Dark and Deadly

Paul eased the door closed on the hotel room. He wished he could lock it from the outside, giving Torie another level of protection. Whipping out his PDA as he walked, he began texting, then calling the people he needed. With that done, he headed to the Extended Suites to get Torie’s things.

A crowd of bystanders lurked beyond the yellow tape at the hotel, most of them holding beer bottles or soft drink cans. They were trading theories about the car, and what had happened.

“Yeah, I heard it blow,” one young man drawled. “Didn’t know it was a car though. Sounded like something bigger.”

“Uh huh,” his companion replied. “I didn’t hear it, had my ’phones on.” He pointed to the dangling ear-buds attached to his slim music player. “Saw the flash. It was awesome.”

Paul wanted to smack them both for being so nonchalant about what had happened. Another part of him reasoned that they had no way of knowing that it had been gunfire, or that his…client had nearly been killed. He had to keep thinking of her as his client, not as anything else. She’d looked so vulnerable, so young.

The memory of her, younger and equally vulnerable, rose to haunt him. He’d rescued her then. History seemed to be repeating itself.

“Jameson?”

Paul turned to see the same officer from the hospital standing by the curb.

“Yep. Any new info?”

“No, but we’re pinpointing where the shots came from. We’ll get the crime techs to pull the bullets out.”

Looking at the burned car, Paul was dubious. Then again, you never knew what forensics could do. “Be interesting to see if they match the gun that killed my friend.”

“Nah. I looked it up. Your church friend was killed with a small caliber weapon. This had to have more oomph.”

“Looks like both my friends are targets.”

“You’d better be careful, too, Jameson.” Another voice joined the conversation. It was Tibbet, the detective who’d broken the news of Todd’s death. “Looks like someone doesn’t care much for your friends.”

“You’re right, Tibbet. And that worries me.”

“Where’s the woman, Hagen? Wasn’t she here? They keep her at the hospital?” Tibbet was asking his officer, but Paul answered.

“Treated and released. I moved her to another hotel.”

Tibbet took out his notebook. “Glad she’s back in town. We’ll need to contact her in the morning. Where can I reach her?”

“My office after ten.”

Tibbet frowned. “I need her whereabouts, Jameson.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t think so, Tibbet. Doesn’t seem like your people can keep anything quiet. Who let the info out about what’s happened to her, eh? No one should know that. I think you’re the only one. Haven’t you and your people totally compromised any effort at protecting her?” Paul stepped in towards the man angry now on Torie’s behalf. “I brought her back for you, but for what? So she can be hounded by the press? Do you know what it took to get her out of the airport?”

“Act of Congress?” Tibbet quipped. “Look, Jameson, I don’t make the rules, nor do I dictate the Freedom of Information Act.”

“Bullshit. Information in an ongoing investigation isn’t subject to the FIA. You can’t tell me someone didn’t leak that, because I know better. Only Torie and your staff knew about the guys she dated, and what happened to them. And how could The Inquirer have gotten all their names without access to someone in your office?”

“You’re gonna want to step back, Jameson,” Tibbet said blandly, although his body language was tense, that of a fighter.

“Yeah, and you’re going to want to notify your department rep because we’ll be filing a complaint tomorrow.”

“Noted. Now step back before you compromise the scene.”

Paul looked down. His feet were touching the edge of the scorched grass just outside the tape.

“Tomorrow, Tibbet.”

“Your office, Mister Jameson.”

Paul nodded. He pushed through the bystanders who looked at him with avid curiosity. It made him feel vaguely sick to look at the car, think about Torie, and imagine the explosion. To combat the feeling, he hurried to Torie’s room, slipping the key card into the slot, and waiting for the green.

Pushing open the door, he stopped dead.

“Tibbet!” Paul called as he hurried back toward the curb. The burned-out hulk of the sedan was being loaded onto a flatbed tow truck and wrapped in a tarp. The tarp made it look like a huge package or present sitting on the back of the truck. Two techs were directing the process, muttering about preserving evidence and chain of custody.

“Tibbet,” Paul huffed a bit as he reached the taciturn cop. “You’re going to want to come with me.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Torie’s room.”