Jeffrey stood from the bed and lifted up the mattress, finding the remnants of what he guessed had been a couple of Cheetos but nothing else. He dropped the mattress, a rush of air blowing back on him. Jeffrey's olfactory system was understandably out of whack since his time at Hank Norton's, but he could have sworn he'd gotten a whiff of gun oil. He flipped the mattress off the bed and knelt down to examine the bedskirt that covered the boxspring. Glad that no one could see him, he sniffed around the thin cotton, stopping when he heard a key sliding into the lock on the door.
Jeffrey stood up just as the door opened. The maid did a double take when she saw him, a scowl on her face.
She demanded, 'What the fuck are you doing?'
'Can you come back in ten minutes?'
'Can you put that mattress back where it belongs?' Jeffrey didn't snap to, and she tucked her hands onto her hips. 'I ain't got all day, mister.'
He took out his badge and showed it to her.
She squinted at the tiny letters, unimpressed. ' Grant County. Sounds like a real shithole. You with the mattress division, checking to see if people pulled off the tags?'
Jeffrey put the mattress back in place, hoping he could keep her talking. 'Did you ever meet the woman who was staying here?'
'The one what gave Jake the slip?' She chuckled, walking into the room. 'And to think I voted for that dipshit.'
' Lena 's a friend of mine,' he told the woman. 'I'm trying to help her out.'
'Ain't you the gallant knight.' She took a rag out of her pocket and started wiping down the phone on the bedside table, mumbling, 'Must've used the phone a lot. Damn greasy fingerprints are all over it,' Her head was bent, but she looked up at Jeffrey as if she was wondering why he was still here.
'Thanks for your help,' he told the woman, though the opposite was the case.
Jeffrey was halfway toward the stairs when he realized the maid may have been more helpful than she'd intended. He hadn't seen Lena 's cell phone in the hotel room, so it must have been in her car. Frank Wallace, his second in command, could run a records check to see who she had been talking to before the night the Escalade was torched, or maybe even after. He would also put out his own APB on Hank's Mercedes and maybe have Frank call in a few favors with the Highway Patrol to see if they could keep an eye out for Lena. As with Jeffrey's phone, Sara's couldn't get a cell signal at the hotel, so he would have to call Frank on the walk back.
Jeffrey stopped on the bottom stair. Christ, what an idiot. If he couldn't get a cell signal at the hotel, neither could Lena.
He jogged toward the front office again. This time, the kid was waiting at the counter, ready to serve. He asked, 'Find anything?'
Jeffrey shot back his own question. 'Did Detective Adams make any phone calls while she was here?'
'She made a long-distance one before she left.'
Jeffrey knew from his own bill that the motel charged fifty cents a minute for local calls and two dollars a minute for long distance. The calls were big money and the motel would keep exact records. 'Let me see all of her calls.'
The teenager pulled a stack of papers off the printer. 'There was only one,' he explained. 'Got a nine-one-two area code.'
The number looked familiar. 'That's Savannah.'
'Yeah, I think so.'
Jeffrey grabbed the phone off the counter and dialed the number.
LENA
TWENTY
Charlotte 's face was obscured by the duct tape covering her mouth, so that all Lena could see was a pair of bright, terrified eyes. The woman trembled with fear, her sobs muffled by the tape. Lena glanced in the rearview mirror as she drove the SUV down a dark road, trying to silently communicate to Charlotte to just hold on, that Lena would find a way out of this. Though, how she would manage their escape, Lena did not know.
The tattooed man who had hit Lena was behind them, driving her Celica. She had no idea where they were going or why. She just kept driving because even though she could not see the masked face of the man in the backseat, she knew that he was not fucking around. The way he held the gun told her all that she needed to know. The weapon was like an extension of his hand. He was not afraid to use it.
Lena thought about Evelyn Johnson, Ethan driving her in his truck to that clearing in the woods where she was murdered. Had Ethan looked in his rearview mirror and seen the fear in Evelyn's eyes, knowing there was nothing that he could do? Had he been just as afraid himself? Or had he been squirming in his seat, fighting the excitement building between his legs as he thought about what was to come?
'Turn here,' the man in the mask said, and Lena followed orders, turning onto Laskey Street, which ran behind the school. There was no urgency in his voice and he seemed to have no particular plan in mind. As far as she could tell, he was making her drive in a circle around the periphery of the high school.
'Next right,' he said.
Lena looked at Charlotte again. She asked the man, 'Why are you doing this?'
'Why do you think?'
'Did Ethan send you?'
'Who's Ethan?'
'If Ethan sent you, then this is between me and him. Charlotte doesn't have anything to do with this. I haven't even seen her since high school.'
'Honey, I don't know what you're talking about.'
She didn't know if he was telling the truth or playing with her. Had they followed her to Coastal State Prison or just waited for her to show back up in town? There was nothing in her motel room that would tell them where she had been. Ethan's arrest jacket was tucked back in its hiding place behind the CD changer in the trunk of her Celica. The only thing of value in the room was her Glock, and they obviously didn't need that.
Lena glanced over her shoulder. The man was small but well built. He sat casually with his legs spread apart, his left arm draped over the back of the seat, the gun in his hand pointing at Charlotte 's neck.
He said, 'What are you looking at?'
'Who are you?' Lena asked. Did the mask mean he was going to let them go? She had already seen his flunky's face, though maybe that didn't matter because his cover had been blown two days ago outside of Hank's house.
She looked around for something – anything -that could be used as a weapon. Other than the keys, there was nothing but a Styrofoam cup in one of the holders. She let her hand slide down the wheel and pressed her knuckles against the side of the cup. The contents were cold, probably water.
'Keep going,' the man said. 'Take another right up here.'
Lena ignored him, going straight. He clicked his tongue as if she were a rebellious child, but didn't say anything else.
Rule number one when faced with an abduction was to not let the perpetrator change your location. If he jumped you in a parking lot, then you fought tooth and nail to stay in that parking lot. You didn't get in a car with him and you didn't let him drag you somewhere else. Once he had control of you and the situation, he could do whatever he wanted. There was no going back.
Lena slowed the car, keeping her eye on the Celica behind them, wondering what she was getting herself – and Charlotte – into.
The man said, 'You really like pushing your luck, don't you?'
Lena stopped the car. She turned around to face him. 'What do you want from us? Why is Charlotte here?'
The back door beside Charlotte opened. The man with the red swastika stood there.
The man with the gun ordered, 'Give her a little incentive so she knows we're not playing around.'
The thug reached around to the back of his pants. Lena braced herself for him to pull a gun and shoot them both, but what he did instead was pull out a rolled-up plastic bag.