The Truth About Comfort Cove

P rofessor Melissa Beck wasn’t sure she remembered Jack Colton. His picture “rang a bell,” but she’d had so many students over the years they’d blended together. She most definitely had never had anything but professional relationships with any of her students—was happily married, thank you— and only knew of one teacher/student relationship at UC during her tenure, and that had involved a male teacher with a female student and the two were now married.

“That was a bust,” Lucy said as she and Ramsey got back into the Rendezvous. Her stomach was in knots. Wakerby was next.

“Maybe not,” Ramsey’s reply surprised her. “I’ve been thinking about this. Colton lived under the radar. He never gave anyone any reason to suspect him of anything. Never drew attention to himself, except as a good worker. What we just heard fits that character type.”

“He obviously was a good employee.” “And what better cover for getting away with something illegal?”

Colton’s time at UC was probably before his involvement with baby stealing. “You’re saying his personality fits the profile.”

“Exactly. Or that he was purposely under the radar so no one would suspect him of anything.”

“Or remember him.”

Again Ramsey’s theory made sense. They were closing in on this guy. They just had to keep looking.

And what about Wakerby? Were they still closing in on him? Or was he on the road to getting away from them?

“You want to stop anyplace before we head out to the prison?” They’d had coffee while they’d waited for Professor Beck to arrive, but he was at her mercy so it was polite to offer.

And a stop could distract her for a moment or two.

“What time is our appointment?”

&nbs

p; “Ten-thirty.” She wasn’t afraid of Sloan Wakerby. She was afraid of his effect on her.

The only way to rid herself of fear was to face it. Head-on.

Ramsey settled back in his seat. “I’m good, then.”

He smiled at her, an expression filled with concern. And she had fears to face. Not all of them Wakerby related.

“Where were you born?” She’d have liked not to blurt the question so boldly, or with such a lack of finesse, but she was taking care of business now. If she was going to give up her information, he had to give up his.

“Vienna, Kentucky.”

He put it right out there. No prevarication. Maybe she’d been going at this all wrong.

She asked where Vienna was and found out that it was a small town in the southern part of the state.

“Did you grow up there?”

“Yes.”

“Are your parents still alive?” She felt as if they were playing twenty questions. Except that the answers were far more interesting than any game she’d ever played.

“Yes.”

“Still in Vienna?”

“Yes.” He was staring out the front windshield, somewhat intimidating in his navy suit and polished shoes. Funny, his holster didn’t intimidate her a bit. The polished shoes did.

“What does your father do for a living? Was he a cop, too?”

“No, a tobacco farmer. He’s retired.”

She took the ramp for the state highway that would lead to Wakerby’s temporary residence until he was sent to prison for the rest of his life. No need for GPS assistance on this trip. She could get to the jail in her sleep.