Page 54 of The Couple’s Secret (Detective Josie Quinn #23)

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.”

Before the Chief could chime in, the stairwell door whooshed open.

A teenage girl strode into the room. Sixteen, maybe seventeen.

She wore baggy jeans, the knees ripped out, and a black crop top that showed off the kind of flat stomach only someone under twenty-five could achieve, complete with a navel piercing.

She stopped at the four conjoined desks, a familiar pair of blue eyes flashing, and flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

The door opened again, slowly this time, and their desk sergeant, Dan Lamay, shuffled in, panting, cheeks flushed and sweaty. “I told her I’d call up to see—” He stopped to catch his breath. “Slipped right past me.”

“I’m here to see my dad,” the girl announced to the room.

The Chief didn’t look even remotely surprised. Gretchen walked up beside Josie’s chair, handing her a stack of printouts while they each appraised the newcomer.

“Who’s your dad?” asked Josie.

“Kyle Turner.”

Josie was vaguely aware that both she and Gretchen were so stunned that they could neither speak nor move. Like deer in headlights or fainting goats.

“Did you hear me?” the girl demanded.

The eyes. She had his eyes. She was tall, too. The hair color was similar but this kid had none of his unruly curls. Unless she straightened them.

Gretchen’s words came out with the speed of molasses, each word like its own complete sentence. “Kyle. Turner.”

“He works here,” the girl explained. “He’s six four, crazy curly hair, always wears a suit. Total asshole.”

Laughter burst from Gretchen’s mouth and Josie knew they were thinking the same thing. Even Turner’s daughter didn’t like him. Was that why he never talked about her? Or was he just that private?

“Well?” the girl said. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s not due on shift for a few more hours,” Josie said. “Don’t you have his cell number?”

“Ugh,” she moaned. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out. If you see him, just tell him we need to talk. I’m Cassidy, by the way.”

Josie opened her mouth to introduce herself, but Cassidy was already walking briskly toward the stairwell. She stopped when she reached Lamay. “Sorry I made you climb all those steps, but I had to see for myself.”

Once they were both gone, Josie and Gretchen looked over at the Chief. “Did you know that Turner had—” Josie began.

He cut her off. “Let’s get started. I want to be able to rub something in the Mayor’s smug, botoxed face tomorrow when she sashays through here looking for an update on this ‘high-profile’ case.”