Текст книги "Thread of Betrayal"
Автор книги: Jeff Shelby
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
TWENTY-FOUR
“I have the number,” I said to Anchor.
I’d sat with Lauren for a few moments, then dialed Anchor.
“Can you give it to me?” he asked.
I read the number off the paper.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way back to you now. I’ll go to work on this as I drive. I’ll pick you and Ms. Tyler up in front of the hotel in twenty-five minutes.”
We hung up.
“He’s on his way,” I said. “He wants us to meet him downstairs in a little bit.”
“Let’s go down now,” she said, standing from the bed. “It feels claustrophobic up here.”
We went back downstairs and sat down on a bench outside the front entrance. The air had cooled a little, a breeze blowing in from the ocean, and I breathed in the salty air. Jet fuel drifted in the air from the planes, and, even at that late hour, cars traveled quickly up and down the airport road, either trying to get to, or away, from LAX.
“Where are we going when he gets here?” Lauren asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“Where was he?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Lovely.
“I feel like I should call the Corzines,” I said. “See if anyone’s made contact with them.”
“You mean Mike?”
“Or anyone else. At least we’d know if there was anyone on our heels.”
“We’re this close,” Lauren said. “I’m not sure anyone could beat us to her at this point.”
“But if she finds her way to Coronado…”
“…we can get there, too.”
“I suppose,” I said. “I’d just like to know.”
We sat there for a few minutes, watching the late-night traffic. A hotel shuttle pulled up and a couple with a little girl stepped off. They looked weary, jet-lagged, but the mother still offered a small smile as they walked past us on their way toward the entrance to the hotel’s lobby. I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl. She looked liked Elizabeth.
She disappeared through the double doors of the hotel, trailing a Disney suitcase behind her. I felt my stomach clench. We’d never gone anywhere on a plane as a family. We’d stayed close to San Diego. She’d never been on a late-night adventure, exhausted and excited like the little girl I’d just seen. I shook my head. One more memory that had been robbed from us before we could even make it.
“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
A dark red sedan pulled into the lot and crawled slowly through the registration area and I was grateful for the distraction.
“This might be Anchor,” I said.
The tinted windows didn’t allow us to see inside.
The car pulled to a halt in front of us.
We both stood.
The driver’s side door opened.
And my blood ran cold.
“Joe, Lauren,” Lieutenant Leonard Bazer said. “Nice to see you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Even at that late hour, Bazer was in uniform. The joke around the station was that he didn’t own anything else to wear, as no one had ever seen him in anything but the uniform of the Coronado Police Department. His pale gray eyes surveyed us, no expression on his face. Tall, still not an ounce of fat on him, and a clean shaven head. He hadn’t aged a day in the decade since I’d last told him to go to hell.
He held out his hand to me. “Joe.”
I kept my hands at my sides. “Hey, Len.”
He cracked a smile, but I knew he didn’t think it was funny. He didn’t like to be addressed as anything other than Lieutenant. But he was no longer my lieutenant. He hadn’t been since the day he’d hung me out to dry and fed me to the media as a suspect in my own daughter’s disappearance.
“Lauren,” he said, turning to her. “It’s been awhile.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
He dropped his unwanted hand. “You two look well.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, unable to contain my anger at seeing him again. My antennae were up, on guard. Forget the fact that I hated his guts. I was more concerned as to how he’d found us.
And what he wanted.
“I saw the report,” Bazer said. “About Elizabeth.”
“Did you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. This morning.”
“And then you just magically found us?” I asked. “Showed up here at the curb?”
His mouth set in a flat line. “No, no magic. I saw the report. I made some calls. Heard you had some trouble in Denver. Made a few more calls. Led me here.”
“Bullshit,” I said, shaking my head. “A couple of phone calls doesn’t get you right here.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I was able to obtain Elizabeth’s name. I was able to check the flight manifests. I figured if she was here in Los Angeles, you weren’t far behind.”
“And then you called every neighboring hotel near LAX?” Lauren asked. “Really?”
“Took us nine hotels to find you,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I was a detective once, Lauren. I still remember how to do the work.”
It wasn’t the how that bothered me. It was the why.
“So why are you here?” I said. “Because I know you aren’t here to just check on our well-being. You don’t have that in you.”
He licked his lips, stuck his hands on his hips. “I thought you might need help.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Lauren. “I don’t know whether to laugh or kick his ass.”
