of Sally?” the GM asked.
“Do you know where we can find her?” Trevor asked.
The GM didn’t blanch at all. “No. She didn’t show up for her shift yesterday. I think I always expected that from her. Some people you can just...tell.” He contemplated them both curiously. “Did something happen to her?”
“We believe she worked fo
r you under a false name,” Trevor said.
“What’s her real name?” His head darted back and forth. “I checked her out. Her ID was legitimate.”
“Legitimately stolen,” Jocelyn said.
“Who is she?”
Jocelyn glanced at Trevor. His call.
He nodded once.
She turned to the GM. “We believe she’s the Alphabet Killer.”
“Really.” The GM moved his head back in surprise.
“Don’t feel bad about not recognizing any signs. Criminals like this are known for their cunning.”
Jocelyn felt Trevor’s look of approval and glowed. He often did that, made her feel good about doing her job.
Working together, they’d come to know each other as friends and coworkers. They made a good team. The chemistry had always been there. Right from the start.
She recalled their first meeting.
He in his suit and tie, silky material floating over yum. Dark, tall, impossibly gorgeous. And then the assistant who’d led her to him had informed her he was her boss. He was the lead on the case she’d been assigned. The Alphabet Killer case. She’d been so excited. The honor of being awarded that. Her training and her intelligence had earned her the spot. Her desire to honor her father and brother had earned her that spot.
“A—a serial killer? Sally?” The GM, still recovering from the news, briefly turned bewildered eyes away. “She did seem a bit...off, but a killer?”
“Some serial killers are good at disguises,” Trevor said. “Most of the time they seem smart, professional, even normal. They’re masters at fooling others, living dual lives.”
“How can I help? Employment records? Associates? Anything. It’s at your disposal. And I’ll make sure you talk to all of my staff.”
“We have a team on the way to do just that,” Trevor said as his phone rang.
“Agent Colton,” a man breathlessly said. “I’m inside Josie’s house. I need backup.”
Prepared for this call, but not the worry for Josie, Trevor turned to Jocelyn. She searched his face, seeing his reaction.
“Is anything wrong?” the GM asked.
“Thank you,” Trevor said to him and then took Jocelyn’s hand to take her after him, saying to the agent on the phone, “We’re on our way.”
“What’s happening?” Jocelyn asked as she ran after him.
“It’s Josie. She’s in trouble.”
* * *
By the time Jocelyn followed Trevor into Josie’s town house, the police had arrived. The agent who had been assigned for her protection stood in the living room near a woman with her hands cuffed behind her back and head bowed in defeat.
“I held them off until you got here,” the agent said, indicating the police, who waited to take the woman away.
“Thank you.”
Jocelyn watched the woman lift her head and drew in a sharp breath as she immediately recognized Caressa Franklin.
“She broke in and attacked me.” Josie went over to the kitchen table and sat, as though the arrival of her brother signaled the point at which she could relax.
“Caressa?” Jocelyn stepped closer to the couch. “Why?”
Caressa lifted sad eyes. “Because I had to.”
“No one has to kill people. Why did you feel you had to?” It seemed such an absurd question, but to someone like Caressa, who’d lost normal rationale due to some personal trauma, the answer had become the center of her universe.
“She killed Erica.”
“No.” Jocelyn shook her head. “Josie didn’t kill anyone.” Hadn’t she listened to them when they’d gone to question her?
The woman’s sad desperation morphed into irritation. “You of all people should understand.”
“Me? What should I understand? Help me, Caressa. Tell me.”
“You cared about Erica. I could see it in your eyes when you came to see me,” Caressa said, her most lucid words since Jocelyn and Trevor had arrived. “You made me see what I lost. Because of her!” She roared the last at Josie, who scoffed and looked away, disgusted.
“Josie didn’t kill Erica,” Jocelyn said again.
“Yes, she did. She ran off and hid like she did something wrong. She takes after her murdering father. Copies him. She uses red markers on her victims, victims who all have long dark hair. She’s the Alphabet Killer! Arrest her, not me!”
How had she come to that crazy conclusion?
“Why do you think she killed all those women? Why Erica?” Trevor asked.
At first Caressa appeared baffled, confused, and then she said simply, “She dated Hershel.”
Josie scoffed again. “I’ve never met him before.”
Caressa looked from Josie up to Trevor. “She had to have known him. She had to! A-and even if she didn’t, Erica had long dark hair. She must have fit the profile of a woman who wronged her. Just like her father. She’s the killer! She is!”
