by Bonnie Vanak
“You’re not going.”
She halfway expected that. “Mike said to bring me or no deal. Will you risk Anna’s life? He won’t talk unless I’m there.”
“I won’t risk yours.” Kyle shook his head. “He’s desperate and could be armed and dangerous.”
“I’m going.”
“You’ll stay at your house.”
Belle set her cell phone on the dashboard. “You don’t have time to drop me off and meet him there.”
“Yes, I will. I’m not going in alone. I’ll have backup.”
“Backup as in other police? No, you’ll risk Anna’s life!”
Kyle’s voice remained level and calm. “Trust me, Belle. I know what I’m doing.”
“And I know Mike. He won’t talk to you alone. He’ll want me there as a negotiator.”
The glow of dashboard lights showed his expression tightening. “Negotiator?”
“He knows me, knows my family and, most of all—” she sighed “—he knows our family attorney. And he knows Clint will hire our attorney in order to protect the clinic’s name.”
Kyle cursed softly, got into the right lane to head for the interstate. “All right. But you do exactly as I say. Has Patterson ever been to that motel before?”
Emotion tightened her throat. “I’m not sure. But I know that area. Clint and Mike used to go bass fishing there in the Everglades. They took me a few times.”
She only prayed Mike would talk and they’d get to Anna in time to save her.
Kyle didn’t like this.
He’d stopped at the FBI command center first to organize backup, outfitted himself and Belle in Kevlar vests. No way in hell was he walking into a potentially deadly situation without backup. Going alone was risky enough. Taking Belle with him ground on every last nerve.
But she had a point. Patterson wouldn’t talk without her.
Belle wore the bulky vest beneath an oversize sweater a police officer loaned her. His was over his shirt in plain sight. Kyle poked at the vest, wishing he’d taken the time after the last case to get it properly fitted. But in this case, it would suffice.
She insisted Mike wouldn’t hurt her.
He lacked such faith. Patterson was now a fugitive and desperate men did desperate acts, such as shooting old family friends.
They pulled into the parking lot of the Old Pine Tree Motel at exactly eight o’clock. The motel was a seedy one-story building that clearly had seen better days, maybe back in the 1970s. Sodium parking-lot lights cast a dull orange glow over the two trucks and a beaten-looking sedan.
And standing out like a debutante at a senior citizens’ dance, a late-model black Jaguar coupe.
“That’s Mike’s car.” Belle started to open her door.
Kyle put a hand on her arm. “Wait.”
At least she didn’t argue with him. Belle looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll go in first. If he’s there, he and I will have a chat. And then I’ll bring him out here so he can talk with you.”
The Dade Town Police and federal officers stood by in the abandoned warehouse building next to the motel. They’d move as soon as he gave the word.
“It won’t work. He’s probably already seen your vehicle and knows you’re here. He’ll want to at least see me, Kyle.”
Much as he hated this, Belle was right. They couldn’t risk Patterson clamming up and refusing to reveal what he knew. Yet he wasn’t about to let her stroll out into the parking lot as an open target. Everything inside him bristled at the idea of her being at risk.
With a start, he realized it was more than his protective nature. He’d started to care for Belle in a more meaningful way. Time enough to ponder that later.
He looked at Room Six across the parking lot. No light shone through the closed curtains, but that meant nothing. Patterson could be inside, hiding, waiting for them to show up.
Kyle checked his sidearm. “He can see you when I say he can see you. For now, you stay here. Lock the doors. If you hear anything, shots fired, anything, you get down. Got it?”
She nodded.
On second thought...he reached into the glove box and withdrew a Glock. “Have you ever fired a gun?”
Her pert nose wrinkled. “Once or twice on a hunting trip. Not...that.”
“Here.” He showed her the safety. “It’s loaded, ready to go. Semiautomatic. Point and shoot. At the bad guys, not me, okay?”
Belle managed a faint smile. “Got it.”