She was still staring at Bazer. “He’d arrest you before your fist got near his mouth. He doesn’t play fair, remember?”
A bored expression crossed Bazer’s face. “Alright. You wanna take your shots at me, let’s get them out of the way. Say everything you’ve ever wanted to say to me.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I said. “Not worth my time.”
“Then let’s end the standoff here, alright?” he said, his voice colder now. “I’m here to help you find your daughter.”
“We don’t want your help,” I said. “Not now. Not ever.”
He stared at me for a long time, the gray eyes icing over. His famous stare. He used it to intimidate suspects and subordinates and politicians. Once upon a time, it had worked on me. But it lost it’s heat when I saw him for what he really was—a guy who cared more about his own reputation than solving a crime.
“Elizabeth’s disappearance is still an open case,” he said.
“Yeah. An open federal case,” I said. “Over which you have no authority. Zero.”
“Happened on my watch,” he said. “It’ll always be my case.”
The bile in my stomach threatened to rise up. “Happened on your watch and all you cared about was making sure your department looked clean, which meant tossing me to the wolves and hanging suspicion on me. Fucking up my entire life.” I stepped closer to him, his breath hot on my face. “So fuck you and fuck your help.”
He stood his ground and stared me down.
I stared back.
“I can help, Joe,” he said. “You may hate me, but I can help. I have resources you don’t have access to.”
“Why?” I growled. “Why do you want to help now? You were happy to wash it out of Coronado, let it go away. And now all of a sudden you care?” I shook my head. “What’s in it for you?”
“I just want to find your daughter,” he said. “Happened on my watch.”
“Or maybe you played a part,” I said, watching for a reaction.
He frowned. “What?”
“Maybe you need to find her before we do,” I said. My eyes locked with his. “Maybe there’s a reason you drove your ass up here in the middle of the night. As soon as you found out she was back in California. Maybe you played a part.”
Bazer stood there for a moment, silent. Then he took a step back, turned, and walked around the front of his car. He paused at the driver’s door and looked across the roof at me.
“If you’re insinuating that I had something to do with your daughter’s disappearance, you are wrong,” he said. “Wrong. I can understand how you might say something like that because of what you believe I did to you. But I came up here to help. To find your daughter.”
“And to make sure you look like some goddamn hero,” Lauren spat. “You are a joke.” She pulled on my arm. “Let’s go.”
I followed her gaze and saw Anchor standing near a white Escalade on the other side of the lot. He watched our exchange with Bazer, his arms folded loosely across his chest. I knew if we signaled in any way, he’d come. We started walking that way.
“Where are you going?” Bazer asked.
“To a resource you don’t have access to,” I said, leaving him there at his car.
He was still standing there when we drove out of the lot with Anchor, staring at us as we drove past.
TWENTY-SIX
“Not a friend?” Anchor asked.
Lauren and I were in the backseat of the new Escalade. Kitting was driving and Anchor was in the passenger seat. I had no clue as to what had happened to the black Escalade from earlier.
“No,” I said. “Definitely not a friend. My former boss.”
Anchor twisted his head to the side. “A police officer?”
“From San Diego,” I said, staring out the window as the buildings blurred past.
“What was he doing here?”
“I have no idea.”
Anchor tilted his head. “Interesting.”
I thought seeing Elizabeth pull up to the curb would’ve surprised me less than seeing Bazer. And it heightened my suspicion. I didn’t believe for a second that he was there to help find Elizabeth out of the goodness of his heart. He didn’t have a heart. He cared about one person and one person only. Himself.
But I wasn’t sold on the idea that he’d go through the trouble of tracking us down just to clear his name. Yes, that was definitely all he cared about. He’d go to great lengths to keep the department’s reputation clean, even if that meant burning bridges. Because that meant his reputation remained sparkling. But I was having a hard time believing that he’d kept his finger on the pulse of Elizabeth’s disappearance and as soon as he saw the television report, he’d leapt into action. The sad fact was that most people had forgotten about her disappearance. It wasn’t like it was hanging over the department or anyone else. People weren’t clamoring for the case to be solved. So I wasn’t buying his story.
It didn’t feel right and the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe that he absolutely had something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.
“Joe?”
I turned toward Lauren’s voice. Her hand was on my arm. “Yeah?”
“He was talking to you.”
I looked over the seat at Anchor. “Sorry. What?”
“I was asking about the girl in Colorado,” Anchor said. “How cooperative would she be?”
“What do you mean?”
