Vanishing Girls

Chapter Sixty-Five

Daylight was fading by the time Josie and Rena heard the first crunch of tire over gravel outside. They’d drunk every bottle of water in the fridge and raided the Gosnell’s cabinets, finding some potato chips and crackers to chew on. Josie could tell by the way Rena picked at the chips that she had even less of an appetite than Josie did, but both their stomachs growled with hunger and Josie urged her to eat, if only to pass the time. “I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to get real food. Once the FBI arrives, things are going to move pretty quickly,” Josie told her. They ate what they could. Josie’s throat felt dry and scratchy from talking, but it kept her anxiety away, kept her from thinking about Ray and the chief lying dead and cold and alone in the bunker.

They both sprang up from the table when they heard the cars. More than one, Josie realized as she darted into the living room. She watched as the first rounded the last curve of the Gosnells’ driveway and came into view. Her entire body unwound with relief as Trinity Payne’s Honda Civic pulled up alongside the chief’s Jeep. Behind it were two black Chevy Suburbans and one boxy white van with the FBI logo emblazoned on the side of it above the words Philadelphia Field Office Evidence Response Team.

“They’re here,” Josie called to Rena, her voice losing all trace of calm. “They’re here!”

Rena sat back in her chair in the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” Josie told her.

Josie never would have thought she’d feel such joy at seeing Trinity Payne, but she had to work hard not to fall into her arms as she emerged from her Honda. She stood a few feet back from Trinity, trying to smile but already feeling her composure cracking. Her shoulders quaked as all around them FBI agents began to alight from their vehicles and jog over.

“Thank you,” Josie told Trinity.

For once Trinity’s face was devoid of its usual eagle-eyed scrutiny. “You don’t look so good,” she replied.

The passenger-side door of the Honda opened and Noah stepped out. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged and his right arm rested in a sling. He looked pale and exhausted, bags hanging below his eyes. “Detective Quinn,” he said.

“Noah,” Josie choked. She wiped tears away with the backs of her hands. “I’m sorry I shot you.”

He managed a weak smile. “All is forgiven,” he said.

A tall male agent in a charcoal-gray suit stepped up beside Josie. He was easily six foot four, and thin as a rail. He was nearing sixty, his short hair a drab gray. Trinity looked from him to Josie and said, “This is Special Agent Marcus Holcomb. He’ll be heading up this investigation.”

Josie shook his hand. “Let me show you what we’ve got.”