A Baby for Agent Colton

by Jennifer Morey

  “Trevor,” she whispered. “Help me.”

  Chapter 18

  Josie felt ill, alone in the small room with her father. She kept glancing toward the door where Trevor had rushed through to go and rescue Jocelyn. She’d much rather have gone with him. Knowing the guards would not let anything happen to her didn’t help.

  “What did you mean when you said I deserve it?” she asked the horrible man seated at the table.

  “Sit with me, Josie.”

  She didn’t like his domineering look. Even near death he could intimidate her. He could intimidate anyone. He suffered through periodic coughing spells, and once recovered, the old Matthew found a way to shine even in the grip of cancer.

  Telling herself she did this for her brothers and sisters, Josie sat.

  “You were always my little girl,” Matthew said.

  Josie endured his rambling.

  “I remember when you first started talking. The day I first heard you say daddy turned me to mush.”

  That hadn’t lasted long. She wouldn’t call him mushy when he’d begun killing people. She did remember times when he’d acted like a real father to her, though. Weird, how a person could be so different underneath the shell.

  “You used to adore me. Followed me everywhere, you did. You loved when I held you. Those are some of my fondest memories, Josie. Of you.”

  Was he only saying this? Like Trevor, she didn’t trust a word he said.

  “That’s what got you into trouble when your mother died.”

  What was he talking about? “You mean when you killed her?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “That’s exactly what I mean. You were so young. You may not have any memory of it. And if you do, they are likely patchy and unclear. Thankfully. I’d have had to kill you, too, otherwise.”

  Why would he have had to kill her, too? How disgusting.

  Josie pushed back her chair. “I’m leaving. I knew you’d string me along again.”

  She started for the door, ready to knock for the guards to let her out. Matthew coughed some more. He wouldn’t be able to move until they came in and unlocked his chain from the metal hooks keeping him in the chair, which she’d seen was bolted to the cement floor.

  “I intend to give you your clue.”

  She stopped. The guard opened the door. She shook her head and went back to the table.

  “Then tell me what it is.”

  “I only wished to spend some time with you,” he said. “I’m dying, and I mean it when I say I have such fond memories of you.”

  Good for him, but she didn’t care. “Tell me the clue.”

  He hesitated, then at last relented. “Blue.”

  Josie stared at him. “Blue?” Dripping blue paint from her dream chilled her.

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Blue. Don’t you remember? It’s one of my favorite memories of you.”

  Her recurring dream swarmed her. The significance of the fence sank in. She’d painted it blue. It must be from a memory when she was very young, before she could retain solid memories, a piece of something she’d done.

  She’d painted the fence.

  She remembered the fence now.

  “Is that where you buried Mother?” she asked, feeling light-headed with shock.

  Matthew smiled again, in that creepy way. “My smart girl. I’m so glad you came to see me today.”

  Josie fought nausea that threatened to have her throwing up. She banged on the door as Matthew fell into another coughing episode, this one sounding as though it would be his last. She hoped so.

  “Wait.” Matthew coughed some more, unable to speak any more, unable to stop her.

  Good. This was the last she would see of him. She had done her duty. She had the clue.

  The guard let her out and she ran from the prison.

  * * *

  After a long drive, Trevor drove fast on the way to the bunker. He’d already notified the rest of the team, so they wouldn’t be far behind him. Be alive, Jocelyn.

  Finding the right address on the mailbox, he drove up the long driveway to the house with white chipping paint and shutters over the windows. The house looked condemned; it had been vacant for so long.

  Parking, he got out and searched for the bunker, not seeing any sign of it. Matthew might have given him the wrong address. He could be sitting in his cell, weak from cancer, laughing over his cleverness and Trevor’s gullibility.

  The house sat on a large parcel of land. He peered into the garage through a window that had been broken. No vehicle there. No vehicle in the driveway, either. No one appeared to be here, including Jocelyn. He experienced extreme apprehension wondering if Regina hadn’t brought her here. What if she hadn’t?

  Looking closer at the driveway, going to where the concrete ended and gravel began, he found evidence of recent tracks. A wave of relief and renewed hope surged through him.

  After searching the front for signs of a bunker entrance and finding none, he went around to the back. Weeds had taken over, some popping up through cracks in the concrete slab. An old grill sat weathered and falling apart, vines of weeds winding their way up to the side shelves and around the handle.

  Trees blocked the neighbor’s view of the backyard. He walked the perimeter. Halfway along one side, he stopped when he saw a wood-framed square door, parallel with the ground.

  The underground structure had been built with secrecy in mind. Trees and shrubs concealed the entrance. Footprints indicated someone had recently been here.

  Jocelyn was here. He felt her presence.

  Had he made it in time?

  Drawing his gun, he stood aside and turned the latch. Pulling up the door, he let it swing over onto the ground, falling with a soundless thud onto some low-growing bushes.

  Peering inside, he heard Jocelyn scream before he saw her tied to the staircase post. She struggled with all her might.