“If we could get her to work with us, we should be able to get you on the phone with your daughter.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake some of the tension. “How?”
“If we could use her mobile number for a bit, we could forward her calls to your phone,” he said. “It would require accessing the girl’s account, but it would be simple to do and would eliminate a middle person.”
I wondered what hearing my daughter’s voice would do to me. And I wondered what it might do to her. I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for that. But eliminating Morgan might get us to Elizabeth quicker.
“I think we could get her to cooperate,” I said. “You want me to call her now?”
“No,” Anchor answered. “I’ll need a few minutes to set it up and we are nearly at the taxi company now.” He turned to Kitting. “You’ll start the process while we are interviewing inside?”
Kitting nodded.
We were on the east side of I-5, somewhere in Inglewood. Strip malls were plentiful, filled with check-cashing joints, pawn shops and restaurants that appeared to be on their last legs. We passed the old fabulous Forum which looked anything but fabulous and then the area went industrial—large parking lots and buildings behind chain-link fences, giving the illusion of security.
Kitting turned the SUV into one of the lots, pulling to a stop at a guard house and yellow gates. A guy leaned out of the house, looked at Kitting, then nodded at him and the gate rose up. We parked in a slot near a long, low-slung building with ugly metal siding.
The dark lot was filled with white and green taxis of all makes and models—minivans, sedans, even a pick-up truck. Most of the cars were newer, but there were a few that looked like they had seen better days.
We followed Anchor toward the building while Kitting stayed in the car. Anchor opened the door and let us in ahead of him.
The yellow tinted lights made the room seem dingy. Two dispatchers sat behind a long counter, wearing headphones and talking into handheld receivers. Several old battered chairs lined the wall.
One dispatcher, a woman with gray hair and too much makeup, held up a finger to Anchor as he leaned on the counter. She mumbled into the handheld, shook her head, then mumbled again. Her thumb pressed a button on the receiver and she looked at Anchor. “You’re the one here for Ernie?”
Anchor nodded.
“Hang on,” she said and went back to mumbling into the receiver.
I wasn’t entirely sure why we were there. It seemed to me that we could get any of the information we wanted over the phone. I was also starting to get antsy. It felt like we’d been doing too much standing around and not enough looking. I knew that things took time and that sometimes there was nothing to do but wait for information, but standing around wasn’t comfortable, especially when we thought Elizabeth was close.
A short, squat man waddled out behind the counter. Thinning black hair, a bushy mustache and a shirt unbuttoned at the collar exposing a nest of chest hair. He frowned at Lauren and me, then looked at Anchor. “You’re the guy?”
“I’m the guy,” Anchor replied, more amused than anything else.
“He’s back here,” he said, then motioned for us to follow him.
We walked through a couple of swinging doors next to the counter and followed him around the corner and down a hallway with cheap artwork and dirty carpeting. He stopped and held out his arm, directing us into a room off the hallway. “All yours.”
The room looked like a small classroom, with several tables pushed together to form one big square table and white boards on the walls. Someone had attempted to clean the boards, but faint lines in multiple colors were still visible.
A young man, maybe late twenties, was sitting on the opposite side of the square, flipping through a magazine, turning the pages out of boredom more than interest. He glanced up when we entered, big tired eyes peering up at us. He wore a gray long-sleeve T-shirt and his curly dark hair looked like it needed to be cut.
Our escort motioned at him. “Tell them whatever they wanna know, got it?”
The man glanced at his watch. “Hey, Ernie, I gotta get to my other job…”
“Answer them quick then, D.J., and we’ll get you out of here,” Ernie said, cutting him off. He looked at Anchor. “All yours.” He exited.
Anchor smiled at D.J. “I promise, we’ll be brief and get you off to wherever you need to be.”
D.J. looked annoyed, but nodded.
Anchor looked at me.
“You picked up a girl earlier today at LAX,” I said.
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Do you remember?”
“I haven’t slept in two days, man,” he said. “I’m trying to make sure I grab enough fares to cover winter tuition. I go to UCLA. So I’m a little foggy.”
“I hear you,” I said. “But can you think for a minute. Girl, sixteen years old. Long brown hair.”
“I rarely pick up anywhere else,” he said. “People don’t use cabs out here unless they’re leaving the airport and I don’t go over to Hollywood because it’s too dicey. Never know who wants a ride.”
“Sure,” I said and slid the black-and-white still Anchor had given me in front of him. “The girl. She would’ve been alone, I think. And no bags. Maybe a little rattled.”