Jocelyn marveled for a moment on how this woman had conjured up a motive for Josie, regardless of the lack of truth or facts backing up her theory. She must have stewed for hours and days, convincing herself that Josie had killed Erica, and therefore the rest of the women. She’d heard Josie could be a suspect by virtue of her relationship to Matthew Colton. Like father, like daughter.
“Caressa,” Jocelyn said gently, trying to calm the woman, bring her back to rational thought. If that was possible. “We told you the truth when we came to see you that day. Josie couldn’t have killed any of the women. She wasn’t in Granite Gulch when some of the murders took place. She was in witness protection. That’s been verified. She isn’t our suspect. Regina Willard is. She works as a waitress under false names and targets women with long dark hair. She’s written to Matthew Colton and copies his method of killing. We have her letters in evidence.”
Caressa turned drooping eyes to her as she spoke, the reality that she’d been wrong sinking in. “It can’t be.”
“It is. Josie isn’t a killer.”
Shifting on the couch, Caressa twisted her wrists. Now that she realized what she’d done, she tried to erase the fact, wish she could be free and take everything back.
“No.” Caressa shook her head and stared off, beyond Jocelyn. “Hershel treated Erica badly. He had an affair. He admitted he did.”
“You spoke with Hershel?” Trevor asked.
Caressa came out of her stare. “Of course I did. After I found out Erica was murdered, I thought he might have done it. When Erica and I were still friends, she told me he’d had affairs. I could never understand why she kept going back to him.”
“Didn’t you know about the Alphabet Killer?” Trevor asked.
With flashing, indignant eyes, Caressa turned on him. “The media said her murder appeared to be the work of a copycat killer, but they didn’t know her history with Hershel. He could have made it look like the copycat killer.”
“You had it out for Hershel, then?” Trevor said more than asked.
Her emotion cooled. “I thought he killed her. I wanted to make sure police caught him.”
Nothing like the ignorant trying to help out law enforcement. “But he didn’t kill Erica.”
“No. I realized that after talking to him and learning about Josie.”
“Then why blackmail him into claiming he knew Josie?” Jocelyn asked.
“Erica would still be alive if not for him. If they were still together, she would not have captured Josie’s attention.”
“Josie is not the killer, either,” Jocelyn said again. “We told you Regina Willard is our prime suspect.”
“Hershel was afraid of being accused of her murder. I eased off him after I realized it was Josie.”
Did she not hear her? “Caressa, I’ll only say this once more. Josie Colton is not a
suspect in the Alphabet Killer case. Regina Willard is.”
Trevor held up his hand, a silent direction to give up trying to get through to Caressa.
Jocelyn backed away from the woman. Caressa was a lost, demented soul who’d convinced herself first Hershel and then Josie killed her friend. Unfortunately, her logic had been quite unsound and she’d acted on it.
Jocelyn stood next to Trevor, who turned to the policeman standing nearby. He gave the man a nod.
The police officer went to Caressa, taking her arm. “Let’s go.”
“No!” Caressa struggled. “I made a mistake! You can’t arrest me. I didn’t kill anyone! I’m not the Alphabet Killer!”
All the way out the door, Caressa protested. The desperate sound tugged at Jocelyn’s sympathy. She may have acted without facts backing her decisions, but she carried deep guilt over shutting Erica out of her life. Erica had gone to reconcile and still Caressa had shut her out. That had pushed her over the edge. She acted on her remorse, seeking revenge for Erica’s death. Only, she’d blamed the wrong people and had dreamed up weak motives.
Josie came to stand with them, watching Caressa being guided away and her last look back, bewilderment over the turn of events in her widened eyes. The reality of what she’d done—the magnitude of her mistake—crashed upon her now. She faced prison time for what she’d done. She’d attempted to kill an innocent person.
“I can’t believe it,” Josie said. “It’s so crazy.”
The investigation had initially suspected Josie for the same reason Caressa had latched on to. If Matthew had killed because of the betrayal of a man, had his daughter done the same because of the betrayal of a woman? Her disappearance had been the only fact giving that theory any credence. But as soon as she’d reappeared, the theory lost hold.
“Now do you feel safe?” Trevor asked.
Josie’s face softened in relief and gratitude. “Yes. I think I can finally put the kingpin behind me.”
“They’re all gone,” Trevor said. “In prison or dead. You are safe. You can live your life without looking over your shoulder.”
A Baby for Agent Colton Page 15
