Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn #6)- Lisa Regan Page 0,108

me. Do whatever he says to get Lucy back. He can have the money.”

The man looked at Colin briefly. “I don’t want your money, asshole.”

In her mind, Josie calculated that back-up units should be there within the next five minutes. Although, she realized, that might not stop this guy from plunging his knife into Colin’s chest or her from having to shoot him.

“What’s it about?” Colin asked, eyes bulging from his head. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you. I just want Lucy back.”

“Maybe one day your wife can tell you what this is all about. Or is she dead?”

Josie said, “Tessa is still alive.”

His eyes darted toward her and she saw his knife-hand slacken a little. “She told you?”

“Told me what?” Josie said.

“The truth. What she did to me.”

“What did she do to you?”

His knife hand lowered, his forearm coming away from Colin’s throat. Still, his arm held Colin in place. “You’re bullshitting me. If she had told you what she did—the truth, the real truth—you would have arrested her. She’d be in jail right now and not in a hospital.”

“Amy would never hurt anyone,” Colin gasped. “You must have the wrong woman. This is all a huge mistake. Please, just bring Lucy back. Whatever you think my wife did, you’re wrong. Lucy has nothing to do with this. Just bring her home and I promise you, we can forget this whole thing.”

The man shoved Colin hard with his forearm. Colin’s neck whipped back and forth, the back of his skull smashing against the wall. “You’re the one who’s wrong, asshole. You know nothing about your wife. She’s an evil, lying bitch. You think she cares about Lucy? You think she ever cared about Lucy? About anyone but herself? Look at what she did to me. Look!” With his free hand, he tore at his shirt, popping buttons and exposing a pale chest with a smattering of hair. In the places the hair didn’t grow were large silvery scars. Old welts or cuts, Josie couldn’t be sure. There were cigarette burns and a large scar on his left lower torso that looked like the permanent imprint of a belt buckle. They were old and faded but so indelible on his skin that even now in adulthood, they were unmistakable.

Childhood scars, a faint part of Josie’s brain registered, but she quieted that voice because the part of her brain that was on high alert recognized that he had finally taken the knife away from Colin’s body. It hung now at his side, opposite Colin. Slowly, Colin slid down the wall to the floor.

Josie said, “If Amy did that to you then we need to have a serious conversation. Put down the knife. I’ll put down my gun. I’m willing to listen to you, but we don’t have to do it like this.”

He laughed bitterly. “I don’t think so. You know when people listen? When you have a knife in your hand.”

“What do you want?” Josie asked.

“I want her to pay.”

“Who? Tessa? Don’t you think she’s paid enough? You took everyone she cared about away from her—Jaclyn, Wendy, and most importantly, Lucy. Plus, now she’s in the hospital in critical condition. What else do you want? You want her dead?”

He shook his head. “I want her to suffer. The way I suffered.”

Josie’s mind was still working at breakneck pace back over everything she knew about this case and what Trinity had just told her. The man before her couldn’t be older than twenty-six or twenty-seven. His accomplice had only been twenty-four. Both would have been infants—or at least very small children—when Amy was living in Buffalo as Tessa.

Josie said, “Was it you or Natalie? Or both of you?”

“Was it me or Natalie what?” he asked.

“You were her children,” Josie murmured.

Downstairs, the front door creaked open and next came the sounds of a half dozen pairs of boots storming the house. Shouts of “FBI” floated up the steps. The man’s eyes widened. He looked down at where Colin had curled into a fetal position on the tiles. He raised the knife in one hand and reached for Colin with the other. Josie fired a shot. It grazed his upper arm, but it was enough for him to lose his grip on the knife. It clattered to the floor, and Josie rushed at him, gun pointed at his chest, screaming for him to get his hands up and get on his knees. She kicked the knife away and under the clawfoot tub. She was