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“Hey! Hey! Detective Quinn!”

In no version of reality had Josie imagined she would ever be happy to see Louis Fisher, but as he raced toward her with his arms outstretched, gratitude oozed from every burning cell in her body. She didn’t take the time to thank him though. The moment Molly was safe in his embrace, Josie ran back inside.

“Hey!” Louis called after her. “Where are you going?”

Smoke gathered along the ceiling. Josie followed it back to the library. Her heart sank when she reached the door and saw the inferno inside. She only hesitated for a half second. There was no way she was leaving Turner behind.

A tiny voice told her she was going to die as she crossed the threshold but she ignored it. The fire department would never get here in time to help. She had to try.

She pulled her collar up over her mouth and nose, said a silent curse, a silent prayer and then a silent please forgive me to Wren, even if she’d never hear it.

All the shelving units were fully engulfed. As she was trying to figure out a way to get to the back of the room, knowing there wasn’t one, a figure crawled from one of the aisles and collapsed onto his side. At first, she wasn’t sure if it was Carter or Turner. Both had been wearing suits. But as she got closer, she saw Turner’s wild curls and nearly wept with relief.

Between her shredded voice box, the smoke alarms screaming and the roar of the fire, there was no way that Turner would hear her. On her knees, Josie crept over to him and rolled him onto his back. A broken nose and black eye but no burns that she could see. He squinted out of his good eye.

Let’s go, she mouthed.

Somehow, she got him onto his feet. Wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders, they kept their bodies hunched until they reached the hall. Josie didn’t stop until they were outside. The moment her feet hit the grass, she fell onto her stomach. Turner toppled down beside her. Grass tickled her cheek and her eyelashes. She wanted to roll onto her back but every last ounce of energy she had left was reserved for breathing.

Blinking, she saw Turner’s blue eyes staring back at her. His back rose and fell in a ragged rhythm as he breathed. He needed an ambulance. More than her. Just a few more seconds and she’d get up and find him one. But then she heard Louis Fisher’s voice. “Over here! She’s over here! Two of them. There’s two of them! Hurry.”

“Carter?” Josie said, her voice hoarse and unrecognizable.

“No,” Turner replied.

She let her eyes drift closed and dreamed of Wren.

Fifty-Seven

Josie stood in the doorway of their guest bedroom, watching her sister pack her things. Drake had had to return to work but Trinity had stuck around for a week after Carter’s demise at the church. She’d fussed over Josie and even Turner a little. Now and then she’d disappeared for a few hours. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was seeking interviews for her Last Kiss Killer episode which was now slated to be a three-part special.

“Did you talk to Erin West?” Josie asked.

Trinity slid a green dress from one of the hangers in the closet. She folded it carefully and placed it in the open suitcase on the bed. “Yeah. She’s… well, there aren’t really words to describe how she’s doing right now.”

After the fire, once Molly West had been given a clean bill of health, Erin had consented to allowing Denton PD to search her home. They’d found Carter’s trophy box under some floorboards in Molly’s bedroom closet. It was a small fire box which could only be unlocked with a code. Josie had guessed it correctly on the first try: 1102. Inside had been seventeen Devil Divine lipsticks. Carter’s known victim count was eight including Sylvia and Kirstie. He’d left a lipstick at the scene of Kirstie’s murder and admitted to designating one for Josie, which meant that his trophy box should have only contained nine tubes of Devil Divine.

Denton PD had searched the NCIC and reached out to several other jurisdictions in the state for reports of any homicides involving women in their thirties or forties by ligature strangulation to see if Carter had been active in the thirteen years between his first attack on Sylvia and her murder.

So far, it appeared that he’d been telling the truth. He’d merely been collecting them. The box had also contained a handwritten list of women’s names and addresses as well as facts about them. Where they worked, their routines, their relationship status, living arrangements, habits. The nausea that had swelled in Josie’s stomach had only subsided when they were able to confirm that each woman was alive and accounted for.

Erin had taken the news of the trophy box with the same stunned, vacant look with which she’d received every piece of sickening information about her husband’s crimes.

“Her parents are in town,” Trinity said, drawing Josie out of her thoughts.

Noah and Wren’s voices floated into the hallway from downstairs, their words indistinct but their tone playful and teasing.

“That’s good,” said Josie.

“They’ll be able to help with the girls.” Trinity took another dress from the closet and placed it in her bag.

Josie had seen Piper and Molly West twice since the fire. Both girls had withdrawn so deeply within themselves that they were nearly unreachable. Erin would need all the help she could get. “I’m glad.”

Besides the trophy box, Denton PD had also accumulated additional evidence of Carter’s crimes. They’d interviewed the firefighters on duty the day of Kirstie’s murder who confirmed they’d only seen Carter before and after the murder took place. Chief Russell had pulled footage showing him leaving the firehouse and returning through a side door. They’d found a pair of boots in his locker that matched the prints found at Dean and Kirstie’s home.

“Erin and the girls are moving to Massachusetts with her parents,” Trinity continued.

“That’s for the best,” Josie said. “Did you ask her for an interview?”