Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn Book 6)(83)

“Did they call each other by name? Did you hear either of them say any names at all?” Oaks asked.

Violet nodded. “He kept calling her Nat. She didn’t call him by any name.”

Natalie Oliver, Josie thought.

“So,” Josie said, picking up the narrative. “He stabbed you. They were fighting. Then what happened?”

“Then the woman came back. She hit him over the head with something. They started fighting again. I wanted to get up and run but I was bleeding. I didn’t want to draw their attention, so I just stayed very still. He came over after they stopped and kicked me in the ribs a few times. I tried not to react. She said, ‘Let’s go,’ and then he said he was going to finish the job.”

She paused to suck in several breaths. Her face had gone even paler than when they’d walked into the room. “Take your time,” Josie told her.

After a few more breaths, Violet continued, “She said I was dead already. I felt her hands on me. She checked my pulse. In my neck. She must have felt it—my heart was hammering at that point. But she told him, ‘See, I told you she was dead. Leave her and let’s get out of here.’”

Josie and Oaks exchanged a puzzled look. “She saved you,” Josie said.

Violet nodded again. “I don’t know why. There’s no way she didn’t feel my pulse. But she convinced him I was gone. I heard them walk off. A little while later, I tried to get up and walk, but I didn’t make it very far. I was too weak. Too much pain.”

“You’re safe now,” Josie told her. “Just rest. Thank you, Mrs. Young.”

Josie and Oaks left the Youngs and walked down the hall toward the elevators. “That doesn’t sound good,” Oaks said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Josie said. “Did your team find any evidence that Lucy had been at the mill?”

“We’re still processing, but so far, no. We haven’t.”

They didn’t say it, but she knew they were both thinking it: there was a very good chance that Lucy was dead.





Sixty





She was gone again in the dark. I woke up cold. I knew that if she wasn’t there in the room with me then she must be getting ready to go home again. I ran to the door and looked through the crack. I waited for her shadow to appear, but it didn’t. My legs felt stiff, my mouth dry. I listened hard for her footsteps but didn’t hear them. She was always good at moving without making any noise. When the daylight started to creep across the living room, a spike of fear pierced my heart.

Where was she?

It seemed like hours and hours, but I don’t know how long it was before he came out of one of the other rooms. I watched him in complete silence. He wore his usual flannel shirt, blue jeans and heavy boots. His thin brown hair was combed from one side of his scalp to the other, and as always, the scent of cigarette smoke trailed behind him. He smelled of cigarettes even when he wasn’t smoking. He saw me sitting on the floor in the doorway. “You looking for her?”

I didn’t move.

“You talk? Say something, kid.”

“I—I—”

He shook his head. “Never mind. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” I repeated.

“She left. Took her shit and left.”

I ran toward the outside door, but his hand shot out and grabbed the collar of my shirt.

“I’m going with her,” I cried.

He tossed me as if I weighed nothing. My body flew through the air, crashed into the wall, and slid down to the floor. I felt the hurt everywhere at once. Something flared inside me—burning anger—and without thinking, I jumped back up and flew at him. I grabbed his thick, hairy forearm and clamped my teeth down on it.

He tried to flick me away, like I was a bug. “Dammit, kid. Knock it off.”

I wouldn’t let go. A growling sound started deep in my throat. Blood flowed into my mouth. With his other meaty paw, he backhanded me. Stars appeared before my eyes and my jaw went slack. I fell to the ground. “Look what you did, you stupid kid,” he muttered. Blood flowed down his arm, to his wrist, snaking between his fingers. I had made him bleed just as he had made her bleed so many times.

I tried to stand up but dizziness overcame me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

“I’m going to find her,” I said.

“You’re not going with her,” he said. “You stay here with me.”

“She’ll come back,” I choked out.

Then his face was inches from mine, his breath foul and hot. “She’s never coming back,” he snarled. “You understand that, kid? She’s never coming back.”

Tears spilled from my eyes. “I want to go home.”

“You’re never going home.”





Sixty-One





The mobile command tent was abuzz with activity when Josie and Oaks arrived back at the city park. The park lights shone down on the play area, illuminating the law enforcement milling around outside the tent as well as the civilian volunteers Josie had enlisted to help search for Violet Young. She spotted Luke’s bloodhound, Blue, lumbering around the swings, sniffing at the dirt and walked toward him. Josie knelt and called softly to Blue, who recognized her. He walked over to her, his tail wagging, and pressed the length of his body into her waiting hands. She scratched his back, rubbed his sides, and spoke softly to him. Nearby, Luke was talking with a sheriff’s deputy. He smiled when he saw her, said goodbye to the deputy, and came over.