“What are you still doing here?” she asked.
“Needed weapons.” Shee dipped to grab another. “One for Mason.” Croix handed her two clips of bullets and she shoved one in each pistol.
Stuffing one gun in her waistband, she moved for the door. “If you see William, don’t let him know we’re on to him, but protect yourselves. Don’t let anyone upstairs.” She paused, hand on the door. “Here’s a thought. Are there guests here?”
Angelina shook her head. “No.”
“Yes,” correct Croix. “Mr. Burrows in three-thirty-six refused to leave. I tried to—”
Angelina put her hands on either side of her head. “Croix—”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Shee. “Figure it out. I have to go warn Mason.”
She pushed through the front door and then paused, realizing the door usually opened before she could touch it.
Where’s Bracco?
Shee jogged to the end of the porch, crouching before peering around the corner. Ten feet away, Bracco and Mason stood beside each other as if talking.
She scanned the area.
No sign of Scotty.
She ran down the stairs to join them.
“Hey,” she said, slapping on a frozen smile as she approached, in case Scotty was watching.
“Hey,” said Mason. His brow knit. “What’s wrong? You look crazy.”
“We have a problem,” she said, clenched teeth bared like a jackal.
“Inside? Out here, too. Bracco thinks he saw someone in the woods. We shouldn’t stay here exposed.”
Mason turned toward the front of the hotel as Bracco and Shee followed. Shee tried to scan the woods without appearing to stare, but she didn’t see anything. The hotel floodlights spilled as far as the trees, but dissipated into darkness beyond the frontline of leafy sentries.
“Could it be William? Do you know where he is?” Shee looked at the doorman. He shrugged.
“Why are you thinking William?” asked Mason without turning. “Because of the drawing?”
“We found the other half. William isn’t William.”
Mason’s head swiveled. “What?”
“He’s a guy I sent to jail twenty-five years ago. Scotty Carson. Rapist. Murderer. Beatriz has two different rounds in her. One from the dead guy—”
“And you think the other one’s from him?”
“Makes sense. He found them. He could have been working with the dead guy and killed Beatriz when he had the chance.”
“You’re sure he’s Scotty?”
Shee shrugged. “Maybe that’s why Captain had to die. I haven’t seen Scotty. I think he’s been avoiding me on purpose.”
“If Martisha was working with him, why would she keep evidence like that?”
Shee considered this. “Leverage? In case he double-crossed her? That sociopath can only pretend to be human for so long.”
Mason mounted the stairs to the front porch. “So you think he shot your dad?”
Shee gasped and gripped the stair railing as the world around her spun on its axis. She’d been concentrating so hard on connecting William and Scotty, wrestling with guilt that Scotty had come for her and killed Beatriz instead, that she’d forgotten to tie everything to what happened to her father.
Mason turned and stared down at her.
“Are you okay?”
“He didn’t get to Martisha after my father was shot. He shot him to draw me out.” She remained still, white-knuckled, as the pieces fell into place like a game of Tetris in her mind.
“You think—”
She looked up at Mason. “He’s the one who’s been trying to kill me all these years.”
Shee’s chest tightened. She turned to head back down the stairs, feeling as if a bomb had detonated in her brain. Mason grabbed her shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Shee, stop.”
She jerked free only to have him capture her a second time.
“Shee.”
She spun to face him. “What?”
“Take a breath. We have to be smart about this. There are other people in danger here.”
She shook her head. “We have to find him. Now.”
“I agree. But he’s already come with one soldier. He had Martisha under your noses for months. Who’s to say what he has planned? We could take him out right now and still end up with an army at the hotel.”
Shee dropped her face into her hands and screamed, vibrating with frustration.
Mason continued. “If Bracco saw what he thinks he saw, there’s someone in the woods. Maybe Scotty, maybe more assassins.”
“And?”
“And, if we head toward those trees looking for him, he’ll see us coming from a mile away.”
Shee hated Mason sounding so reasonable. All she wanted to do was run around the hotel, shooting like a video game character, until Scotty had so much lead in him he was declared a health hazard.
Mason continued, oblivious to the first-person shooter game playing in her head. “First, we have to lock the place down.” He put out his hand. “Go inside. Give me your gun.”
She obeyed. He seemed pleased with her response until she pulled the second weapon from behind her back. His shoulders slumped.
“I meant give me all of them. You go inside.”
She loaded one in the chamber. “Not a chance.”
“Shee, let me handle this. A trained SEAL against some guy who spent the last twenty-five years in prison? He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“He has two legs.”
Mason scowled. “My missing leg doesn’t level that particular playing field.”
She looked at Bracco. “You have a gun?”
Bracco pulled up his shirt to reveal a Glock identical to her own.
“Good. Go inside and secure the place. Watch over Mick. Shut off the lights, indoor and out.”
She took a quick breath hoping the momentary pause wouldn’t give Mason a moment to butt in.
“They won’t see us crossing the lot in the dark,” she continued. “Here’s a fun fact. No moon tonight, and Jupiter Beach restricts lights to keep the nesting turtles’ lunar navigation on track. It’s dark as a witch’s armpit tonight.”
Bracco put a hand on Shee’s arm, his
