A Baby For Agent Colton. Jennifer Morey

their vehicle.

      “Why did you do that? The boyfriend might know something,” she said quietly, still too close to Caressa. A glance back confirmed the woman watched them walk through the parking lot.

      “Ex-boyfriend. Male.” His eyebrows lifted in skepticism.

      “Right. Doesn’t fit the profile.” They’d established that without words. The boyfriend wasn’t the Alphabet Killer.

      “Hey, that’s my job.”

      Smiling big at the sexy sound of his voice and the easy way of communicating they had, Jocelyn said, “But we should check out the boyfriend. He may have seen Erica before she was killed and may be able to tell us something about Regina.”

      “And that’s your job,” Trevor said with his grin still in place. “Thinking like a smart detective.”

      Jocelyn walked beside him, disconcerted that the charming man she’d never known before sex interested her more than the dead end in their case.

       Chapter 3

      Trevor looked on the bright side of going to see Matthew Colton in prison. A, he had some time apart from Jocelyn, and B, he might be able to extract more information. Matthew enjoyed his visits. He enjoyed the game. He enjoyed his kids’ desire to find their mother’s body, the power he held over them by drawing out when and how he offered clues. A clue in exchange for a visit from each of his kids. Josie was the last to get her clue. She’d gone once and Matthew had toyed with her without giving her the clue. Now she refused to go back. Going the first time had been too much for her. She wasn’t ready to try again. Maybe she never would. Trevor couldn’t blame her. Visiting Matthew made him sick to his stomach.

      “Hey, Trevor.”

      Trevor turned to see Mac approach, the corrections officer who’d taken him to see Matthew the other times he’d been here. “Mac.”

      “Come with me. We’ve got him in the room just as you requested.”

      Trevor walked beside him down a white, windowless hall. An eye-aching row of rectangular lights reminded him of the painted lines on highways. “How’s he been?”

      “He was treated for dehydration after some chemo treatment he received. He’s recovered from that, though. Doing all right, considering.”

      Considering he was dying of cancer. Trevor felt no sympathy for the man. “As long as he can talk.”

      The officer chuckled. “He loves to do that.” He opened the door to the round communal room. “Just let the guard know when you’re ready to leave.”

      “Will do. Thanks.” Trevor entered, seeing Matthew sitting at one of the tables in the overcooked-pea-green-painted room. It just so happened Trevor had come during visitor hours. There were three other tables with inmates meeting with loved ones. He’d been offered a private room to talk, but he’d declined. Maybe meeting around other people would ease the discomfort of having to face his murderous father.

      “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Matthew asked.

      “The pleasure is all yours.” Trevor sat on the other side of the table.

      “You should be nicer to an old man who only wants to help you.” Matthew had lost a lot of weight with his illness. His skin sagged and had a ghostly pallor, and those evil, beady eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull.

      “Feel like talking about Regina Willard today?” Trevor asked.

      “Any admirer of mine is worth discussing. Besides, what else do I have to do in here?”

      “Have you received any more letters?” That any woman would send letters to a killer like Matthew befuddled Trevor. Matthew knew something about the killer, and Trevor suspected it had something to do with the letters. But so far, Matthew refused to reveal anything.

      “What do I get in exchange if I did?”

      “A clear conscience?” Trevor couldn’t keep his sarcasm out of his tone. Matthew was always looking for leverage.

      He sat back as he observed Trevor. After a long study, he finally said, “You were a wild kid. I remember when you ran off while we were at that amusement park and I had to go to the lost child booth. You remember that?”

      Trevor did. He had run off to get away from his dad, tired of his weak ego and smart mouth. The way Matthew had spoken to their mother had gotten Trevor in trouble more than once. He’d often gone toe-to-toe with the man, who’d shut him down with his bigger size. Matthew, though smart, had needed too many compliments to feel like a man. And he had never responded well to criticism.

      “Now you think you’re some hotshot FBI profiler.” Matthew scoffed. “Hell, you can’t even find your own mother’s grave.”

      Anger simmered low and hot. “You insult her memory by calling where you dumped her a grave.”

      “Your mother was a good woman up until the end.”

      She’d put up with Matthew, loved him, even. To the public he’d appeared normal and even likable. But living with the man had revealed a lot more. He’d kept his murdering ways hidden up until Saralee had discovered what he’d been doing. That had gotten her killed and had led to Matthew’s arrest.

      “Tell me,” Matthew said. “What’s your profile of me?”

      Matthew actually wanted him to say? Trevor would take pleasure in this.

      “You’re insecure and that insecurity led to your first murder. You never measured up to Big J Colton. He always made more money than you.”

      Matthew’s face began to color, the most life Trevor had seen in that skin so far.

      “You never got over him buying you out of the family ranch. You felt he gave you no other option. You were never going to feel like a man living in Oklahoma, where Big J lived. So you ran off to Texas, where you were still never able to measure up.”

      “You always were a smart-mouthed kid. I should have beaten you more, taken you down off that high horse you like to ride so much.”

      Trevor grinned, taunting. “You hated Big J. That’s no secret. It’s what drove you to kill those men. They reminded you of him. You compensated your weakness by killing your brother over and over again. As long as you killed, Big J stayed dead.”

      Matthew liked that analogy. Trevor watched him go back in time to his kills, relishing the experience of killing his brother over and over, because to Matthew, each victim was his brother.

      “Except now you can’t kill anymore,” Trevor said. He would not allow this monster to enjoy his crimes. “You can’t kill Big J. In fact, Big J is doing just fine in Oklahoma. Richer than ever. Successful rancher. Happy as can be. Nothing you’ve done has changed that.”

      Matthew started to stand. “You son of a—” The security guard took a step forward, his hand on his gun. Matthew saw this and sat back down, glaring across the table at Trevor.

      “You asked me to profile you,” Trevor said, checking his phone for the time. “I’ve got to go. You’ve wasted yet another of my visits.”

      “Wait.” Matthew’s temper cooled. He didn’t want this visit to end, this escape from everyday prison routine. “You convince that daughter of mine, Josie, to come and see me?”

      “She already came to see you.” It had been a brief visit. Josie had given up and left.

      “If you want another clue, bring Josie to see me.”

      Trevor wasn’t sure he could convince her. “She thinks you’re bluffing. You don’t give out information easily.” He’d refused to give Trevor any clues. Maybe because Trevor came to see him the most. He knew Trevor would come to see him. Josie was more of a challenge. But Josie had been through a