“I’ll bet,” Josie muttered.
Adam Long told the same story, Mettner related. Tom Booth admitted that many years ago he had spied on Lorelei after Celeste told him about her, especially given that her twenty acres stood in the way of them expanding the resort, but said he’d never officially met her and since he’d only followed her to and from the produce market once, he’d had no idea that she had had children. The three of them had given alibis for one another—they were all at the resort on Friday morning. Celeste said she had seen both Adam and Tom that morning. All three of them had been released. Back to square one.
Unless Josie could find Rory.
She was still in her driveway. She looked up at her dark house, knowing she should go back inside and get back into bed with her husband and her dog. Let someone else solve the case, get the bad guy. Sawyer’s words haunted her. The great Josie Quinn had to have the spotlight. But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that she wanted or needed the spotlight. Like Emily, she had compulsions when it came to her work. The worst case of her life was the missing girls’ case from six years ago, and it hadn’t even been her case. She’d been on suspension, but she’d pushed the envelope. All these years later, she was appalled at the behavior of that rash, brazen woman. Josie knew how important it was to follow all the rules and to not make things personal.
But she was still going to go get Rory.
Not as a police officer. She didn’t even have her gun. She didn’t need it. She would never use it on him. She was going because she had to. Because his mother had once rescued her from a snow and sleet storm. Because his mother had spent fifteen years trying to protect him, and now he was out there, alone, vulnerable, being hunted. A killer hunting a killer, she thought. It was fitting. Sad, but fitting. She was doing this as a concerned civilian, a friend of his little sister’s. That’s what she told herself. Once she found him, she’d deliver him safely to her team and let them do the rest. Let them arrest Lorelei and Holly’s killer.
Josie knew that despite all her internal justifications, she was in the wrong. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be doing this in the dark without telling anyone. She picked up her phone. Her finger lingered over Mettner’s name. But she tossed it aside, popped her emergency brake and let her car roll silently out of the driveway. Once she was in the street, she turned it on and started driving.
It was five a.m. by the time Josie arrived at Harper’s Peak. The sky was still an inky black. She knew she had about an hour and a half before sunrise. The grounds and parking lots were silent and still. Josie found a spot in the lot of the main building and left her car there. She was far enough from the lobby doors that no one at the front desk would notice her skulking around. Tucking her hands into her jacket pockets, she strode across the grounds like she belonged there. There was no rule against guests being outside during the night. There were several asphalt paths lit with tiny lanterns staked into the ground. She stayed off the paths but close enough to them to take advantage of their light. When she got near Griffin Hall, she veered off into the grass. Overhead, clouds covered the moon. Once she lost the light, she stopped and took out her night vision goggles, fixing them onto her head, and taking a look around. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to unknowingly bump into any creatures or inanimate objects, she carried on. The walk took longer than she anticipated, but Josie wanted to approach the tiny church from the back. Once she reached the ridge, the moon emerged from the clouds, bathing everything in a silver light. She took off her goggles and pocketed them. Once her eyes adjusted, she skulked closer to the church. There was a door at the back. As she got closer to it, she saw the latch was broken.
Josie pushed the door open as slowly as possible, not wanting to make any noise. As she stepped inside, her eyes adjusted once more. The altar stone and pulpit cast large shadows against a flickering light in the center of the church. Four strides brought her to the edge of the altar. There, between the two rows of pews, on the floor, was Rory. He lay curled on his side on top of a sleeping bag. Next to him was a large duffel bag. Josie could see a piece of clothing sticking out of it. His personal belongings, she thought. He stared at a candle on the floor, its flame dancing.
“Rory,” Josie whispered.
He jumped up, hands held out in front of him, searching all around. “Who is it?” he hissed.
Josie stepped closer, into the light. She held her hands out as well, to show him she was unarmed. “Josie Quinn,” she said. “I talked to your sister, Emily, tonight.”
Whipping around, he stared at her. His face was streaked with dirt. Locks of his thick brown hair stuck up on one side of his head. The single white forelock in the center of his forehead glowed in the candlelight. He wore a
