Maggie snatched a T-shirt and wrestled into it, anxious to cover herself despite her skin being damp. She marched to the dresser and pulled out clean underwear and khakis. Her hair was still dripping as she rummaged through the service butler, relieved to find two new miniature bottles of Scotch. Thank God for the hotel staff’s efficiency.
A soft tap on the door startled her. She stopped at the bathroom, retrieving her revolver. Before pulling the chair away, she checked the peephole. Nick’s hair was damp and tousled. He wore clean blue jeans and a crisp oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
She returned the chair to the desk and slipped the revolver into the back of her waistband. It wasn’t until she opened the door and his eyes slid down her body that she realized she had nothing on underneath the thin T-shirt that now clung to her damp body.
“That was fast,” she said, ignoring the flutter this man seemed to activate on sight.
“I was anxious to crawl out of those clothes.” He returned to her face, a hint of embarrassment coloring his own. “I think I might need to throw out my shoes. There’s gunk on them that I don’t even want to know about.”
They stared at each other. His presence, his scent seemed to dismantle her thought process. She felt hot and damp. She told herself it was from her shower and the extra-hot water she had used.
“I thought maybe we could get something to eat or drink,” he finally said. “You do still have time before your flight?”
“I should…um…put something else on.”
His eyes wouldn’t let her go. Suddenly it unnerved her how much she wanted to touch him. She needed to close the door, get control of her senses, pull herself together. Instead, she heard herself saying, “Why don’t you come in.”
He hesitated, enough so that she could have taken back the invitation. Instead, she moved away from the door. She retreated to the dresser again, pulling things out at random, pretending to be searching while giving herself any excuse not to look up at him.
He came in and closed the door behind him.
“We seem to spend a lot of time in hotel rooms.”
She glanced at him, immediately annoyed that the reminder brought a flush to her cheeks. In a small hotel room in Platte City, Nebraska, they had come dangerously close to making love. Five months later, she could still feel the same rush of heat. With all the emotions assaulting her over the past few days, how was it possible for Nick Morrelli to walk in and assault her with a whole new set?
She pulled out a white crew-neck sweater, the cotton knit cool but bulky and comfortable. She snatched a bra from the drawer as well.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said as she disappeared into the steamy bathroom.
She changed quickly, avoiding any extra touches. She toweled the wetness out of her hair and brushed it back, grabbing the blow dryer, then deciding against it. She reached to remove her Smith & Wesson, hesitated, and left it in her waistband, pulling the loose sweater down and checking in the mirror to make sure it couldn’t be seen. She knew she’d have to grab her badge on the way out.
Nick was at the window and watched as she tugged on socks and slipped on shoes. She noticed he had both miniature bottles of Scotch in his hand.
“Still having nightmares?” His eyes searched hers as he returned the bottles to the small table.
“Yes,” she said quite simply, and gave him her back as she found her badge and some cash. She didn’t need Nick Morrelli barging into her life and thinking he had any right to share or expose her vulnerabilities.
“Ready?” she asked as she headed for the door and opened it before looking back at him. She almost tripped over the room-ser-vice tray that sat on the floor outside her door. She stared down at the single dinner plate covered by a silver insulator. The two empty glasses and accompanying silverware sparkled on a crisp, white linen napkin.
“Did you order something from room service?” she turned to ask, but Nick was already by her side.
“No. And I didn’t hear a knock, either.”
He stepped over the tray and out into the hallway to look in both directions. Maggie listened. There were no slamming doors, no footsteps, no wisping elevators.
“Probably just a mistake,” Nick said, but she could hear his tension.
Maggie kneeled next to the tray. Her pulse quickened. Carefully, she slipped the linen napkin out from under the silverware, using thumb and index finger. She unfolded it, then used it to grab the handle of the metal insulator. She lifted it slowly and immediately the smell filled the hall.
“Jesus,” Nick said, jerking back a step.
In the middle of the shiny dinner plate lay a bloody glob Maggie knew was Rita’s missing kidney.
CHAPTER 27
Within minutes, the hotel’s lobby was filled with law enforcement officers from across the Midwest. All entrances and exits were guarded. Elevators were checked and watched. Stairwells were examined at all twenty- five levels. The hotel’s room-service kitchen had been invaded and the staff questioned. Despite the overwhelming brigade of manpower, Maggie knew they would never find him.
Most criminals would consider it suicide to show up in a hotel where hundreds of cops, sheriffs, detectives and FBI agents were staying. For Albert Stucky it would simply be another challenge to his game. Maggie imagined him sitting somewhere, watching and amused by the commotion, the blunders, the unsuccessful attempts at catching him. That’s why she was checking the most obvious places.
The second floor included an atrium overlooking the lobby. She stayed at the brass railing while her eyes searched down below—the line at the reservations counter, the man at the grand piano, the few diners at bistro tables in the glass-encased cafe the man behind the concierge desk, the cabdriver hauling out luggage. Stucky would blend in. He’d look as though he belonged. Even the room-service staff would not have noticed him had he walked into their kitchen in a white jacket and black tie.
“Any luck?”
Maggie jumped but managed to restrain herself from automatically reaching for her gun.
“Sorry.” Nick looked genuinely concerned. “He’d be nuts to stick around. I’m guessing he’s long gone.”
“Stucky likes to watch. It isn’t much fun if he doesn’t get to see people’s reactions. Half of these officers don’t know what he looks like. If he plays it cool, they might never spot him. He has the uncanny ability to blend in.”
Maggie continued searching, standing quietly and still. She could feel Nick examining her. She was tired of everyone watching for signs of some kind of mental meltdown, though she knew Nick was sincere.
“I’m fine,” she said without looking at him, answering his unspoken question.
“I know you are. I still get to be concerned.” He leaned over the railing, conducting his own search. His shoulder brushed against hers.
“Assistant Director Cunningham thinks he’s protecting me by keeping me off the investigation.”
“I wondered why you were teaching. John said there were rumors that you were burned out, losing your touch.”
She had guessed as much, yet it felt like a slap in the face to hear it out loud. She avoided looking at him. She pushed strands of damp hair out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ears. She probably looked the part of the crazed FBI agent, with her tangled hair and baggy clothes.
“Is that what you think?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear his answer.
They stood side by side, leaning against the railing, shoulders brushing while their eyes stayed safely ahead and away from each other. His silence lasted too long.
“I told John that the Maggie O’Dell I know is tough as nails. I saw you take a knife to the gut and still not give up.”
Another of her scars. The mad child killer she and Nick had chased in Nebraska had stabbed her and left her for dead in a graveyard tunnel.
“Getting stabbed seems so much easier than what Stucky’s doing to me.”