He looked down at the picture, blinked several times. “Oh, yeah. She had no idea where she wanted to go. She was crying a little, too.”
I glanced at Lauren. She was standing against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes on D.J.
“I asked her what was wrong,” he said. “But she didn’t want to talk. So I asked where she needed to go. And she said she didn’t know.”
I nodded.
“I told her it was gonna be hard for me to take her anywhere then,” he continued. “And I told her she either needed to pick a place or get out because I couldn’t just sit in the taxi line at the airport.”
A muscle worked in my jaw. “And?”
“And she said she didn’t know where she needed to go,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Then she asked how far San Diego was. I told her too far.”
“So where did you take her?” I asked, frustrated and running out of patience.
“She asked me to take her in the direction of San Diego,” he said. “I said I’d go twenty minutes max. That was it.”
“Where did you take her?” Anchor asked, sensing my frustration. “Specifically.”
“We went PCH,” D.J. said. “405 was jammed and we wouldn’t have gone anywhere. So we got to Redondo.”
“And then what?” I asked. “You dropped her at the beach? A mall? What?”
“Hotel,” he said. “She picked out a couple of crappy ones, but I told her they weren’t good ideas.”
Anchor had his phone out, poking at the screen and scrolling.
“So I dropped her at the Crowne Plaza,” he said.
“Did you wait on her?” I asked. “Make sure she got in?”
He shook his head. “No. I needed to get back for my next fare. I ran a bunch more before I got called here. And I still don’t get why. Are you gonna tell me?”
“She’d be under Corzine, correct?” Anchor asked, putting the phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” Lauren said, heading for the door. “Ellie Corzine.”
They walked out together and I followed them.
“So no one’s gonna tell me?” D.J. yelled. “That’s it?”
That was it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“If she’s not there, why are we going?” Lauren asked.
We were back in the SUV, heading south on the freeway. Even at that hour, the roads were clogged with traffic. Anchor had called the hotel. No one was registered under the name Ellie Corzine.
“She could be using another name,” I said. “Maybe someone will remember her. It’s following the trail.”
Anchor nodded from the front passenger seat.
Lauren sighed and leaned her head back against the seat.
Finding someone almost always came from following a trail, any trail. The work was in the minute details. Phone calls, emails, interviewing. Talking to people who had talked to whomever you were looking for. Tracking down anything related to the missing person, no matter how small. It was boring, it was tiring and it was tedious. But that was how you found people. You didn’t pass on any opportunities. Because you never knew what you’d find.
We rode in silence and I stared out the window, watching the traffic and the buildings, trying to orient myself to once again being in Southern California. With the freeways and buildings stacked right next to each other, it felt nearly claustrophobic after driving through Utah and Nevada. There was no room to move or breathe.
Kitting directed the car off the freeway and leaned over, whispering something to Anchor. Anchor nodded, glanced in his rearview mirror and nodded again.
The side streets were empty compared to the freeway, the traffic lights creating an uncomfortable ebb and flow as we worked our way westward. The industrial buildings began to give way to bungalow homes, trendy restaurants and coffee shops. We hit PCH and turned south into Redondo Beach and the only glimpse I could get of the Pacific made it look like a massive black pool.
The Crowne Plaza was off North Harbor Drive, an impressive five-story structure surrounded by palm trees. Kitting pulled the SUV under the arches and a bellhop immediately opened Anchor’s door, then mine and Lauren’s. Kitting stayed put.
The bellhop was young, probably college-aged, sporting blond hair, blue eyes and an affable smile. “Checking in, folks?”
“We’ll let you know,” Anchor said, brushing past him.
His smile faded and Lauren and I followed Anchor into an expansive lobby lined with columns and potted palm trees. The white floor tiles were polished smooth.
“I need to make a call,” Anchor said. “Excuse me for a moment.”
I nodded and headed for the check-in desk, where another blonde haired, blue-eyed male smiled at me. “Welcome, folks. Checking in?”
“We’re actually looking for a guest,” I said. “Ellie Corzine.”
“Do you have a room number, sir?” he asked.
“I do not,” I said. “And I actually don’t think she’s staying here.”
He squinted at me. “Excuse me?”
There was no story I could give him other than the truth, so I told him why we were there.
“I just came on an hour ago,” he said when I was done. “I work the overnights. So I don’t think I saw her. Let me grab my manager. Excuse me for just a second.”