Unable to prevent himself, he touched her cheek. “You’re something else, Doc.”
Then he opened the door and slammed it, striding across the parking lot to Room Six.
And possible danger...or the information they needed to finally retrieve Anna, safe and alive.
Chapter 15
Her cheek felt warm where Kyle had touched it. Only two weeks ago she’d thought him arrogant and cold when they’d first met at the airport. Now she knew that the icy exterior hid a warm man inside, who deeply cared about his job and the children he tried to help.
Face it, girlfriend, you’re starting to fall for him. Hard and fast.
Belle gripped her hands in her lap, watching Kyle walk across the blacktop. Worry needled her. If Mike was armed, he could panic and shoot Kyle if provoked. He wouldn’t hurt her because it would be like shooting his own sister.
Once she thought she had known Mike as a calm, collected professional, a doctor she respected for his thirty years of working as a healer.
Now? Her safe, secure world spun on its axis. She didn’t know who to trust anymore. Could she even trust her own brother, who had arranged for Mike to be chief physician?
Belle focused on Kyle. She trusted him. The agent risked his life to protect others and took an enormous gamble now.
Her gaze scanned the nearly empty parking lot. That Jaguar... Mike had always boasted about it, how sweet it handled, how he liked to crank up the speed on the highway. He’d even arranged for a vanity plate.
Alarm raced through her as she stared at the Jaguar’s tail end. She couldn’t see entirely from here, but those first three letters weren’t DOC.
Kyle ordered her to remain in the vehicle. But if that wasn’t Mike’s car, he could be walking into a trap.
Leaving the door open, and clutching the pistol, she slipped out of the SUV and walked backward to the right to get a better view of the Jag’s license plate.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Not DOC PAT. This license plate was ordinary. There were many other black Jaguar coupes in the area.
Why hadn’t she noticed before and warned Kyle? Damn it, she’d been trained to use all her good sense and the first thing she’d failed to do was see the car wasn’t the right one.
Was Mike even here?
Belle glanced at Room Six. Weapon held outward, Kyle knocked on the door.
Nothing. No barrage of bullets, thankfully. But no answer. No lights on in the room, either. Something was dreadfully wrong.
Kyle ducked into the room.
Cupping her hands, she peered into the Jaguar. Hard to see in this light. Belle used the flashlight app on her cell phone.
The car’s interior was pristine, with shiny leather seats. But dangling from the rearview mirror was a pair of earphones. Mike always put them there for phone calls because he once lamented that he lost earphones more times than most people lost their television remotes.
It had to be his car, but that license plate... Why would he change it?
Kyle needed to know. Torn, she lingered. Finally Belle scurried across the parking lot after him. He emerged a minute later as she reached the door.
Scowling at her, he lowered his weapon. “I told you to wait in the vehicle.”
Belle told him about the license plate. “The car looks just like Mike’s, but it’s
the wrong plate.”
Speaking into the hidden microphone on his tie, Kyle’s brow furrowed. “Roarke, Patterson isn’t here. I need you to run a plate for me.”
They hurried over to the Jaguar and Kyle rattled off the numbers. A minute later he rubbed his forehead. “The plate belongs to a 2016 Nissan stolen a month ago. You sure this is his car?”
“Pretty sure. His headphones are on the mirror. I wouldn’t be able to tell until you opened the glove box and pulled out the registration. Why would he put another plate on the Jag? Because you were searching for his car?”
“Most likely.”
She put a hand on Kyle’s arm. “Mike was here.”
“He might still be around.” Kyle gestured to the SUV. “Go. Get back in the vehicle.”
“No. I’m telling you, if he’s here and scared, seeing me is the only thing that will get him to talk.”
He could have gone out, but she doubted it. Not when he knew they were headed to him.
Belle went to the SUV and waited as Kyle checked around the front of the motel. It was quiet but for the hum of insects in the nearby swamp and the traffic from the distant roadway.
