For a while, he was trapped behind slow-moving tourists in a rental who spent too much time pointing at the surf, but then they reached an open area and John accelerated past them.
In the clear, his thoughts turned back to the case. There were now at least three parties involved besides Caitlin. There was whoever had attacked her at the hotel, the Japanese businessmen, and now the NCIX. The advent of the NCIX added a threat that he particularly didn’t like. He’d done business with them before, anyone involved in information security came across them sooner or later, and it always left a bad taste in his mouth, sort of like the feeling you have when you wake at three A.M. with a full bladder and a beer hangover. These guys didn’t leap into simple cases, and they normally leapt toward throwing someone into prison. That didn’t bode well for Caitlin, and unless he cooperated, there was a small room somewhere with his name on it.
To top it off, the NCIX muscle showed up immediately after he visited the police station. They wouldn’t sit outside the station hoping Caitlin would come by, but they might leave a tag in the computer. They had addressed him by the alias he had given the desk sergeant. In this case, it would mean the name of the bogus detective Romax was tagged. It also meant that they were interested in whatever this thing was that everyone else sought. Their involvement came long after the first assault on Caitlin, or they would have visited her at the hotel last night. Caitlin had mentioned seeing two women at Alliotto’s in a federal car. Could it have been the same two? How many Amazonian pairs operated in the Bay Area?
Too much was happening too fast. Too many opponents were coming out of the woodwork. He needed more information from Caitlin. There had to be more she could tell him. Caitlin or Scott had done something out of the ordinary, and it must have been recent, perhaps as late as yesterday, but certainly not longer than a week ago. Otherwise, these fast-break artists would have shown up sooner.
He reached the hotel just after one. It was the offseason, as tourists go, but the streets were already packed. The hotel’s parking lot was nearly empty. It was after checkout, and before check-in, the only cars in the lot would most likely belong to tourists spending the day walking around town.
He parked in front of Caitlin’s room and got out. There was no one around who looked suspicious, a rolling cart of dirty laundry waited outside an open door a few rooms away, and the sound of Latin music came from the open door.
His knock on Caitlin’s door wasn’t answered. He waited a full minute and knocked again, louder. Still no answer. He took out his key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The lights were off, but the curtains overlooking the bay were open. There was plenty of light to see that no one was home.
He went inside and made a quick inspection. There wasn’t much to find. The toiletries were still in the bathroom, but otherwise, there was nothing to show that Caitlin Maxwell had ever been in here.
Where had she gone? He was almost certain no one could have found her here, but that would mean she left on her own after he specifically told her to lay low and not even leave the room.
Could someone have found her? No, it just wasn’t possible. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, she had run out on him, again.
No, scratch that. She hadn’t run out on him before. She had simply remained with the man she loved. He couldn’t fault her for that. It was the right thing for her to do.
Then why was his gut clenching?
He told himself he was overreacting. There were plenty of reasons she could have left. Maybe she got claustrophobic and went for a walk. Maybe it was that time of the month for her, and she’d needed things that he hadn’t thought to include in his overnight toiletries. Maybe she’d had a craving for ice cream and went looking for a Baskin-Robins. He wouldn’t know until he found her.
He wrote a quick note on the hotel’s stationery, telling her to stay put when she got back. He stuck it on the phone and went outside.
He suddenly realized he’d gotten careless and his first clue was the gun in his ribs.
A husky male voice spoke softly at his ear. “Don’t close it. We are going back inside.”
The voice had a faint accent; French was his first guess, perhaps Belgium, or one of the other Low Countries.
“Whatever you say, pal,” John responded and pushed the door fully open. John guessed he wanted him inside before anyone came along and saw him holding a gun on John. The Frenchman was right behind him when he crossed the threshold.
When the door closed, he spoke again, “Where is she?”
“Who?”
The gun dug deeper into his ribs. “Maxwell of course. Don’t play with me. I know you have her.”
“Au contere mon ami,” John answered. “As you can plainly see I do not have her or anyone else for that matter. What makes you think I do?”
“Never mind that, walk toward the back.”
He obviously wanted to check the bathroom. It was what John would’ve done. When he saw she wasn’t there, he would be confused, making him vulnerable. That’s when John would have his best chance.
“Wait,” he ordered halfway across the room.
He’d seen something.
What?
Damn. The note he’d left. So much for convincing him, he had the wrong guy.
John considered jumping him when he tried to read the note. The pressure of the gun eased and
