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Josie raised a brow. “As Trinity would say, ‘You have met me, right?’”

Noah laughed and pulled the cover up to her waist. “Your labs came back normal. There weren’t any drugs that hadn’t been ordered by the doctor in your bloodstream.”

Maybe it should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. She was every bit as pissed off as she’d been since she woke up with lipstick across her face. The killer had still violated her when she was most vulnerable.

“Gretchen interviewed Holmes,” Noah continued. “Naturally, he denied having any contact with you after I asked that he be removed as your doctor. He consented to a search of his person and his locker. No lipstick. Nothing unusual at all.”

“His car,” Josie said. “Could he have gone out there at some point?”

“There’s no footage of him leaving the ER.”

She sighed. “There’s no footage of anyone coming into my cubicle and putting lipstick on me, but it happened.”

“Hey. We’ll find him.” Noah sat on the edge of the bed and placed a palm on her thigh. “I doubt he’d be stupid enough to keep the lipstick anyway. He probably tossed it into a garbage can somewhere in the ER.”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. “He hadn’t ever left one behind before Kirstie West. It’s an important part of his fantasy. He probably has one for each victim.”

“Like trophies?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Did Hummel have a chance to look at the swab he took from my mouth?”

“We don’t have the necessary equipment for that,” Noah replied. “He sent it to the lab but I have no doubt the results will come back as Luxe Glimmer’s Devil Divine.”

Josie agreed. The brand and shade were part of the killer’s ritual. He wouldn’t use a substitute. Devil Divine held too much significance for him.

“What about Fisher?” she asked.

“He was there for chest pain. Showed up while we were in the waiting room for your shoulder but they took him right back, which is why we didn’t see him right away. He was discharged about an hour before you called Turner—still within the time frame where he could have done it. Chief sent Brennan to his house to question him. Apparently, he heard about Kirstie’s murder at church and got so stressed out he thought he was having a heart attack.”

Scratching came from the door. Noah went over and let Trout in, who immediately hopped onto the bed and started sniffing Josie all over.

“Since they sent him home, I’m guessing he didn’t have a heart attack.”

“Correct. Brennan did a plain view search of his home, but when he asked if he could have a more thorough look, Fisher told him to get a warrant.”

That could mean that Fisher had a tube of Luxe Glimmer’s Devil Divine in his home, or it could simply be his natural wariness when it came to law enforcement after his DUI experience.

Satisfied with his thorough perusal of Josie, Trout circled once and then laid down against her right thigh. She rested her hand on his back, suddenly feeling very sleepy.

Noah planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Get some sleep. I’m going in so Turner and Gretchen can grab a few hours of rest. Oh, and no work until that shoulder is healed. Chief’s orders.”

Josie said, “But⁠—”

Noah was already pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. “Can’t talk now. Gotta go.”

She huffed. “He’s lucky he’s hot,” she told Trout.

Forty-Six

Josie used her fork to push the same piece of asparagus across her plate that she’d been shuffling around for the past ten minutes. She’d lost her appetite the moment she sat down across from a sullen Wren. It had been two weeks since her shoulder dislocation and nearly three weeks since the fire, and she was still refusing to engage with them in any meaningful way, giving nothing but monosyllabic answers when they tried to draw her out. Josie had hoped the freeze-out was over every time Wren helped her accomplish something that her sling impeded her from doing, but no such luck. Now that the sling had come off and Josie was one day away from returning to work, Wren acknowledged her even less.

“How’d I do?” Noah asked, pointing at the salmon on Wren’s plate.

Josie and Noah’s lack of culinary skills was the stuff of legends among their friends and family. In fact, fourteen-year-old Wren had come to them a better cook than the two of them combined, despite the fact that their friend Misty had been giving them cooking lessons for over a year at that point. They’d improved considerably, and one of the things Wren seemed to enjoy was competing with them for who could make the best dinner. Noah had worked all day but made sure to be home in time to cook.

“Good,” Wren answered, shoveling a forkful of potatoes into her mouth.

Near Josie’s feet, Trout whined.