Kyle returned to the SUV and climbed inside, radioing his partner. “Roarke, check the back. Go silent. This guy could still be on premises and if he has Anna, we don’t want to spook him.”
He waited for a few minutes and then touched his earpiece. “All clear. Stay in position. I’ll contact you.”
Turning to Belle, he pointed to the car. “Is there anyone else Patterson knows who could have accompanied him here? Anyone he could have been working with, whom he trusts?”
“My brother.” She dialed Clint’s number. It went to voice mail.
“Clint, call me ASAP.” Belle hung up and stared at the motel. So frustrating. Her skin itched with impatience. Anna seemed within distance of rescue, yet the man who knew everything was missing.
Or hiding.
“Was Mike even in Room Six? What about his clothing?”
“There’s a suitcase in the closet.” Kyle tensed. “And a set of girls’ clothing in the dresser.”
Her heart sank. Mike looked guilty. Still, Anna mattered most. “I can’t see him killing her. He’s not like that. He heals children.”
Kyle snorted. “Not all doctors heal, Belle. Don’t be so naive. Some kill.”
Ow. That stung, deep. “You surprise me. You didn’t strike me as the type of man to let your personal prejudices interfere with the job.”
He turned to her so quickly, quietly, it was like watching a cobra strike. Yet in the dim light she saw anguish, not anger, on his face.
“I don’t. But damn it, your friend is key to finding Anna and if we don’t find him, our chances of finding her shrink, especially if she’s moved. It’s too damn easy to smuggle children out of this state. Florida’s surrounded by water. She could be in the islands and on a freighter while we’re sitting here, doing nothing.”
He was equally frustrated as her. The only solution was finding Mike. Belle searched her memory. Mike liked to fish in the Everglades, and he kept his promises. “He’s not stupid, so if he said he had information to share, and wanted to cut a deal, he was ready to talk. Something must have interrupted him.”
Kyle went still. “Or someone.”
“Or he was working with a partner.” He radioed his own partner. “Roarke, meet me at the motel office.”
As he started out of the vehicle, she joined him. Kyle glared at her. “You, back in the vehicle.”
“No. You need me.”
She scurried after him as Kyle started across the lot for the motel office.
“Do you think we were too late?” she asked him. “He wanted to see us in an hour and you delayed it.”
“No. We needed that hour. Something else is going on.”
In his bulletproof vest and suit, Roarke stood in the motel lobby, his gun holstered. He shoved an impatient hand through his dark hair. “I’ve rung that damn desk bell for two minutes. Guy’s ignoring me.”
A noise in the back alerted them to the clerk’s arrival. Middle-aged, with gray shot through thinning hair, the man looked as if he’d been sleeping.
Kyle flashed his badge. “Special agent Anderson with the FBI. I need to know who checked into Room Six.”
The sleepy clerk blinked, shuffled to the computer with sloth-like speed. He squinted at the screen. “Room Six. Michael Dawes, paid cash. Checked in earlier today, paid in full for the night.”
“Dawes is his mother’s maiden name,” she told Kyle.
“What time did he check in?” Kyle asked.
Yawning again, the clerk studied the screen. “Three thirty. Scheduled to check out tomorrow.”
“I need the names of those currently occupying the rooms on either side of Room Six.” Kyle demanded.
The clerk frowned as he scanned the computer. “Room Seven is empty, but it says that someone checked into Room Five two hours ago.”
“Do you record license plates when someone checks in?” she asked.
A small laugh. “Lady, this ain’t the Hilton. People come and go and like their privacy. Long as they pay the bill, that’s all we care about.”
“I need the skeleton key to Room Five.”
“I don’t know...”
“Now.”
The deadly stare Kyle gave the clerk made Belle glad she was on his side.
Paling, the clerk fished out a metal key from a desk drawer and handed it over. “Okay, okay.”
