The thought that she might have some otherworldly ability frightened her. But at least it was an explanation. And she desperately needed explanations, because the alternative was even more frightening.
“There it is,” Deputy Chavez said, pointing toward a distant spot on the horizon. Anna could see bright lights flashing. A lot of them. “We’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
The place was a dump.
Chavez pulled the squad car to the curb in front of the lobby doors, which were flanked by large, stone palm trees in serious need of a new paint job. The sign over the doors read, in even more flashing bright lights: DESERT OASIS HOTEL–CASINO.
“Oasis” was being generous.
Gambling had never interested Anna. She’d been to a casino only once before in her life, in better days, when she was still working out of San Francisco. A suspect’s trail had led her and her partner to the Thunderhead Resort, a sprawling Native American golf and gambling mecca, about a two-hour drive outside of the city, that catered to high rollers and tour buses full of Gold Coast retirees. Although several years old, the hotel and casino were spotless, meticulously maintained, with even a touch of old-world elegance to them.
The Oasis was the exact opposite. The kind of low-rent establishment that stirred up phantom smells the moment it came into view. Smells you just knew would assault you as soon as you stepped through its doors: mold and mildew mixed with several decades’ worth of cigarette smoke.
Anna glanced down at Evan, who hadn’t said a word the entire drive. If only out of necessity, the boy seemed to have bonded with her, and it had been Worthington’s suggestion that she shepherd him to the Oasis.
“I’ve gotta finish processing this crime scene,” he’d said. “And I have a feeling he’d be more comfortable with you.”
Royer had initially objected, of course, but finally gave in, apparently having decided to wash his hands of anything to do with Special Agent Anna McBride.
Which was fine with her. Anna welcomed the chance to get away from him. Away from the snide remarks, the judgmental stares.
She knew she should have kept her mouth shut earlier, should have played along and been the good little soldier, but she’d been betrayed by her usual impulsiveness. She was a cliche-her own worst enemy-and reassignment to middle-of-nowhere South Dakota was looking more and more like a real possibility.
Assuming, of course, she managed to hang on to her job at all.
“Where are we?” Evan asked, finally breaking his silence. He had pulled away from Anna and was staring out at the flashing lights.
“Disneyland,” Chavez told him as he killed the engine. “Disneyland for grown-ups.”
Disneyland for losers, Anna thought.
Maybe she’d fit right in.
Evan shook his head. “I don’t want to go to Disneyland.”
“It’s okay,” Anna said. “We won’t be here long. There’s someone who wants to meet you. Someone who can help us find Kimberly.”
Evan brightened suddenly, peeking past Anna’s shoulder toward the lobby doors. “Is she here?”
“No. But we’ll find her. I promise.”
It was a promise she knew she shouldn’t make. If the man who had slaughtered the people in that house had taken Kimberly with him, then little Kimberly’s fate was all but sealed.
“You want me to go in with you?” Chavez asked.
“We’ll be fine,” Anna said, then popped her door open and climbed out.
Scooping Evan into her arms, she carried him through the lobby doors, then set him down and took his hand.
She hadn’t been wrong about the smell. Especially the cigarette smoke.
Despite the early hour, the place was fairly active, and Evan stared wide-eyed at the rows of clanging slot machines and the mix of bleary-eyed tourists who filled the stools in front of them.
A couple aisles over, a jackpot siren went off, and Evan flinched, grabbing Anna’s arm.
“It’s okay,” she said, although she wasn’t quite sure that was true. Bringing the boy to Daniel Pope was not her first-or even last-choice, and parading him through this seedy environment didn’t much help. But she took his hand again, found an empty aisle, and guided him toward a glowing red sign that read: HOTEL REGISTRATION.
They were about halfway to it, moving past a row of mostly empty blackjack tables, when a uniformed security guard stepped into their path.
“Excuse me, ma’am. There are no children allowed in here.”
Anna immediately brought her creds out. “I’m looking for one of your employees. A man by the name of Daniel Pope.”
The guard’s eyebrows raised. “He in trouble?”
“No. He’s expecting us. Where can I find him?”
“He’s got a room in the residential section. Four-oh-eight. You’ll either find him there or in the poker room.”
“And where’s this residential section?”
The guard pointed toward a hallway near the registration desk. “Through there. Elevator on your left.”
Anna nodded. “Thank you.”
A few moments later, she and Evan were riding an excruciatingly slow elevator to the fourth floor, Evan squeezing her hand so tightly it was starting to go numb.
“Is this where Kimmie is?” he asked.
“No, dear. I told you, remember? We’re here to see Mr. Pope.”
“Who’s he?”
Before she could answer, the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors slid open, revealing a man in khaki pants and black Polo shirt leaning casually against the hallway wall as if he had been waiting for them.
Daniel Pope.
Apparently the guard had alerted him.
Anna recognized him immediately, although the TV footage and the photos in the newspaper hadn’t quite done him justice. He was Hollywood handsome, without the slick phoniness that usually went with it.
But what really struck her was his eyes. Dark and haunted and quietly intelligent.
Despite a calculated immunity to such things, Anna felt a slight lurch inside her chest as his gaze fell upon her-and it had nothing to do with the motion of the elevator. He seemed to be looking into her, rather than at her.
“Mr. Pope?” It was a silly question. She already knew the answer.
“Crimen ut tutela,” he said, then crossed himself in an overly elaborate gesture, as if offering a papal blessing. Then, pushing away from the wall, he gave her a smile, and despite the joke, Anna thought it seemed forced.
Or maybe she was letting her knowledge of the man’s history color her perception. That Pope was able to smile at all was a miracle to Anna.
She produced her credentials again. “Anna McBride,” she said, guiding Evan into the hallway. “This is Evan Fairweather.”
Staring at the boy, Pope seemed momentarily lost in a memory, but recovered quickly and crouched down, offering a hand to shake.
“Hi, Evan. I’m Danny.”
Evan eyed the hand warily, then finally brought his own up and shook it. “Is Kimmie here?”
“No, son, I’m afraid she’s not. But I’m told you might be able to help us find her.”
Evan went silent, shaking his head.
“You thirsty?” Pope asked. “Do you like soda?”
A nod this time. “But my mom doesn’t like me to drink it.”
“How about a glass of milk, then?”
“… okay.”
