Page 100 of Husband Missing

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Heather said.

“That’s it?” Erica put her feet back on the floor. “You’re not going to arrest me or send me to prison?”

Heather grimaced. “That’s not entirely up to me. What happened involved multiple jurisdictions. The investigations will take a long time, and then the facts will be reviewed by prosecutors who will decide whether or not to bring charges, but given all you went through, and your assistance in rescuing Lieutenant Fraley, I doubt you’ll be charged with anything.”

Erica felt a sense of relief so profound, she thought she might start floating.

“I’m just curious about one more thing,” said Heather. “Why did you ask for three hundred thousand dollars?”

More tears. She blinked them back and looked at her lap. “I wanted to help my dad. It’s what he has to pay back from the embezzlement thing. I know everyone thinks he’s a horrible person because he stole money from a hospital charity and he should reap the consequences—and he is, gladly, but…well, I can’t tell you more than that.”

Erica had thought about telling the police the truth about that, too, but it wouldn’t change anything. Regardless of the circumstances, her dad had still embezzled the money. His motivation didn’t matter to anyone but her.

“Just know that he did what he did to protect me.”

SEVENTY-ONE

Josie woke to the slow, rhythmic symphony of beeps that told her Noah was stable. How she loved the sound. The lights in his hospital room had been turned off but outside, the sun was rising. The morning light filtered in slowly. They’d been here for two days. Josie shifted in the so-called sleep chair the nursing staff had provided. The way her neck, shoulders, and back ached, it was more like a torture device. She’d tried slipping into bed with Noah but even with the heavy-duty painkillers being pumped into his system every few hours, he was too sore for that.

She struggled to her feet and stretched her arms before going to the side of the bed so she could watch him sleep. Surgery had fixed his nose. The beatings he took had broken several of his ribs and left a lot of bruising but he would recover well. Lots of fluids had taken care of his severe dehydration. Anti-inflammatories had reduced the swelling in his injured eye. The scary gash on the side of his head had been stapled. He’d have a scar but his hair would cover it. There was no long-term neurological damage, but every time Josie looked at it, her world felt like it was tipping. A fraction of an inch to the left and she’d be standing over his grave right now.

Lucky for them both, the late Holden Doyle had been a terrible shot. When Noah’s attackers failed to get the information they wanted from him—whether he and Josie were hiding additional items that could land Clint Phelan in trouble—Mace had instructed Holden to take Noah out to the shed and kill him. The bullet had grazed the side of Noah’s head but bled profusely enough to convince Holden that he’d gotten the job done. They’d left him there, intending to dispose of his body at some point. Noah had been too injured and too weak to remove his bindings and escape. Josie wondered how long it would have taken her colleagues to find him if it hadn’t been for Erica Slater.

“Stop doing that.” Noah’s hand found hers. His smile looked so much better now that his face was healing.

“Doing what?” said Josie.

“Thinking about all the ways I could have died. I’m right here.”

Clearly, his mind-reading ability was still firmly intact.

She wanted to kiss him so badly, but she wouldn’t risk bumping his nose. Everything would have to wait, including breaking the news to him about the adoption.

“Hey, what is it?” Even heavily medicated, he didn’t miss a thing.

A knock at the door saved her from answering. Heather Loughlin poked her head inside. “Looking good,” she told Noah. “I’ve got to steal your wife for a bit.”

Josie hated leaving him for even a few minutes, but she needed to talk with Heather. In silence they made their way to the cafeteria, grabbing coffees and pastries before settling across from one another at a table.

“We released Erica Slater,” said Heather. “She can go back to her life. At least until it’s time to testify against Mace Phelan and his accomplices.”

“Was I right about the blackmail?” asked Josie. “First Lila and then her?”

Heather took a long sip of coffee and smiled. “You were exactly right, though I still don’t know how you figured it out.”

“I was raised by Lila Jensen, that’s how,” Josie said. “Have you talked to anyone about Clint Phelan and Roe Hoyt? What I told you?”

“Roe Hoyt’s original conviction took place in Bradford County. I spoke with a DA there who is willing to look into it, but Josie, unless Clint confesses to killing those children, Roe will die in prison.”

Heather was right. Josie was under no delusion that the arrowheads Lila had kept were the ones Clint Phelan had used. Lila had taken them for what they represented to her and nothing more. She must have been fifth in the birth order and old enough to witness what happened to at least one of her infant siblings to know that Roe wasn’t a murderer and remember what the arrowheads looked like. Even if they were the ones used in the murders, six decades after the fact there wouldn’t be any way to prove that they were. Without witnesses or any circumstantial or physical evidence proving Clint’s guilt, there was nothing anyone could do to change Roe’s fate.

“The DA will do some research, build up a file, and try for the confession,” Heather said.

It was cold comfort. Clint Phelan wouldn’t have any motivation to confess. He’d kept the secret all this time. Josie didn’t think he was about to grow a conscience now.

“I’ll give you the prosecutor’s number,” said Heather. “You can follow up.”

SEVENTY-TWO

---