“No problem.”
As he and the other paramedics leave, I cross over toward where Beckett is seated on the bed, now wearing a baggy t-shirt I’d pilfered from her suitcase to cover the tank top she’d been in before.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and get checked out?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I hate hospitals.”
“It might be?—”
“I’m okay,” she interrupts. The shock has worn off, leaving her angry and so exhausted she looks like one light breeze might knock her right over. I need to get her out of here and somewhere she can rest safely.
Then we can reassess.
Kneeling in front of her, I stare up into her dark almond eyes. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything? How he smelled? What he sounded like?”
“No,” she says. “He was—” She trails off and touches her throat as tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes. The tears have been coming off and on over the past forty minutes since the paramedics and uniforms arrived, and her expression betrays just how frustrated she is at herself for not being able to remember anything. “It’s all a haze. I only remember what he said. His voice was distorted. I hit him in the nose.” Her eyes widen. “Could there be blood somewhere? He was wearing a mask, but maybe?”
“We’ll check,” I assure her, though given she has none on her fist, I’m guessing the mask he was wearing prevented any splatter.
She nods.
“Don’t worry about the rest right now, okay? We’ll find something.” I push to my feet and survey the room once again. Most of the crime scene team has left, but a few remain behind, packing up what little evidence we have.
They bagged the sweatshirt Beckett was wearing when she was attacked. I’m hoping we’ll get a print somewhere in the room, but I know we won’t find one. Not since he had a mask and gloves on. He was careful.
Since there was no forced entry, my best guess is he lifted a maid’s hotel key and slipped inside when no one was looking. The hotel is currently looking into that, though that confirmation won’t necessarily come with a new lead; it’ll just be another answer.
I clench my hands into fists at my sides. Either way, I’ll find him. And I won’t be letting Beckett out of my sight until I do.
“Do you have things in the bathroom?” I ask her.
She nods. “Just my toothbrush and shower stuff. Why?”
“I’ll get it. You’re not staying here.” I turn toward the bathroom right as my partner strolls in from the hallway.
“How is she?” he asks, keeping his voice low and gesturing toward Beckett, who is still sitting on the bed, legs crossed, eyes closed.
“Shaken up, but alive. The area canvas turn up anything?”
My partner runs his hand through his dark hair. “Unfortunately, no one saw anything. I’ve got a uniform checking security cameras now, but whoever this guy was, he knew how to stay out of sight. We’ve got nothing right now. But that’ll change. It always does.”
“Call me when you have something.” I push past my partner and into the bathroom. After sticking her toothbrush back into its holder and re-packing small bottles of shampoo and conditioner into a travel bag, I head back out and stuff them into the front pouch of her suitcase.
“You taking her to the hospital?” my partner questions.
“No,” I reply. “Finish looking at that footage, and call me if you find anything.”
“You got it.”
I don’t mention the threat delivered by her attacker. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I get the feeling I need to keep this close to the chest until I get a chance to talk to the captain.
I can’t risk him putting someone else as lead on this.
As Beckett gets to her feet, Anderson offers her a smile. “I hope you feel better. We’ll find the guy who did this to you.”
“Thanks.”
When I reach out to steady her with a hand on her elbow, she pulls away and continues forward on her own. I try not to be bothered by the dismissal, though. Truthfully, I get the need to be seen as strong after a moment of feeling weak. But even as I understand her reasoning, I’m still desperate to hold her again. Just to prove to myself that she really is okay.