He disappeared through a door behind the counter.
I scanned the lobby. Anchor was lounging against one of the columns, talking into his phone.
Lauren was looking around, too. “It’s weird to think she was just here.”
“It is, I agree.”
“Like I can almost feel her here, you know?”
I nodded. It was how I’d felt, standing at the registration desk at the hotel in Denver.
“I mean, I know that sounds stupid,” Lauren said. “But it’s like I can feel her here. Like she was standing right here, the exact same place.” She shook her head. “So strange.”
“Sir?” a voice said behind me.
I turned back to the counter. A woman around my age, dressed in a maroon business suit smiled at me. Large gold earrings hung from her ears and her face was covered with a thick sheen of makeup.
“Sir, I’m Valerie Beltran,” she said. “I’m the night manager here at the Crowne Plaza.”
I introduced myself and Lauren and repeated why we were there.
She nodded thoughtfully. “I checked our guest register. We don’t show anyone listed by that name. And I think I can tell you why.”
“Why?”
“She would’ve needed to provide identification,” Beltran said. “Given what you’ve told me, we would’ve been unable to provide her with a room because she’s under the age of eighteen. That’s our policy.”
“No exceptions?”
“None. Ever.” She shook her head, emphatic. “It’s corporate policy and I can tell you we adhere to it. We regularly have high-school-aged students come here, looking to stay the night for a dance or other activity. Unless there is an adult over the age of eighteen, we cannot and will not accommodate them.”
That made sense. It was a liability issue as well as smart business. If teenagers were trying to snag a hotel room, more than likely, it meant they were looking to do things that might get them in trouble if they tried to do them at home.
“Do you have a policy as to how you handle any minors looking to check-in?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Generally, we just politely decline them. If they get angry, we remind them that we can call the authorities. That’s usually all it takes.”
“But if a teenage girl shows up here all alone?” Lauren asked. “With no one else and no belongings? You’d just send her away?”
Beltran pursed her lips, then nodded. “Yes. We would. It’s not our place to police. And while I’m not passing judgment on the young girl you’re looking for, you’d be surprised at what kids will attempt to do to obtain a room. They’ll claim to be alone, when they’ve got six friends outside. They’ll claim that their parent is on their way, or that their parents made the reservation. They’ll try to pull every scam you can think of in order to get in here.” She shook her head again. “They can be very resourceful. But our policy is to decline, plain and simple. We don’t police because we can’t.”
Lauren looked away, not bothering to hide her disgust.
I understood what Beltran was saying, though. Elizabeth was the exception rather than the rule. What the front desk saw was a bunch of spoiled teenagers trying to sneak into a room. They didn’t need help or to be policed. They just needed to be sent away. They couldn’t be expected to investigate every kid that walked in and wanted a room.
“Is it possible to find out who she spoke to at the desk?” I asked. “To see if anything was said or if she might’ve said where she was going to go instead?”
Beltran frowned. “I’m not sure we could be of any help.”
“Still. You never know,” I said.
“And I’m not sure the hotel should be involved.”
Lauren turned back to her. “Are you fucking kidding me, lady? We’re asking to talk to an employee about a girl who has been missing for nearly ten years who came to your hotel and you turned her away because of policy. We aren’t looking to tarnish your reputation.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you don’t let us talk to whomever turned her away, I can guarantee you, I’ll personally call every local TV station and hit every Internet site I can find, letting people know she was here and you dismissed her and then wouldn’t grant a simple interview. What do you think that will do to your occupancy rate?”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Beltran looked stuck, unsure what to do. She pulled nervously at her earring.
We waited.
“Give me just a moment,” she said, then disappeared through the same door the original desk clerk had gone through.
“Well done,” I said.
“Idiot,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m surprised you haven’t punched out more people.”
“Bail gets expensive.”
“I would’ve wired it to you,” she said.
I glanced across the lobby. Anchor was still on the phone, but he was standing, looking out one of the front windows.
Beltran reappeared. “I’ve located the employee that spoke to the young woman. He’ll be here momentarily.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded. “If we could have you perhaps move over there to the chairs, he’d be happy to speak with you and answer anything he can.”
I nodded and we walked over to where Anchor was standing. He pulled the phone from his ear and punched it off.
He looked at me. “Any luck?”
“We’re waiting to speak with someone who spoke to her,” I said. “But she’s not here.”
“Alright,” he said. “I need to run outside for a moment and chat with Ellis. I’ll be back.” He excused himself and headed out the main entrance.
