He checked the dresser first. On top were a few brochures laid out neatly next to the TV. Tourist stuff, probably left there by the Chamber of Commerce, hoping to entice guests to spend more than just the night. Quietly, he slid open the drawers one by one, but all were empty.
The nightstand was next, but it, too, revealed nothing that hadn’t been there before the current occupants had checked in. Moving into the sink area, he found that the soap had been unwrapped, but there were no toothbrushes or shaving kits or anything like that.
The door to the toilet and shower room was open. A used towel on the floor, but that was it.
The closet was the only place left, so he pulled it open. Inside was a single suitcase. He’d expected to find two bags at the very least, one for the woman and one for the man, but this was it.
Using another napkin, he laid the suitcase on its side, unzipped it, and lifted up the top. It was the woman’s bag-blouses, skirts, pants, underwear, bras. The clothes were precisely folded and stacked as if they were on display at Macy’s. Without removing anything, he slipped his hand under the garments and slid it around, checking for anything hidden underneath.
While there was nothing along the bottom, he did find a black makeup bag tucked against the far side. Looking inside it, he could see lipstick, eyeliner, and several other items that were similar to those his ex-wife used to have. As he closed the makeup bag, his thumb brushed against something stitched on the side. Though he could feel it, in the semi-darkness of the room, he couldn’t see anything.
He carried the bag into the toilet area and flipped on the light. Initials, sewn on with black thread. No wonder he couldn’t see them. They blended in perfectly with the bag itself.
E. P.
Two possibilities, he thought. Either they were the woman’s initials, or the initials of the bag’s particular brand. He couldn’t think of a brand that fit, but he wasn’t well-versed in women’s wear or cosmetics, so it was very possible he was just unfamiliar with it.
He put the makeup bag back exactly where he’d found it, closed the suitcase, and returned it to the closet. With everything as it was, he scanned the room, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.
He checked in with Dev. “Where are they?”
“A restaurant two miles from the motel. Been inside five minutes. Figure they’ll be here at least an hour.”
Good. “You didn’t happen to see if either of-”
A knock on the door froze Logan where he stood. As soon as it stopped, a male voice called out, “Dr. Paskota. Thought you said you were going out.”
“Logan?” Dev said.
“Someone’s at the door,” Logan whispered as loudly as he dared.
“I’m on my way.”
As Logan hung up, there was another knock.
“Dr. Paskota, are you in there?”
A second man said, “You sure you heard her?”
“Thought I heard someone,” the first replied.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Dr. Paskota? Mr. Frisk?” the first voice said. Another knock. “I swear I wasn’t hearing things.”
“This place is a dump. It was probably just a TV in another room turned up too high.”
Silence.
“I think we should check,” the first man said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Logan moved quietly into the bathroom and closed the door. Above the shower was a frosted glass window about four feet long and two feet wide. Not great, but he had little choice.
From the main room, he could still hear the others working on the front door. They were obviously not as skilled at picking a lock as he was, but even so, they were likely to be through in no more than a minute, two tops.
He stepped into the shower, unlatched the window, and slid the pane as far to the left as he could. A screen, brown after years cooking in the sun, covered the opening. The only thing holding it together was a memory of what it had once been, so it put up little defense against the single punch that ripped through it.
Logan tore at the hole, widening it, then anchored himself against the wall and swung his legs up, kicking his feet through the opening. Just as his ankles passed outside, he heard the front door open.
He shimmied backward until only his shoulders and head were left inside. He could hear the men talking, but couldn’t understand what they were saying, nor did he much care at the moment.
His only goal was getting out. Fast.
His plan was to slide out the window, then hang on to the frame with one hand while closing the open pane with the other to remove any signs of his presence. The idea had sounded good in his head, but it failed in practice. His fingers barely paused on the lip of the frame before he was headed straight for the ground.
His army training kicking in, he rolled as he hit the dirt, popped to his feet, and began running along the rear of the motel.
“Hey! You! Stop!” It was the first man’s voice, clear and unhindered. Logan had no doubt the guy was sticking his head out the bathroom window, but he wasn’t about to look back and check. “Hey! I said stop!”
If the man was really expecting his words to work, he was sadly disappointed. Logan picked up his pace and sprinted the rest of the way to the corner.
Right would take him toward the front of the motel and Center Street, but it was also the direction from where the others would be coming. So Logan went left into a low-rent neighborhood of rundown homes. There were fewer FOR SALE signs than he’d seen elsewhere in town, but the amount of vacancies seemed to be the same.
At the first intersection he came to, he went right. Ahead, on the other side of the street, several men were gathered around a truck with its hood up. Whatever conversation they’d been having stopped when they saw Logan, and they stared at him as he ran by.
“Where you going so fast?” one of them called out, eliciting laughter from his friends.
As he neared the next intersection, Logan heard feet pounding the pavement somewhere behind him. This time he did look. A man-thin, late twenties, good shape, decked out in nice pants and a white, long-sleeved button shirt-had his eyes glued on Logan, so there was little doubt he was one of the men from the motel.
Logan turned right again, figuring he could risk heading for Center Street now. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing away a layer of sweat. Though it was after five p.m., it was still hotter than hell, and running wasn’t helping.
His phone began vibrating. Without slowing, he worked it out, and checked the screen. DEV.
“I just pulled up to the motel. Are you still in the room?”
“I’m…a couple blocks…east,” Logan said between breaths. “Running. Got company behind…me.”
“On my way. Don’t hang up.”
Logan looked back. The other guy hadn’t turned the corner yet, so, with any luck, Logan would reach the main road before his pursuer came into view. Seconds later, that plan fizzled.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
Another man had just come around the corner from the Center Street end. He was also dressed in nice pants and long-sleeved shirt. Even discounting the similar clothes, the growing sneer on the guy’s face was enough to convince Logan the two men were together.
Skidding to a halt, he said into the phone, “I don’t have a lot of time here,” then slid it into his pocket without disconnecting.
He couldn’t go forward, and couldn’t go back, leaving only the homes lining either side of the street. He took a quick look left and right. While the house on the right appeared occupied, the one on the left seemed to be another of the abandoned variety.