  “Jocelyn!”

  She craned her neck to look up at him, her eyes closing in relief. “Trevor. Hurry. She left to get a new red marker.”

  He jumped down the stairs three at a time. Crouching before her, cupping her face and kissing her.

  “The thought of losing you nearly killed me.”

  “Knife. Kitchen drawer. Hurry!”

  He stood and went to the open drawer and lifted a knife. Going back to her, he sliced through the rope tying her ankles and then her wrists tied to the post.

  She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Trevor. I thought she was going to kill me.”

  “I’ve got you now.” He helped her to her feet, noticing how she swayed and blinked as though she had trouble seeing.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I think I have a concussion. She hit me hard on the head a few times.”

  Her speech sounded a little slurred.

  He felt her head, finding a lump and a cut, her hair sticky with blood. He had to get her to a hospital. Not wanting to frighten her, he lifted her into the cradle of his arms and carried her to the surface. Kicking the door shut so Regina wouldn’t be alerted that someone had been here, he knelt and turned the latch.

  Standing, he felt a rush of protective warmth surge through him as Jocelyn looped her arm over his shoulder and rested her head on him. Taking her to the passenger side of the SUV, he went around to the driver’s side and drove down the driveway. On the way to the hospital, he called the chief.

  “We’re almost there. We’ll stay out of sight until she returns.”

  Regina Willard would be captured. It was over, the investigation closed. All but the trail and sentencing left.

  Trevor could put Matthew behind him now. At last.

  He just had one more thing he needed to do.

  * * *

  J
ocelyn woke in the hospital. She had a concussion and the doctors wanted her to stay the night for observation. Dark at around nine at night, she saw what had awakened her.

  Trevor entered with a huge bouquet of flowers. He’d cleaned up, too, wearing a fresh suit and tie, cleanly shaven. He’d said he was going to grab a bite to eat and for her to get some rest. That had been hours ago.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I met with the chief. Regina is in custody.”

  Jocelyn sighed. “That’s one menace to society I’m very happy is behind bars where she belongs.”

  “Yes. Now we can get on with our lives.” Trevor put the flowers down on the table beside the bed.

  “They’re beautiful.” She smelled them from where she rested.

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  Jocelyn laughed. “I’m usually the one who teases.”

  “I’m not teasing. I’m as serious as always.”

  She smiled her love at him. He took a seat on the chair by the bed and reached into his pocket.

  “Jocelyn, I have been a confused fool.”

  She sucked in a breath of air when she saw he held a familiar ring box. She’d removed the ring he’d gotten for her for the Vegas wedding. He must have found it in her jewelry box.

  “I let the investigation get to me too much. Matthew. The copycat killer.”

  It had reminded him too much of his adolescence, being ripped from his family, his mother’s murder and his father the killer.

  “It’s okay. When Regina captured me, I knew I’d been equally foolish. I—”

  “Shh. Let me finish.” He took out the ring, lifted her hand and slipped it on. Holding her hand, he said, “I love you, Jocelyn. I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

  She smiled and tears stung her eyes. “Really? Me, too. I love you, Trevor.”

  He leaned over her for a kiss. “I’ll never disappoint you again. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

  “I couldn’t possibly be any happier than I am now.” She kissed him again. “Oh, Trevor.”

  He moved away, still holding her hand. “Will you marry me?”

  “Trevor,” she said breathlessly.

  “For real this time. Marry me, Jocelyn. Let’s buy that house and have kids and get a dog.”

  “Okay.” She pulled her hand free to take his face and bring his mouth back to hers.

  “Marry me.”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Trevor Colton!”

  “Looks like we came at a bad time.”

  Moving back from Trevor as he straightened, she saw Josie enter and then the rest of the Coltons follow. Sam and Zoe, Ethan and Lizzie with their baby in her arms, Ridge and Darcy, Jesse and Annabel, and Chris and Holly.

  “Trevor asked me to marry him—for real.” Jocelyn smiled.

  “That’s great news!” Annabel said.

  “We’ll have to get her out of this hospital first,” Sam said. “Unless you’d like to get a minister in here now.”

  “Looked like they could use one when we came in.” Zoe laughed lightly.

  A few of the others laughed with her while everyone else wore happy smiles.

  “I didn’t ask you all to meet here to make wedding plans,” Josie said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  After everyone sobered, recalling that she had asked them to meet and obviously hadn’t given a reason yet, Josie said, “Matthew gave me a clue.”

  Now a pin could be heard dropping in the room.

  “I’ve been having nightmares where I’m painting a white fence. There are flowers and clear blue skies at first, but then that changes to darkness and wilting flowers and wind and I’m always trapped by the fence, trying to get away from a monster that chases me. In the last dream I had, the monster’s face became clear. It was Dad.”

  “Matthew?” Trevor said.

  Like Jocelyn, he didn’t follow where she led.

