Page 42 of Dead Drift

Luke raked a hand over his head. “Whether you ordered it or not, tell her to keep her distance. Better yet, pull her out. She’s not needed.”

“I’ll determine who is and who is not needed on this op.”

“You only called her in to cause trouble.”

No flicker. Unfortunately, Luke was right on that one because she was already causing trouble, but he feared with someone as unstable as Lauren, matters could escalate from trouble to downright danger in the blink of an eye.

Lauren stepped out of the bathroom as Luke shut the office door on his way out. “Well, seems my visit definitely got under his skin.” She glanced at her red French manicure, checking for any chips or imperfections. She hated imperfections. “He must actually love her.” Why, she had no idea. The woman, while beautiful, was nothing special. Yet Luke had dismissed her advances as if she were a pesky fly and was protecting this Kate person as if she were a precious princess. It was revolting.

Malcolm tilted his head. “What were you thinking? I told you to keep an eye on Luke. I said nothing about engaging Kate.”

“Oh please. I was just scoping out the situation. If you want to make sure Luke stays in the fold, I’m going to have to keep the two of them apart, or at least have Kate questioning Luke’s and my history.”

Malcolm swallowed. “Under no circumstances is Kate to be harmed.”

Not him too. What was up with the protected princess? Exhaling, she grabbed her bag. “I know how to do my job, so let me do it.”

“No harm is to come to Kate Maxwell.”

Or what? Did the old man really believe he held any sway over her?

17

Griffin and Finley rounded the corner and located their room—403. At the end of the hall, right next to the exit stairwell, just as Griffin had requested. Always good to be next to an exit route.

He swiped the key card over the lock and it flashed green. He opened the door for Finley and stepped in behind her.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Perhaps they’d received turn-down service, but typically a light was left on.

Fumbling her fingers along the wall, Finley found the light switch. Flipping it on, she gasped. “What on earth?”

There in the center of their bed, atop the fluffy white duvet, lay a pair of handcuffs and a printed-out note attached with a satin red ribbon.

Looking at each other, they stepped closer and bent to read the small font.

Go home before your wife becomes my next victim.

The crime-scene investigator’s camera flashed as he processed the scene.

“Again, I am profusely sorry, Detective McCray,” the hotel manager on duty, Bryson James, said. “I have no idea how anyone gained access to your room, but I do have the camera footage of the hall ready for you to watch.”

“Great,” Agent Thornton said.

This most definitely tied to their common case, unless it was just a horrid prank. Griff prayed that was the case, but his gut said otherwise.

But how had the killer known? Known they’d be in town? Known they’d be staying at this hotel, in this room? Did he have someone inside the Bureau or one of the police precincts they’d visited?

Agent?

Griffin swallowed. Was it possible the killer was a federal agent? Could he be Agent Thornton? Was that why Burke had kept his key words hidden, or why Agent Thornton was on the gruff side when it came to their questions, or why he’d shut down Chelsea Miller’s case within such a short time of “looking back into it”?

He prayed the video footage would give them an answer.

Griffin kept his hand securely on the hollow of Finley’s back as they made their way down to the security office where two armed guards sat.

“I’ve got your footage right here, sir,” the guard informed Mr. James.

The hotel manager nodded, and the guard let the footage roll. “I started checking the footage at the time you called the front desk to report the incident, and then scrolled back from there. About a half hour before you arrived, there was a man. . . . There he is.” He pointed.