I opened the minifridge. Not even a bottle of water, much less formula. I hoped the killer had at least taken whatever Molly had stored in here for Liam’s sake.
“Techs did a good job.” Bran moved around the couch, deftly sidestepping the crimson stain on the carpet. “I want to say it’s a good thing but—” he shook his head, “—the one time you don’t want them to be efficient and they do.”
I fought against the rising feelings of depression, hopelessness. It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in Attersley’s CSI buddies but I wasn’t sure Bran could deal with failure. He needed to do something before he exploded with anger and frustration.
I knew the way the police worked. They’d have fingerprinted every surface and compared it to the hotel employees to eliminate some of the prints. They’d have dropped mine out along with Molly’s.
Which would still leave them with an overwhelming stack of wild unidentified people who they’d run through the system. Unless, of course, the murderer wore gloves, which made finding a match an exercise in futility.
“Got something.” Bran held up a long strand of reddish hair. He frowned and stretched it out between two fingers. “Too long for the baby.”
I took it from him and sniffed it. I could smell the hair dye. “Molly’s.” I crawled around on my knees, squinting at the floor.
Ten minutes later I was cross-eyed and the back of my head was throbbing.
“There’s nothing here,” Bran said. “They did a good job of cleaning up.”
I was beginning to get worried. The longer we stayed here the more likely someone would find us here.
I wasn’t willing to put too much trust in the cleaning chippie.
“Let me try something.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity.
I gave each scent a color as they floated across my inner eye. Red, yellow, green. Various shades of blue for who I suspected were cops. Hank was here as well—cerulean blue for him.
“Damn.” The scents were too mixed and too many. I had a hard time picking out Liam and Molly amid the swarm of police, crime scene technicians and grumpy detectives. Flailing around in the cloud I took another route—elimination.
I got to my feet. My knees throbbed and I hoped it wasn’t the first signs of arthritis. It took a second to brush off my jeans and consider adding a permanent supply of painkillers to my pockets.
“I can tell you Brayton and your father weren’t here.”
“And?”
“That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Bran snapped. “It doesn’t mean they weren’t involved, it doesn’t mean anything.” His voice rose. “You can find a fucking clue in a piss-filled, shitty alleyway and you can’t find squat in a hotel room?”
A snarl bubbled up in my throat at the reference to Janey Winters. I was tired, terrified and my nerves were jangling like Santa’s sleigh bells.
“If you can do better, let’s see it.” I moved in close, our noses almost touching so I wouldn’t feel the need to yell and draw attention to our presence. “It’s your goddamn father who got us into this in the first place. He threatened my Pride, he threatened me, he threatened you and he threatened us. Get mad at him but don’t take it out on me.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Not from where I’m standing.”
Bran drew back. He drew a hand over his face, brushing away invisible cobwebs. “I’m just...” His fingers twitched. “So fucking annoyed at everyone and everything right now.”
“Including me?”
The edge of his mouth twisted up into a sad smile. “Maybe a little bit.”
I couldn’t help smirking. “Welcome to my world.”
His hand shot out and grabbed the back of my neck, a rough, possessive grip.
He pulled me into a heated, breathless kiss. Surprised and shocked, I fell against him without resistance, grabbing his waist for support.
I gasped as he pulled away. My legs were wobbly and not from crawling on the floor. “What’s that for?”
“For loving a fool.”
“That makes two of us.” I relaxed under his touch. “Let me make one last sweep and we’ll go. The longer we stay here the more likely someone’s going to find us.”
Bran moved to the door and leaned on it. He crossed his arms and waited.
I went to the center of the room and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the white noise. A couple making love below us. A car outside, backfiring and burning oil. Bran’s heartbeat, fast and increasing with every second.
I wiped out the personal scents in my mental kaleidoscope. Disregard the people, drop the living components. Look at the list of smells from nonhuman sources.
Baby powder. Deodorant. Sour milk.
A dense, acidic taste landed at the back of my throat. Not hair dye, not blood.
Tobacco. Thick, unfiltered cigarette—maybe a Camel.
Molly wasn’t a smoker and I knew the cops damned well wouldn’t have lit up while processing a crime scene.
I dropped to the ground and inspected the carpet near where the crib had sat. Sure enough there was a scattering of ashes so faint it might have been missed by the techs. The gray residue ground into the shag by multiple shoes, pushed so deep into the carpet it’d be invisible to the naked eye.
But not invisible to a Felis.
I spun the scenario, whispering it loud enough for Bran.
“He came in here via the front door, probably knocked right after I left. Either she opens it without looking, thinking it’s me, or he cons his way in saying he’s room service or housekeeping or whatever.”
I looked at the scarlet stain. “Liam’s sleeping in the crib. The killer doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t bargain with Molly.” I lifted my hand and curled my fingers in, index pointing at the stain. “He shoots her using a silencer. One bullet straight to the heart. She hits the ground and he does the follow-up to the back of her head. No one hears the noise.”
I turned toward where I’d last seen the crib. “Liam either sleeps through it all or doesn’t understand what’s going on, God willing. All he knows is this strange man’s grabbing his stuff.”
Bran nodded, urging me on.
I continued. “He’s smoking the entire time, cool and collected. He doesn’t panic if Liam makes a noise, doesn’t flinch at shooting a woman and stealing her baby.” I waved at the almost invisible ash. “Cigarette burns too long while he’s here while he’s packing the baby up. Ash falls off and he grinds it into the carpet or doesn’t worry about it. Not dumb enough to leave the butt behind—he finishes the smoke in here or outside but he keeps the butt with him.”
It wasn’t what we’d come for but it was something.
Especially if it helped find Liam.
“Well done.” Bran smiled.
I tapped my nose. “A powerful thing, this is.”
He leaned in and kissed the tip. “I’d say. Wonder how you stand to be with me some mornings, the way I must smell.” His voice dipped down. “Especially after a busy night.”
I wrinkled my nose, adding in a dramatic sigh. “I survive. Besides, the shared showers provide a bonus.” I went to the door. “Let’s move before your sweet little girl decides to sell us out to a higher bidder.”
The lobby was clogged with visitors checking out, the frazzled hotel clerk fighting to stem the tide of nervous questions and wary looks. We slipped through the crowd and out onto the street past the doorman who struggled to keep the door open for all the pedestrian traffic.
It was after eight in the evening, late enough for the attire to switch from business suits to jeans and T-shirts. A group of teenagers yelled assorted curses at a fancy sports car cruising slowly down Yonge Street, heading for the end of the road at Lake Ontario. A nearby hot dog vendor flipped over a grilled onion, making my mouth water. The neon signs were coming on with buzzes and hums, lighting up the sky.