But her perusal of Cassidy’s bedroom told a different story.
Did Turner know how much his daughter revered him? Did he care? Josie thought of the long series of questions he’d asked Charles Barnes about being a father. Yes, Turner cared very much. Very, very much. Josie took a deep breath and mentally crammed all the questions not directly related to finding Cassidyand her mother into a box markedShit I Don’t Have Time For Right Nowand locked it in her mental vault. Then she knocked.
No movement from inside.
She hadn’t called him or messaged him. There would be too many questions she didn’t want to answer by phone before she even arrived. She hadn’t even known where he lived. Chief Chitwood had given her the address.
She knocked again, harder this time, until she heard some noise from inside and Turner’s muffled voice. The door swung open and he stood blinking down at her, his curly hair even more unruly than usual. He was in a plain black T-shirt and basketball shorts, and it was so disconcerting to see him in anything but a suit that Josie openly gawked.
“Quinn,” he croaked, blinking sleepily. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
His brow furrowed and he leaned his head past the doorway to scan the hall. “Does the LT know you’re here?”
Josie shoved the energy drink against his chest and barreled past him. “You really can’t stop yourself, can you?”
Unsurprisingly, his apartment was as messy as his desk. Dress shoes kicked off in the middle of the living room. A takeout container and four presumably empty cans of his beloved drink were spread across the coffee table. Three different color suit jackets had been tossed over a recliner. There was a small table just inside the door, presumably for keys and mail, but it was empty. Instead, a pile of half-opened mail was jammed in between two couch cushions, and his keys were nowhere to be seen.
“Let yourself in,” Turner muttered from behind her. “Quinn, I think you’re crossing some pretty big lines here, especially with the way you’re up my ass all the time about your personal space.”
Despite the Turner-like disarray, his home decor was nothing like Josie expected. His furniture was a soft gray that went well with the washed oak of the coffee, console and end tables. A small wooden sign next to his television read:My housekeeping style is best described as: there appears to have been a struggle. Obviously, the penchant for signs was a family thing. Under any other circumstances Josie would have had a good laugh at Turner’s since it wasn’t wrong. Her gaze traveled along the pale blue walls where three drawings of owls hung. She didn’t need to see the tiny initials on the bottom of each drawing to know Cassidy had done them.
Her heart sank.
“Turner,” she said, spinning to face him.
He yawned, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Seriously, Quinn. What the fuck is going on?”
Rip off the Band-Aid.
“Dani and Cassidy are missing. They were abducted.”
For several seconds, he simply stared at her, frozen in place. His arm was still up from messing with his hair. The underside of his bicep was visible, what looked like a tattoo peeking from the cuff of his shirt.
“Turner,” Josie said. “You still with me? Your ex-wife and daughter are—they’ve been abducted.”
His arm dropped to his side. “What? No. How do you…What are you talking about?”
“A call came in from the neighbor for a welfare check.”
She told him the rest, including the presence of the camellias at the scene, watching the color slowly drain from his face. As she talked, he darted back and forth across the room, yanking on a pair of his dress shoes and digging through the pockets of his suit jackets until he found a set of keys. Next he riffled through the mess on his coffee table, locating his wallet under a pile of takeout menus. Without a word, he strode to the front door.
“Turner,” Josie called. “Where are you going?”
His hand clamped down on the doorknob. “I have to get over there. Over to the house.”
Josie reached him just as he yanked the door open. She had to muscle her way in front of him so she could bar him from leaving the apartment. He scowled down at her, nostrils flaring. This close to him, she could feel the buzz of his fear, sense the terror quaking just beneath the surface. She knew it well.
“Get out of my way, Quinn.”
“Turner,” she said. “There’s nothing for you to do there.”
He tried to shove past her, but she planted her hands on his chest and pushed, knocking him back inside with strength that surprised both of them.
“Quinn,” he shouted, looking down at where she’d touched him in astonishment. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I have to get over there. This isn’t a joke. Stay here or come with me but I’m going to Dani’s house.”
When he lunged toward the door again, Josie moved with him, blocking his way. Louder, she said, “You can’t do anything at the house. They’re gone. The ERT has already processed it. What I need from you right now is for you to answer some questions.”
