Her Final Confession

Chapter Sixty-Two

The first hint of daylight, gray and indistinct through her blinds, blanketed Josie’s bedroom. Noah turned away from her to study the large bank of windows across from the bed. “We’ve been up all night,” he said.

Josie stretched her arms over her head and turned onto her stomach, resting her face on her pillow. Beneath the tangle of sheets, Noah’s hand found the small of her back and stroked up and down her spine. “Marathons aren’t known for their brevity,” she joked.

He laughed. His head disappeared beneath the sheets, and a moment later she felt his hot mouth against her bare shoulder, working its way down. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. For the first time in months, her head felt remarkably clear, and it had started already to work back through what she knew about Gretchen’s case, the Strangler, and the Wilkins murders.

“He’s going to kill Ethan Robinson,” she said.

She felt Noah’s mouth pause. His head popped up, and he pulled the sheet back so his face was exposed. “If this is your idea of pillow talk,” he said, “then I think we need to re-evaluate this relationship.”

Josie laughed. She turned over so she could meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. Sex helps me think better.”

Noah gave a deep belly laugh, his sides shaking. Josie slapped lightly at his chest. “Hey,” she said. “It’s not funny. You don’t feel clearer-headed afterwards?”

“No, I feel sleepy. Well, except for now.”

His index finger traced the skin over her collarbone. She watched him for a long moment as his hands explored her. The scar on his right shoulder where she’d shot him during the missing girls case drew her eyes. She touched it gingerly.

Noah said, “Ethan knows O’Hara’s identity. He has to kill him.”

Their hands continued to move along each other’s bodies, a slow study. Making up for lost time, she supposed. “So why would Gretchen make a deal with the Strangler to let Ethan go as long as she takes the fall for Omar’s murder? She can’t speak for Ethan. There’s no guarantee that he won’t go to the police.”

“Well, he hasn’t,” Noah said.

“But why? Why wouldn’t he? He’s been studying serial killers since he was a teenager. He read the book about the Strangler. He knows exactly what O’Hara is capable of, and he must know that O’Hara killed James. Why wouldn’t he go directly to the police?”

“Maybe he feels guilty. He probably convinced Omar to arrange this meeting between Gretchen and the Strangler, and if he didn’t convince him, he still let Omar do it, and now his friend is dead.”

“True,” Josie said. She thought about what Gretchen said about being young and stupid. Ethan was only in his early twenties. Josie had no idea what kind of person he was or how he handled stress. “So let’s say that Ethan is just young and dumb. But that doesn’t account for why Gretchen would think that O’Hara would let Ethan live. She must know. She must realize that O’Hara knows this kid knows who he is and that he could turn him in at any time.”

“I’m sure she does. But we know she asked you for more time before going public with this whole thing, so obviously she’s up to something.”

“Like what?”

She felt him shrug beneath her hands. She hadn’t expected an answer. He had access to all the same information she did. She asked another question that she didn’t expect him to answer: “What the hell could she be up to?”

“She told you that all she cared about then and all she cares about now is protecting her child,” Noah reminded her.

Then.

She sprang up, nearly elbowing Noah in the face as she did.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“I know where Ethan Robinson is,” Josie said.

She jumped out of bed and went to her dresser, pulling out clean clothes. “Get dressed,” she told him.

“Are you serious?”

“Do you really need to ask that question?”