Page 90 of The Couple's Secret
“Better give me an update before you’re naked, too,” she muttered, shimmying out of her pants. “Any word on Zane?”
“Still in surgery,” Noah said, handing her clean panties as he went back to shamelessly ogling her. “But the doctors expect he’ll pull through. The prognosis is positive considering the injuries. He’ll need a lot of physical therapy but hopefully he’ll regain full function in his lower limbs. Hollis is with him.”
Josie slid them on and then took the tote from him, digging through the contents. Thank God he’d brought her brush. Hopefully she’d be able to drag it through her tangled hair. “Has Jackson asked for an attorney?”
“No.”
Why would he? Suicide attempt aside, he must have known that they had absolutely zero evidence to prove that he’d been involved in the murders of Tobias and Cora or that he’d killed Riley.
As if sensing her thoughts, Noah said, “How are you going to get to him?”
Josie slid into the pair of jeans he’d brought her. She’d been thinking about that very question since Jackson was taken into custody. They were in the same position they’d been in when Hollis was their prime suspect. Jackson had had motive and opportunity. Slotting him into the puzzle, the pieces fit but they had no way to prove it. She needed a confession and she was going to get one, whether it was from him or his co-conspirator.
“Did Bruce Olsen come in?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s in interview room two.”
“Attorney?”
“Nope.”
“Well,” she smiled, yanking her new shirt down over her head, “it’s my lucky day.”
Fifty
Chief Chitwood leaned his shoulder against the doorframe to his office, arms folded across his thin chest, flinty eyes locked on Josie. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet since watching her interview with Bruce Olsen. She sat at her desk, reviewing Detective John Fanning’s case file for what felt like the hundredth time while slugging down the blonde latte Noah had left for her before he went home. Across the room, Gretchen stood by their ancient printer, collecting the documents it spit out.
“Found what I was looking for,” Josie told her. “Hitting print now.”
Gretchen huffed. “Which means I can expect it in four to six weeks.”
Josie laughed. “Oooh, express service.”
Another minute ticked by. Then another. The only sound was the printer coughing and spluttering like a three-pack-a-day smoker that swallowed a hairball.
Josie could still feel those eyes burning holes into the side of her face.
Gretchen shot her a questioning look. Josie shrugged. She was used to the Chief’s abrasive behavior, his abruptness, his tirades and the disconcerting way he dropped a compliment into what was otherwise a collection of barked commands and sharp criticisms. This silent lurking was weird.
Finally, Gretchen said, “Something on your mind, Chief?”
Ignoring her, he snapped, “Quinn, you sure about this?”
Josie sighed. “It’s the only card we’ve got to play.”
“You could be wrong.”
“I’m not.”
“Palmer,” he said. “You on board with this little plan Quinn cooked up?”
“One hundred percent,” Gretchen said without hesitation.
He made a noise in his throat. “Which one of you is going in there?”
“Josie,” Gretchen answered. “That’s what we agreed. She’s the best option here. I’m going to bring Bruce Olsen out of room two handcuffed while Jackson’s being escorted into room one.”
Josie poured the last drops of her latte into her mouth. “He has to see Olsen in custody.”