“What’s his deal now?” Lauren asked.
“No clue,” I answered.
Beltran approached us, accompanied by another college-aged kid, this one stocky, with thick black hair and nervous eyes.
“Mr. Tyler, this is Will Thorton, one of our front desk agents,” she said. “I believe he was the one who had contact with your daughter. He’ll be happy to answer what he can.”
I offered my hand and he shook it unenthusiastically. He nodded at Lauren. She just stared back.
“Young girl was in here just a few hours ago,” I said. “You recall?”
“Yeah,” he said, his expression flat, showing me nothing. “I remember.”
“I assume she was here looking for a room?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. But she didn’t have ID.”
“She give you her name?”
He shook his head.
Lauren pulled out a photo she’d taken from Elizabeth’s room in Minneapolis. “This was her, though?”
He looked at it, waited, then nodded. “Yeah, that was her.”
“So, when she couldn’t produce ID, what happened?” I asked.
Will glanced at Beltran, then looked at me. “Nothing, really. I told her she couldn’t have a room without ID.”
I waited.
He stayed quiet.
“And that was it?” I asked. “She just turned and walked out?”
He glanced again at Beltran, then shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
We all stood there silent. Beer bottles clanked in the bar behind us. A phone rang behind the counter. A horn honked outside.
“Will, I’m going to be very direct,” I said, staring at him. “I think you’re lying your ass off here.”
His face immediately colored and his eyes danced everywhere except near mine. “What? No, I’m not. Really. I don’t…”
“Here’s what I think is happening,” I said, interrupting him. “I think there was more to your interaction with our daughter. I’m not sure what, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t just turn and walk out. See, we know more about what happened to her right before she walked in here and I’m pretty confident she didn’t just say thanks a lot and walk.”
Will chewed hard on his bottom lip.
“And I’m starting to think that whatever you did, it might get you in trouble with your boss here,” I said, glancing at Beltran. “I think you’re worried about saying something in front of her. Because you look like you’ve got spiders crawling up and down your legs, you’re so nervous.”
Will glanced again at Beltran, who was staring at him, her eyebrows raised, waiting on him.
“And here’s the deal,” I continued. “I get it. You don’t want to get in trouble. But let me explain something to you. Outside, there are two guys who brought us here. They like lying even less than we do. And they’ll sit out there and wait for you to leave the hotel and then they’ll insist that you talk to them and you won’t have a choice because they won’t give you one. You’ll tell the truth and believe me when I tell you that it’ll be far worse than anything that Ms. Beltran can do to you.”
Will’s cheeks flushed again and both he and Beltran looked past us, toward the entrance. I knew they didn’t see anyone and they were probably trying to decide if I was lying or not. He was going to be in a world of hurt if he didn’t believe me because I’d turn Anchor loose if that’s what it was going to take.
“Will, if there’s more to say here, I think you should,” Beltran said.
Will caught his lower lip between his teeth, biting down so hard I thought he might draw blood. His eyes shifted between me, Beltran and the big glass doors at the entrance, like he couldn’t figure out which battle he wanted to fight.
He expelled a deep breath. “I passed her to Aaron.”
“Aaron?” I asked.
Beltran’s face soured. “Aaron Simmons?”
Will nodded.
“Who is Aaron and what do you mean passed her?” I asked.
Will shoved his hands in his pockets and went back to chewing on his lip.
“Mr. Simmons is a former employee here,” Beltran said. “He was relieved of his duties about a month ago.”
I nodded, still watching Will Thorton.
He finally sighed. “Okay, alright. Aaron and I have a deal.”
“A deal,” I repeated.
“Girls show up here, I call him,” he explained. “Just give him a shout if they’re single or looking to hook up or whatever. They gotta be hot.”
Beltran’s face was growing redder with each word.
“So when that girl came in here and I told her we couldn’t give her a room, she got pretty upset,” Will continued. “Not like mad, but just upset. Said she had nowhere to go. So I told her I had a friend who might be able to help her out.”
“Jesus,” Beltran whispered, her mouth set in a hard, angry line.
I took a deep breath. “So he came and picked her up or what?”
Will shifted his weight, the imaginary spiders still crawling up his legs. “Yeah. She said okay. I called him and he got here in maybe ten minutes.”
“And she just went with him?” Lauren asked, incredulous.
Will shrugged. “Yeah.”
“So then what happens?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Will asked.
