Page 10 of Veil of Silence

“My dad’s staying in this room. His name is Jeff Donnelly. I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days. His car is gone, but his phone is ringing inside.”

Denise frowned. “I can’t let you into a guest’s room.”

“I understand. You don’t have to let me in. But you can open the door and make sure he’s okay.”

She hesitated. “Our guests have a right to privacy. However, I can ask the police to conduct a wellness check⁠—”

“I’d really rather not take the time for that.” Austin pulled out his badge. “I’m FBI. I’m not here officially, but I’m here as his son. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t concerned about his well-being.”

Her gaze lingered on the badge.

After a moment, Denise pulled a master key from her pocket. “Fine. You can come in, but don’t touch anything.” She knocked hard. “Mr. Donnelly? Hotel management.”

Nothing.

She tried again before sliding the key into the lock.

Austin stepped inside behind her. “Dad?”

The room appeared to be empty.

Relief loosened something in his chest. But the details around him didn’t make him feel any better.

The bed hadn’t been made. A coffee cup sat beside an open laptop, a dark ring dried on the napkin beneath it. Three legal pads loaded with notes were scattered across the comforter, and the television remote lay on the floor.

A pair of reading glasses sat on the nightstand beside the lamp—his father couldn’t read a restaurant menu without them. A cell phone rested next to the glasses.

Austin picked it up. The screen lit, showing a stack of missed calls from him and a one-percent charge.

He blew out a breath. “Cutting it close, Dad.”

The manager cleared her throat. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The housekeeper lingered in the doorway, apparently having forgotten her none of my business mantra.

Austin opened the bathroom door.

Empty.

Dad’s toothbrush sat beside the sink. His toiletries were lined up in the same ridiculous order he’d used for as long as Austin could remember.

Deodorant. Razor. Shaving cream.

A weekly pill organizer sat beside them.

Austin picked it up. Wednesday’s compartment was still closed. So was today’s.

His father didn’t forget his blood-pressure medication.

Austin looked at Denise. “When does his reservation run through?”

She checked the tablet tucked beneath her arm. “Saturday.”

Today was Thursday.

Something cold settled beneath Austin’s ribs.