Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn Book 6)(70)

“How do you think?”

Amy looked away again. Her fingers moved to the collar of her sweater, tugging at it and then rolling it in her fingers. “Bryce,” she said. “The FBI agents said he was okay. Unharmed.”

“Yes,” Josie said. “He’s in protective custody.”

“I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t matter,” Amy explained.

“You say that, but Bryce could have been killed today. We could have caught the kidnapper today if you’d told us about Bryce. We could have had units at his house, waiting for the kidnapper.”

Amy’s nervous fingers moved from her collar to her forehead. She leaned forward, sobs rocking her frame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I didn’t know. I would never put Bryce—or anyone—in danger.” She looked back up at Josie. “I swear to you that I haven’t been Tessa Lendhardt in twenty-two years. She doesn’t matter. She never did. She was no one, and she had no one. God, I was just a kid.”

“Who was Tessa Lendhardt?”

“I told you before. A fiction. A ghost.”

“Amy, we don’t have time for these cryptic answers. The drop is tomorrow. The kidnapper is going to call you again. That means he’s going to find someone you know, probably someone you care about, and he’s going to kill them. Both so he can use their phone without being traced and so he can hurt you. If you tell me who he’s going to target, I can stop that from happening. We may even be able to recover Lucy before the drop happens. Head this whole thing off at the pass.”

Amy sat forward and extended her hands toward Josie, capturing one of Josie’s hands. Tears streaked her face. “I am telling you, I don’t know. There is no one else. I swear.”

“You said that last time and then we got a phone call from your therapist’s house.”

“That was a mistake. I should have told you about Bryce. But I honestly didn’t think it would matter. I hadn’t seen him in months, and I had no intention of going back.”

“Then you need to tell me what else you think won’t matter. It’s the things you’re not telling me that might get people killed. Maybe even Lucy.”

Amy tugged hard on Josie’s arm. “Please,” she begged. “I’m telling the truth. There is no one else.”

“Why won’t you talk about Tessa Lendhardt?” Josie asked. “What are you hiding? Amy, I told you before, I don’t care what you did. I only care about getting Lucy back. What’s the worst thing you could have done? Killed someone? I don’t care.”

“That’s not the worst thing,” Amy mumbled.

“Isn’t it? Tell me, Amy. What’s the worst thing? What did Tessa Lendhardt do that you feel the need to hide all these years later, even with your daughter’s life hanging in the balance?”

“Nothing. I told you. I was a kid. I was in a bad situation.”

“With an abusive partner—husband, boyfriend, lover?”

Amy hesitated. “None of those things.”

Josie pulled her hand away, a sigh of exasperation escaping her throat.

“Wait, I’m telling the truth.”

Josie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Amy. I don’t think you know how to tell the truth anymore.”





Forty-Six





Oaks was in the dining room, seated in front of a laptop, typing up a report. A cup of coffee steamed beside him. He looked up at her when she walked in, his brow raised in a question. Josie shook her head. She wasn’t getting anything more out of Amy. Nothing that made sense. Their only choice at this juncture was to wait for the ransom drop and hope that they could catch the kidnapper and recover Lucy—alive.

Oaks gestured to his mug. “Get yourself some coffee—or some sleep. Mr. Ross said they’ve got a spare bedroom upstairs that we can use.”

Josie tried to sleep in the guest room—she and Mettner took shifts—but rest would not come. The hours stretched on in a tomb-like silence that enveloped the house. Amy sat alone in Lucy’s room while Colin paced the dining room. Morning came and went. Then afternoon. Someone ordered takeout but no one ate. Every passing minute seemed like some kind of death knell. No one said it, but Josie imagined they were all wondering: was he going to call?

When Amy’s cell phone eventually rang, the sound screamed through the house like an alarm. Amy came rushing down the stairs, stumbling and falling down the last few steps. Colin was there, and he lifted her up and half-dragged, half-carried her into the dining room. Amy’s hands trembled as she picked up the phone from the dining room table and swiped the Answer icon. The room was packed, with Oaks, Mettner, Colin and several other agents crammed into it, listening as Amy gave a shaky “Hello?”

The kidnapper’s voice filled the room again. This time he didn’t sound as gleeful as he normally did. “Hello, Amy.”

She closed her eyes and squeezed the phone until her knuckles turned white. “Do you have Lucy? Is she still alive?”

“No questions. You’ll bring the money tonight. Six o’clock.”

Amy looked around the room, eyes wide. “You said six-thirty.”

“And now it’s six. Remember, you don’t make the rules. Six o’clock sharp. No police. No FBI. Just you and your husband.”