Читать книгу A Baby For Agent Colton - Jennifer Morey - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThree weeks later the DNA results came back on Jane McDonald and they did not match DNA found at other Alphabet Killer crime scenes. The DNA did, however, match the DNA sample they’d taken from Jane’s husband, the man who had claimed not to have killed her.
“Told you,” Trevor said, liking how Jocelyn’s head pivoted, her beautiful hazel eyes more green in the light.
“A good detective doesn’t jump to conclusions. She waits for the evidence to confirm suspicions.”
“She?”
Jocelyn smiled. “You’re a profiler.”
“Still a detective. And for the record, I had the husband pegged all along.”
Jocelyn wrinkled her nose at him, all in fun and with a cute smile that had him smiling back.
Another agent tapped the open door of Trevor’s office. “Your sister Josie is here.”
“Josie?” Trevor hadn’t expected her to stop by. She’d been avoiding him ever since he’d confronted her about going to see Matthew.
“Send her in.” He dropped the printout onto his messy desk. Books lay sideways and upright and this way and that on the bookshelf that ran along one wall. He had two uncomfortable chairs on the other side of his simple but big wood desk.
Jocelyn sat down on his comfortable desk chair and leaned back, thinking about the case, no doubt. He had to admire her tenacity. Despite his opinion that she’d be better suited at an ordinary job with a husband and a few kids—maybe a dog instead of a cat—she also made a good agent. He respected her for that. But he didn’t like thinking of her married. Why, he’d stop himself from wondering.
She looked up and caught him watching her and smiled. He felt pinned to where he stood, her beauty and light stunning him with a powerful zap of sexual chemistry.
Josie appeared in the doorway, a serious set to her smooth-skinned, striking face. And long dark hair. “Hey.”
“Josie.” Trevor moved around the desk and hugged his sister. He’d already spent a fair amount of time with her since her return from witness protection after witnessing a drug lord kill a man—a drug lord, who also happened to be the brother of her foster father.
He could see what the experience had done, how it had changed her. She was still recovering. “You remember Jocelyn?”
Jocelyn got up briefly to shake Josie’s hand over the desk.
“Yes, of course.” Josie looked back at her brother. “Anything new come up in the case? Sam said you got the DNA results from the latest murder.”
“Yeah.” He gestured to the DNA report. “No match.”
Josie slouched a bit, dropping down onto one of the uncomfortable chairs. “Damn. Are we ever going to be able to put Dad behind us?”
“Right now. He doesn’t matter anymore.” He felt Jocelyn’s assessment when he said that.
“Is he still playing that stupid game, saying he’ll give out clues when someone goes to see him?” Josie bobbed her crossed leg, arms leaning elegantly on the chair armrests.
“Yes. He says he’ll give you one. You should go see him again. Maybe he will this time.”
“Clue to what?” Jocelyn asked.
Trevor hadn’t yet told her about Matthew’s toying. He didn’t like talking about the man.
“He’s been dropping clues to where he left our mother’s body,” Josie said. “When he feels like it.”
Jocelyn leaned back on the chair, her investigator hat going on. “What kind of clues?”
Trevor leaned back against the bookshelf and let the girls talk.
“Texas, hill, the letter B, peaches and Biff,” Josie said. “Those are all we’ve gotten so far.”
Jocelyn lowered her hand and moved forward. “Wait a minute. He only gives clues when someone goes to see him and those are what he’s revealed?”
“Sam went to see him and Matthew told him Texas was his clue. Ethan went and he gave him the word hill. Ridge got the letter B. Annabel got peaches. Chris got Biff. We’ve tried to piece it all together. She’s somewhere in Texas, on a hill in a city that starts with a B. Biff was the name of our mother’s childhood golden retriever. The best we can tell is Dad buried her on our maternal grandparents’ property in Bearson, Texas. It’s an old house on a hill, really remote. There’s a peach tree in the backyard and that’s where Mom’s golden retriever was buried.”
Josie’s frustration came out in her tone and the way she folded her arms and had to stop talking, lest she begin to shout. His sister had plenty of fight in her.
“We’ve all been over that property a hundred times. We can’t find any sign of a grave,” he said.
“Why don’t you go see Matthew?” Jocelyn asked the sensitive question. “Keep going until he gives you the clue.”
Easier said than done. Trevor watched his sister struggle with that, hoped she wouldn’t blame herself.
“I’ve already tried. He won’t give Trevor a clue, either. He lies and leads us on to get visitors.”
“But if there’s the slightest chance...”
Josie began to get upset, the reason Trevor never pushed her. Maybe she’d go again in her own due time. Nothing would bring their mother back, so waiting made no difference.
“You don’t know our father,” Josie said.
“He’s dying,” Trevor said. “I think some part of him needs to reconnect with his kids before the cancer kills him, but he has a warped way of going about it.”
Josie said nothing, just lowered her head as the idea of facing her father settled over her. She rubbed her hands together, slow and something to do to ease her tension. She still needed time to recover.
Trevor pushed off the shelf and went to his sister, standing beside where she sat. “He has no empathy for what he put us through.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Josie.”
“What if he did give you a clue, though?” Jocelyn asked, steepling her fingers over the desk, oblivious to Josie’s discomfort, or the degree of it. She zeroed in on the investigation, hunting answers. She didn’t understand what the separation had done, in addition to their father’s crimes.