The door banged behind them as they rushed out of the office. Belle tailed behind, watching Kyle move with purpose. She’d hate to make an enemy of him. The very traits that others perceived as a threat enabled Kyle to focus with single-minded determination on finding a child.
It was because of him, and his partner, that Anna’s chances of being found increased a notch. She could forgive his earlier remarks about doctors. She could forgive a blizzard of doctor insults as long as they found Anna, alive and well.
“Stay back,” Kyle warned. He drew his weapon. “FBI.”
“Screw the key,” Roarke muttered and broke down the door.
Kyle, Roarke and the police rushed into the room. A few minutes later she heard “Clear” and ventured to the doorway.
“No one’s here,” Kyle announced. “Belle, stay here. If Patterson booked this room as well, I’ll need you to ID his clothing and any personal items.”
The motel was standard, nothing expensive. Cheap green carpeting instead of floor tiles matched the green drapes at the windows. A mirror hung over the main bureau, and a television was tucked into an armoire. Thin blue bedspreads covered two queen-size beds. A round table sat beneath the window. Twin lamps with dusty shades decorated nightstands on either side of the beds.
Mike would never sleep here, unless he was desperate and hiding out. A self-professed travel snob, he bragged about his elite status with a few upscale hotel chains.
“One-story motels are too lowbrow for Mike,” she murmured. “Even for a one-night stand.”
“Or a one-hour stand?” Kyle suggested.
Warmth suffused her cheeks. “Plenty of privacy at his house.”
“He wasn’t here because of an affair. He was here hiding out. These places are notorious for cash payments and discretion.”
The few items in the bathroom were ordinary and she couldn’t tell if they belonged to Mike. But the shaving cream was an off brand and she knew he enjoyed the luxury of expensive things.
Belle looked at the clothing in the closet and wrinkled her nose. The suitcase was filled with wrinkled shirts and shorts of various colors.
“Do you recognize anything belonging to Patterson?” Kyle asked.
She shook her head. “It’s all too small. He’s more than six feet tall and bulky. And he’s picky about what he
wears. Mike would no more wear a gaudy Hawaiian shirt than he’d be caught dead in cheap sandals. Mike is tidy, no matter where he stays.”
They returned to Room Six. Police combed through the closet, examined the warped desk drawers. Her heart sank when they carefully lifted out girls’ clothing from the dresser drawers.
“That looks like Anna’s size,” she told Kyle.
Hovering, Belle wished she could help. The room was plain and smelled slightly moldy, despite the window air conditioner running full blast. Had Mike taken Anna and kept her here in this damp, stale room?
But the clerk insisted he hadn’t seen any children today. The motel was not exactly family friendly. A child would have stood out.
Why the clothing? Did Mike buy it to take to Anna before she left the country?
She backed up against the bed closest to the bathroom. Her shoes made contact with something wet and squishy. She glanced down.
Maybe the bathroom leaked. Belle squatted down and touched the wet carpet.
Red stained her fingers. Breath hitching, she stared at the carpet.
Please don’t let it be Anna. Please let her be alive. Throat tight, she could barely breathe or talk.
“Kyle,” she whispered, pointing to the carpet. “Blood. It’s coming from the second bed.”
Gaze sharp, he crouched down. “Roarke, help me lift the mattress.”
They lifted the mattress and set it against the wall. Beneath was a splintered wood board instead of a box spring. Belle’s heart raced as the men lifted the board.
Eyes open wide with terror, Dr. Michael Patterson was curled into a fetal position, staring sightlessly at nothing. Someone had stuffed a white hand towel into his mouth. His wrists and feet were bound with gray duct tape.
A star-shaped bullet wound marked his high forehead, where the hairline had severely receded. There was little blood, except for that pooling beneath him. He wore a navy polo shirt and dark trousers and leather loafers. Her gaze whipped down to his feet. Socks with little gold anchors on them.
She’d once joked with him about those socks. He was absurdly proud of those socks and liked to wear them in the clinic.
