Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn Book 6)(59)

One of her hands reached out. I took it. “Are you going to wake up now?”

She nodded weakly.

“Can we go home?”

“Not yet.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “No, of course not. This isn’t your fault. I need you to remember that. None of this is your fault.” Her hand squeezed mine. “I need to rest now, okay?”

I nodded, even though her eyes were already closed again. Her nose whistled as she slept. When she went limp, her grip loosened, and I took my hand back. I went back to the windowsill and stared outside. The silver woman was back in her garden again. Maybe she could take us home. I raised my hand to tap the window, but I couldn’t do it.

I looked back at her bloodied face and swollen eyes. I heard her voice even though she didn’t speak. You must be as quiet as you can.

I didn’t want to be the reason she got hurt again.





Thirty-Seven





Josie stepped outside the tent, pressing her phone to her ear as she paced. As she waited for Trinity to answer, she looked over toward the carousel where food and coffee tables were still set up. There were still some volunteer searchers lingering. Josie recognized Ingrid Saylor standing near the Komorrah’s Koffee table, talking with the tweed suit guy. Josie searched her brain for his name. Bryce Graham. A few feet from them were a few volunteers who had brought their own search and rescue dogs, including Luke. He waved to her, but she turned quickly away from him and hurried out of the park toward her car.

Finally, on the eighth ring, Trinity answered with a breathless hello.

Josie said, “I am one hundred percent sure this kidnapping is about Amy.”

“A kidnapping? Not an abduction?” Trinity said.

Josie made a noise of exasperation in her throat. “What’s the damn difference?”

“Well when you say abduction, it sounds like some sexual predator took her, but when you say kidnapping, it makes me think of someone taking her for ransom.”

“What difference does it make?” Josie grumbled. “Either way, I have to find Lucy Ross as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” Trinity conceded. She must have heard Josie’s frustration in her tone because she didn’t push for Josie to give her or inadvertently reveal any information about the case that she could use in a story. Instead, she said, “You said you think this case is about Amy.”

“Yes. This is about Amy. Someone is doing this to hurt her.”

“Nice, quiet Amy whose life is as boring as the day is long?” Trinity said.

“Yes,” Josie said. “Tell me you got something. Anything.”

“I got a yearbook photo. That’s it so far. I’m on my way to the library now. Still no return call from Renita. I’ll send you the yearbook photo though.”

A few seconds later, Josie’s phone buzzed. She held it away from her face so she could pull up the text that Trinity had just sent with a photo of a young teenage girl, the name ‘Amy Walsh’ printed beneath it. Josie studied it. The photo was grainy, showing a girl with dark, curly hair and a shy smile. The resemblance to Amy Ross was thin, at best. She heard Trinity’s voice coming from her phone. “I haven’t met her in person. That’s her, right?”

Josie stared at the photo for another beat. “I suppose if she cut, dyed and straightened her hair. I’d hate to think I still looked like the girl in my yearbook photo.”

“The FBI is right on my heels,” Trinity said. “Have they turned anything up?”

“I don’t think so,” Josie said. “I’ll have to talk to Agent Oaks. I’m headed over to the Ross home now. Let me know if you find out anything else at the library or if you get in touch with Renita.”

“You got it,” Trinity said before hanging up.

Josie took another moment to look at the yearbook photo of Amy Walsh. She tried zooming in, but it only made the photo blurrier.

“Boss.” Mettner strode up behind her.

Josie didn’t bother to correct him this time. “What is it, Mett?”

“The teams found a hunting cabin in South Denton that was broken into. Gun safe was breached, and the guns were stolen.”

Josie took one last look at the photo and sighed. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll call Oaks on the way there and update him.”





South Denton was mostly comprised of strip malls and other squat, flat-roofed buildings including a self-storage facility and a car rental agency that broke up the otherwise thick foliage of the area. There were a few houses flung far and wide. Since it was a commercial district, many had been turned into businesses: a diner, an antiques store, a used-book store. At the very edge of town were several single-lane winding roads leading into the mountains. Josie and Mettner followed one of them two miles into the woods until they saw two Denton police cruisers at the end of a gravel driveway which was marked only by two standing red reflectors on either side of it. Josie parked behind one of them and she and Mettner walked up the driveway toward the small cabin. It was a rectangular, single-level structure, its siding made of faux logs, its roof made of red corrugated tin, peaked to allow Pennsylvania’s winter snow to slide off. To the left of the small porch was a square of grass and then several feet from that a stone fire pit surrounded by outdoor lawn chairs. In one of the metal chairs sat a short, rotund man with white hair. Two uniformed officers stood in front of him, one talking while the other took notes. The owner of the cabin, Josie guessed. Officer Hummel stood on the porch, dressed in his crime scene garb, consulting with another uniformed officer holding a clipboard.