“You could find out where your mother is buried,” Jocelyn said. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t do anything to do so.”
“Jocelyn,” Trevor warned gently.
She glanced up at him, seeing his face and realizing she’d pushed a boundary. Lowering her hands, she rested them over her forearms.
“I don’t ever want to see him again,” Josie said in a defensive tone. “And what good are those clues anyway? They mean nothing. When I went to see him, he dangled that clue over my head without ever telling me what it was. I don’t think he ever intends for us to find our mother. I don’t even think she’s on that property.” A shudder racked Josie’s shoulders. “Just seeing him made me nauseous.” She looked up at Trevor. “To think he could actually kill Mom.” She shook her head and lowered it again. “He’s evil.”
Trevor gave her shoulder a squeeze and then removed his hand. “We’ll catch his copycat killer. Having her running free isn’t helping any of us put the past behind us.”
Jocelyn’s eyes softened as she saw the exchange and listened. Trevor knew she had great sympathy for Josie and him. As a detective, she had no illusion over the kind of man who’d killed Saralee, but she backed off in questioning when necessary. He appreciated her for that. She was a good detective, insightful and smart. And beautiful. He couldn’t stop from acknowledging that. The longer he worked with her, the more difficulty he had keeping on track with this investigation. No wonder he’d lost his willpower and had to have her. He took in her breasts and the trim curve of her hips and thighs in her pants. Hair draped over her shoulder, hazel eyes sparkling with responding warmth.
He turned and saw Josie watching them. No longer upset, she appeared to have taken this distraction with hearty welcome.
“You two have been working together awhile now, haven’t you?” Josie asked.
“Awhile, yes.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but pleasure came out in his voice. He did like working with Jocelyn. He was just afraid he liked working with her for the wrong reason.
Realizing he’d turned to Jocelyn as he answered, he saw a renewed surge of sultry yearning come over her eyes. Another night with her in bed tempted and enticed, even though it went against his moral code. She did that to him. Wrecked him.
“Are you...” Josie waved her finger back and forth between them, not having to finish with, sleeping together.
Trevor stuffed his hands into his pockets and moved a step back from Josie and the desk, where Jocelyn sat, hoping his sister would drop it.
Blinking and lowering her head, Jocelyn tapped her fingers on the desk, doing a poor job of acting as though nothing revealing had just transpired.
“Are you two sleeping together?” Josie asked outright.
Sleeping together implied an ongoing activity. Trevor glanced at Jocelyn and she met the awkward, telling look.
Josie’s mouth dropped open. “You are!” She gaped from Jocelyn and back to Trevor. “How long has this been going on? You work together. I heard you don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Let’s stick to the point here,” Trevor said. He did not want to talk about his work ethics.
“What point?” Josie asked. “I’m not going to see Matthew. I’m not ready for that.”
No one knew what that felt like more than Trevor, as many times as he’d gone to see him. He needed a shower after each visit to wash away the filth. “I told you that’s okay, Josie. When you are ready, I’ll go with you. You don’t have to go alone.”
Josie visibly softened. Matthew Colton had caused all of Trevor’s brothers and sisters too much pain. “I’m being irrational, I know. I’m sorry. Of course I should go see him for the clue. I just...”
“You’ve been through a lot,” Trevor said. “We all have.”
“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said. “I shouldn’t have grilled you. I know what it’s like to lose family members to murder.”
Josie turned to her with new interest. “You do?”
Trevor wanted to fast forward through this conversation. Two women connecting—no, Jocelyn connecting with his little sister. That disconcerted him.
“My dad and brother were both killed in the line of duty. They were policemen.”
“Oh.” Josie reached across the desk and Jocelyn extended her hand. “I’m really sorry.”
They held hands briefly, silently communicating the grief.
Jocelyn had a history that complemented Trevor’s. While his went over the top in drama, they both had lost people they loved to murder and had been driven into law enforcement as a result.
“It’s changed us all.” Josie glanced over at Trevor as she leaned back. “Trevor is so serious and chained to his work, for example.”
“I’ve noticed.” Jocelyn leaned back, too. “And he accuses me of owning a cat.”
Josie laughed. “He’s obsessed with his work.”
“That isn’t true,” Trevor said. “Not completely. And I’m right here.”
Jocelyn continued to speak as though he wasn’t in the room. “Is that what makes him shy away from serious relationships?”
Trevor sat on the corner of the desk. “Do we have to do this now?” Although Jocelyn teased in her usual fashion, this broached an uncomfortable subject.
“I think foster care did that to him,” Josie said, sobering. “I mean, I’ve been away a long time, but Annabel told me he went through a rebellious stage. And he’s never gotten over what our dad did. Well...none of us did, really. How can we? Our father is a serial killer.”
Trevor heard and felt all the years of suffering she’d endured—all the years of suffering they’d all endured. If the state hadn’t decided it wasn’t in their best interest to stay together, he could have found his brothers and sisters sooner. Chris wouldn’t have come to him with the doubt that had plagued him all these years.
“Are you any closer to catching the copycat killer?” Josie asked Trevor. “It’s Jesse Willard’s half sister, right? That’s so unbelievable.”
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 and 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.
