Find Her Alive (Detective Josie Quinn #8) - Lisa Regan Page 0,105

of them, but many of them.

Without Hanna there, his bad thoughts emerged like animals waking from hibernation. He didn’t have to watch Zandra anymore or keep her in check. He felt free for the first time in his life, and he realized how much of a prisoner she had made him when they were growing up. His entire life had revolved around policing her and her urges so she didn’t hurt or even kill their mother. He had suffered because of her, been put out in the cold because of her. Perhaps she sensed his growing anger toward her because after Hanna’s death, Zandra kept herself locked away most of the time.

She did come out to see his first art installation, which he’d created on a remote part of the land Hanna had left them. The foundation of an old building still stood beneath a cluster of trees. He had spent months building it up, little by little, until it provided enough cover for him to do his work. He didn’t even know that Zandra was aware of what he was doing until she showed up one day with no warning.

“I’m almost finished,” he said, smearing paint across the floor with one hand.

She looked around, her eyes taking in every detail. “This is disgusting,” she said.

He stopped painting. “No, it’s not. This is art. Our mother left us a blank canvas.”

“You think you’re some kind of artist? Like she was?”

He said nothing and resumed painting.

“You know this isn’t art, right? No one is going to think this is art. I’m pretty sure you’d go to prison for this. I mean, how dumb can you be?”

“You don’t need to be here anymore,” he muttered.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You could leave.”

“No, I can’t,” she said. “You need me. You’ve always needed me.”

He laughed. “You’re so selfish.”

“You son of a bitch,” she spat. “Is that really what you believe? Do you honestly think I’m the selfish one here?”

He didn’t answer. His hand worked harder to rub in the paint. He put his entire body behind it until he was gasping with the effort. When he was satisfied, he sat back on his haunches and wiped his brow with a forearm. Zandra was still there.

“I’m going to kill you one day,” he told her.

She said, “I know.”

Fifty-Six

The search for Max went on for a week. Between Denton PD and the FBI team, they worked around the clock to try to locate him. Hours were spent behind computers, sifting through documents, driving out to residences and properties, questioning people. Sitting at her desk, sifting through drivers’ license photos of all the males in Pennsylvania between thirty-five and forty with Max in their name for the hundredth time, Josie couldn’t stop the questions or the sense of desperation she felt. Trinity was slipping away. The entire case was in danger of disintegrating into dust. She was beginning to think she was crazy. Or maybe they’d been all wrong about the diary. Maybe Trinity had been all wrong.

But the scar, she reminded herself.

Which led to her next question: how was this guy going unnoticed by everyone in the state, it seemed, when he had a scar running down the middle of his face? How was that possible when Trinity’s abduction by the Bone Artist was the top story every single day? She remembered what Bobbi Ingram had said; that he could cover it with make-up. Josie had had a flash of his face in the truck the day he’d run her off the road. It had only lasted a second, maybe two, but she’d seen it. It was true, make-up would help. It might not entirely cover the scar, but it would certainly minimize it. It was an easy thing for him to hide his truck and put on some foundation whenever he went out.

But where the hell was he?

“Quinn!” Drake strode into the room, waving a piece of paper. He looked around. “Where is everyone?”

“Gretchen and Noah are at home resting. Mettner’s down in the break room. Why? What’ve you got?”

He smiled. In the two short weeks she’d known him, she hadn’t seen a smile that went all the way to his eyes. Until now. Her heartbeat picked up pace. She said, “Don’t smile like that unless you have a real lead. An actual, honest to goodness lead. Please.”

He placed the paper in the center of her desk and tapped an index finger against it. “Remember your ERT took a sample of mud from the