Page 42 of Husband Missing

She scowled. “Just get out of my way, douchebag.”

Trinity shook her head. “Josie.”

Turner’s low laughter only aggravated Josie more. He stood and held out his palm. Grumbling, Josie found a dollar in the pocket of her jeans and shoved it into his hand.

With a sigh, Trinity stood as well. “I assume you two will be at the stationhouse for a bit? There’s something I need to do. I’ll be back to pick you up later.”

“Or,” Turner said, gazing down at Josie, “I could give you a lift when you’re ready.”

“Stop being nice to me!” Josie snapped. “It’s weird and I don’t like it.”

THIRTY

It had only been a day since Josie was back at her desk, but it felt like she’d been gone for years. At first, she took comfort in being in the one place where things always made sense, where there was always a direction to take, where procedure dictated her next move. Then the sight of Noah’s desk taunted her. Thoughts of what would happen if they didn’t find him alive—if she didn’t find him alive—crowded her mind. She shut them down. That wasn’t happening. Not while she had breath in her lungs. Life—and Lila’s legacy, if that’s what was behind this—wasn’t taking one more damn thing from her.

A small foam basketball bounced off her shoulder.

“Shit,” Turner said. “I missed again.”

She thought about teasing him but didn’t have the energy. Tossing the ball at his head, she asked, “Did you look over the list of Phelan employees and anyone else who was on the build that day again?”

With a dramatic sigh, he edged his chair closer to his desk and went back to flipping through a document.

Josie had already looked over the armed robbery files, finding nothing of use. Next, she pulled up the geofence results from Gina Phelan’s murder. She’d never say it out loud, butTurner had been right. The results gave them nothing. With a sigh, she began reviewing the new surveillance footage the team had gathered from nearby businesses and residences. Most of the videos were useless. The cameras were either too far from the action to record anything of note or they revealed nothing new. Skimming the fourth one, Josie’s subconscious whispered, telling her something might be important. Her mind caught the detail but released it just as quickly. She needed to focus. Her eyelids were so heavy. The extra latte she’d bought before leaving Komorrah’s was empty.

Back to work. What was it that her brain had just alighted on? It took her three more scans to find it. Turner threw his basketball at her again. This time it glanced off the top of her head. Josie ignored it.

“What are you triple-checking now?” he said. “The additional videos? I already told you, they’re worthless.”

“No, they’re not. Come here.”

Turner made a point of hefting himself out of his chair like he weighed a thousand pounds and shuffling around to her desk like it was taking up all of his energy to do so. “What?”

“Here,” Josie said, indicating the screen, rewinding to the part of the video that had caught her attention and pausing it. “This car is double-parked here two blocks from the site. It’s pointed in the direction of the main entrance. The timestamp is five minutes before Gina was stabbed.”

“So?”

The vehicle was only visible from the driver’s side, but a small neon-blue glimmer radiated from the dash. Josie lined the cursor up next to it. “See this light? One of the local rideshare companies uses neon dash lights with their logo on it. Blue.”

“What’s your point, Quinn?”

“A lot of rideshares have dash cameras.”

Turner tapped his fingers against his leg. “I’m not kidding, Quinn. Get some sleep.”

“It could have driven past the site at the time of the stabbing. It’s possible that the dashcam caught something important. You could contact the rideshare company, give them the date and time, and see if they can put you in touch with the driver.”

“Rideshares make it their job to avoid giving police anything at all,” he countered.

Josie shifted in her chair so she could jam a hand into the pocket of her jeans. She came up with three dollars. As she spoke, she slapped the dollars one by one into Turner’s palm. “Stop being a douchebag, you absolute douchebag, and track down this vehicle. Also, you’re a jackass.”

The ghost of a smile played on his lips. “You done?”

Good God, she really was going to punch him in the throat.

“Probably not,” she managed, turning back to the computer.

Laughter trailed behind him as he returned to his desk.

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