  “I didn’t know what it meant, but now I do. My clue was the word blue.” Josie looked at each of her siblings before saying. “In my dream, I’m painting the fence blue.”

  Several seconds went by.

  “What does that mean?” Sam finally asked.

  “I remember painting that fence when I was a toddler. It’s not a clear memory, but I do remember painting it. Guess what color I used?”

  “Blue.” Annabel shrugged. “So?”

  “You must have seen him bury Mom,” Trevor said. “That’s what he meant when he said you deserved it after all you’d witnessed.”

  Everyone fell silent with that awful revelation. Josie had been too young to remember.

  “I know where the fence is,” Sam said. “It’s on our maternal grandmother’s property, where all of the other clues have led us.”

  “I remember that fence, too,” Ridge said. “Mom is buried there!”

  Chapter 19

  Everyone gathered around the area of ground slightly raised more than other areas, near the fence that Josie had painted as a toddler. Trevor held Jocelyn’s hand, grappling with various emotions. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Glad to have finally found their mother’s body and burial spot, angry that she’d been killed. Empty.

  “What are we going to do with her body?” Josie asked.

  Matthew hadn’t put her in a coffin. She’d likely long since decomposed. They might find some bones to bury.

  “I think we should leave her here,” Chris said.

  “This is where a murderer dumped her,” Annabel said, appalled.

  “Where else would Mom want to be buried other than on her mother’s property?” Sam asked. “She loved this place.”

  “She did love this place.” Ethan looked back at the house. He and his wife had left their baby with a nanny for this trip.

  Each of them fell silent, staring down at the ground.

  “We could exhume her and give her a proper burial,” Trevor said. “Put what’s left of her in a nice coffin.”

  “Ugh.” Annabel nearly gagged. “That is so morbid.”

  “We could plant a flower garden here,” Josie said.

  She’d dreamed of a flower garden before the darkness came.

  “Do we disturb her? She’s dead. She doesn’t care anymore that she’s buried where her husband put her after he killed her.”

  “If I was the one in that ground right now, I’d want my kids to put me in a coffin or cremate me and put my ashes on my property,” Jocelyn said. “Maybe not where I was murdered, though.” She looked at Josie. “Will it bother you that your mother is buried where you dreamed in your nightmares?”

  Josie shook her head. “I think she was sending me messages. And I remember what a beautiful day that was, and how happy she looked. She loved this part of the yard.”

  “Dad knew that,” Ethan said.

  “That’s probably why he buried her here,” Sam added. “He cared enough about her and their life together to do that.”

  A chorus of agreement spread.

  “Let’s vote.” Trevor looked at each of his siblings. “All in favor of leaving Mom here and possibly exhuming her to give her a proper burial, raise their hands.”

  Everyone but Annabel raised their hands.

  “You’d rather move her?” Trevor asked.

  “I don’t know. I just think it’s rotten that Dad murdered her and he put her here.”

  “She did love it here. She planned to make a big flower garden here,” Ethan said.

  Annabel nodded. “Yes, she did love this area. And I remember her talking about it, about what kind of flowers she wanted to plant, what kind of stone for the path.”

  “She wanted to put a bench here,” Chris said.

  “I say we
leave her be,” Josie said. “She’s been here all this time anyway. Sorry to sound morbid, but there probably isn’t much left of her body. We can plant a flower garden exactly the way she wished, and we can come visit her here.”

  “Annabel?” Trevor said. They all had to be in agreement.

  She met his gaze. “I do like the idea of making her flower garden for her.”

  “None of us like it that she was murdered, much less that Dad killed her and buried her afterward, but he did at least honor her by putting her in a place he knew she loved,” Ridge said.

  “It will take time to get over how she got here,” Trevor said. “But we will. Together.”

  Annabel softened and then nodded. “Yes. We will.” She went to him and they hugged.

  “We can leave her here, then,” she said.

  Trevor rubbed her back before she drew away. The show of affection compelled the rest of them to exchange hugs. Pretty soon they all laughed, hugging because they could, now that they were back together.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said. “We have a wedding to attend.”

  “There’s a lot to celebrate.” Chris put his arm around his wife and looked at her with love.

  “Yes,” Trevor said, taking Jocelyn’s hand. “Let’s have a wedding. A real wedding.”

  * * *

  Trevor had found the old church, looking more like a castle with its spires and intricate stone trim work. Flowers out front, wide stairs leading into the chapel.

  They’d kept it small—only immediate family. But the chief had spread the word through the department at the FBI field office, where Jocelyn had resigned just the day before.

  She let the gossamer drapes go and turned from the view through the window. Josie entered the dressing room and stopped short.

  “Oh. You look so beautiful.”

  Smiling, Jocelyn looked down at the V neckline and fit-and-flare skirt with Venice lace over tulle.

  “Thank you.” She’d put her hair up with a few tendrils hanging free, not wanting any correlation to the case—Regina and her aversion to long dark hair.

  “You ready? I was sent to get you.”

  “Yes.” She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.