Her Final Confession

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Her mind worked frantically, going over all the things she had learned from the forum and from Jack Starkey. Even the Wilkins scene. The flashlight. He would have a flashlight. Disorienting his victims in the dark using the beam was part of his MO.

Josie flipped on the kitchen light. She wasn’t going to let him have the element of surprise. In her chest, her heart raced so fast it set her entire body to vibrate. Slowly, she walked across the room and opened a cabinet, taking out a glass, still trying to act natural while she figured out what the hell to do. She could leave. She could climb out a kitchen window, run out the back door. But she couldn’t leave Noah inside the house. She couldn’t leave him behind. Noah’s phone was gone, as were their guns. Her phone was upstairs in the bedroom. She thought about the unit that Chitwood had promised. Were they still out there? Had the killer hurt them, or had he snuck in through the back of the house without them noticing? She had to assume that O’Hara had done something to them and that they would not be able to come to the rescue. Squeezing the glass in her hand, she thought about how she would do it—if she wanted to render two police officers powerless without actually discharging a weapon. There were plenty of ways to do it if someone was ruthless enough or manipulative enough—and Josie knew that O’Hara was both of those things.

Loosening her grip on the glass, she dropped it on the tile. It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the small room. She felt a piece of glass lodge in her calf. Reaching into the cabinet, she took out two more glasses and dropped those as well. Shards of glass flew everywhere, more lodging in the skin of her feet and legs. When she had shattered every drinking glass, she went for the plates.

“Josie?” It was Noah’s voice.

With bloody bare feet, she edged around the corner of the room to avoid the glass as much as she could. At the doorway she could see that he had turned on the hall light that illuminated the upstairs hall, the steps, and a portion of the downstairs.

Barefoot and bare-chested in boxer shorts, he trudged down the steps, eyes bleary with sleep. He stopped three steps from the bottom. “What’s going on?”

Josie smiled. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was trying to get something from the back of the cabinet, and there was an avalanche of dishes.”

He scratched his head, still looking at her in the low light.

Silently, hoping his lip-reading was as good as always, she mouthed: He’s here. He took our guns. My phone is upstairs.

She saw his shoulders tense, watched the fatigue in his face recede and every line of his posture sharpen with the realization. “Oh,” he said. “Well, let me help you clean it up.”

He mouthed: Where?

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’ve got this. You go back to bed.”

I don’t know, she responded silently. Wherever he was—the foyer, the living room, or perhaps even the dining room that Noah never used—he was listening to their entire exchange, this she knew. Would he wait until he had them both together to strike? Were they putting themselves at risk even standing here this long, talking?

“Are you sure?” he asked.

You go, Noah mouthed.

He wanted her to leave. To go out the back door, a kitchen window. To get out.

I’m not leaving you, she responded.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

My phone is upstairs, she urged him.

She couldn’t leave him behind. She’d never walked away from a fight in her life. She wasn’t about to run from this one and leave the man she loved behind to face a monster who killed as easily as he breathed.

“Okay,” he told her. “I’ll see you up there.”

He made the shape of a gun with his right hand, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. There was another gun upstairs. He just had to get to it.

Go, she mouthed seconds before she felt the cold hard barrel of a gun pressed against the base of her neck and a meaty hand clamp down on her shoulder. Noah’s face registered shock and a fleeting panic before hardening into anger.

The voice behind her said, “Why don’t we invite Noah to join us?”

The sound of Noah’s name on O’Hara’s lips sent a shiver through Josie’s body. Her heart stopped and kicked on, stopped and kicked on again. How long had he been there? What had he heard? Had he been hiding in the house when they were making love? Discussing the case? He had been perfecting his stealth for decades.

“Get away from her,” Noah snarled, moving down a step.

O’Hara laughed. Josie felt his breath against her hair. “I don’t think so, son. Your lady and I are gonna have a good time together. I’m gonna show you how it’s done. So why don’t you just stick around?”

Josie was making calculations. She had to assume that the unit outside was not in a position to come help them. Still, this was a residential neighborhood, and Noah’s nearest neighbors would very likely hear a gunshot if he was to start shooting them. Then again, he had shot James Omar in the back in broad daylight on a residential street, and no one had even come to investigate.

But he hadn’t used a gun in any of his crimes, except for when he murdered Billy Lowther, and that was because things didn’t go according to plan. That was over twenty years ago, when he still wore a cloak of anonymity. His back was against the wall now. The whole country was looking for him. If he wanted to kill them and get away, he would have to keep some of his impulses in check. Plus, he would have limited time. When the unit outside failed to check in with dispatch within an hour, the Denton PD would send another unit out to investigate. Josie had no doubt O’Hara would use the gun, but hopefully only as a last resort. Still, she wasn’t about to let him assume control of the situation.

She met Noah’s eyes. Get down, she mouthed.