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Manuel was sure of it. But this man hadn’t come in through the front, or Manuel would’ve spotted him sooner. He must’ve used a side door, which was even more curious.
The blond-haired stranger glanced over his shoulder, and Manuel quickly stepped behind a pedestal bearing a giant array of exotic flowers.
A second later, the elevator arrived, and the man got on. When the doors swept closed, Manuel left his flowers on a nearby table and hurried across the lobby to watch the lights that signified the floors above.
Eight…nine…ten…eleven. The elevator stopped, then began to descend again.
Hitting the up button, Manuel took the first elevator to arrive. Then, when he reached the eleventh floor, he began knocking on doors. The place was almost deserted this time of day. It shouldn’t take him long to find the man who had to be Vanessa’s accomplice.
PRESTON HAD LEFT his purchases in the car and dashed through the side entrance of the hotel because it was closest to where he’d parked, worried that Emma and Max were getting anxious. He’d been gone longer than he’d planned. What had started out as a quest to pick up a few basics had become something much more complicated, mostly because Felicia’s enthusiasm had become infectious, and he’d bought all kinds of things. Shorts, shirts, a skirt outfit for Emma, several matching shorts outfits for Max, tennis shoes, toys and books for the car, even a minicomputer so Max could learn how to spell while they drove. Preston couldn’t understand why buying these gifts made him so happy, but after two years with each new day as bleak and unremarkable as the one before, it suddenly seemed like Christmas.
He whistled as he retrieved the key card for their room. He might have refused the jewelry, but after Felicia had gone back to work, he’d returned to the toy store and bought the bat and ball she’d tried to get him to purchase earlier. He had so many memories of playing baseball with Dallas that it felt like a betrayal to think of playing with Max. But from what Emma had said, her son liked the game. And Max was probably pretty good for his age if he’d had a private coach. Preston thought it’d be good for him to get some exercise every now and then while they crossed the country.
Today he wouldn’t remember what had come before, what he used to have, who he used to be. He’d concentrate exclusively on here and now and the presents he had in the car for a woman and a child who had nothing. Giving made him feel human again. Certainly he could allow himself a brief respite from the grief that had consumed him since he’d lost his son.
Slipping the key into the lock, he entered the room. His things were still there, but the television was off, and he couldn’t see Emma or Max.
“Emma?” He walked to the bedroom, then stuck his head into the bathroom before returning to the living room. He was just beginning to worry that maybe Max had had another insulin reaction, that they’d gone to the hospital, when he found her note.
P—We’ll be right back.
But where did they go? And why? How long had they been gone?
Someone knocked.
“Thank God.” Crossing the room, he swung the door open, expecting to see Max and Emma. Instead he stood face-to-face with Manuel.
The man seemed tightly wound, as though he was ready to fight. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyes narrow and accusing.
Preston wadded the note he still held in one hand into a tight ball and shoved it in his pocket. How had Manuel found them? And so damn fast? “That’s none of your business,” he said.
“You said you were from Ely.”
“I am.” He kept his voice careless, unconcerned. “I’m on a business trip.”
When Manuel bent his head to look beyond him, Preston shifted to fill the doorway and decided to go on the offensive. “Why the hell are you following me?”
“Following you?” Manuel chuckled humorlessly. “You know what I want. Where’s Vanessa? And Dominick?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by those names. But if you’re talking about the woman and child who asked me for a lift from Ely, I dropped them off at the airport.”
A muscle twitched in Manuel’s jaw, and Preston prayed to God Max wouldn’t come running down the hall. We’ll be right back.
“You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want,” he said smoothly. “But after I left the Hotel Nevada, I saw the woman and child in that picture you showed me. They were standing on the street not far from the Starlight Motel. I told the woman that you wanted to talk to her, but she begged me not to call you.”
A vein stood out at Manuel’s temple. “So you picked her up instead?”
Preston shrugged. “I figured whatever’s going on between you two is none of my business and gave her the ride she wanted. I even let her stay here last night.”
Manuel hesitated. “But she’s gone now.”
“I told you, I took her to the airport.”
“If that’s true, you probably won’t mind letting me take a look around.”
It was a challenge, a test. Preston wondered if Emma might have left something that would give them away. But she had only the clothes on her back, her purse and Max’s diabetes stuff, which Preston already knew she’d taken with her. If she’d left anything behind to indicate she was coming back, it couldn’t be much.
Problem was, it wouldn’t take much.
Pasting a confident smile on his face, he stepped back and waved Manuel into the room. He knew it was a bold move, but he thought it just might work—as long as Max and Emma didn’t return in the next few minutes.
“What kind of business are you in?” Manuel asked, moving purposefully through the suite.
“I’m a computer programmer.”
“And you’re in town for…”
“A convention.” Preston’s eyes skimmed all the surfaces. He couldn’t see anything of Emma’s. His bag sat in the living room. His computer waited on the coffee table. His phone…
He glanced back at the counter. His charger was there, but his phone was gone.
“Excuse me, I’ve got to make a call. When you’ve seen what you want to see, go ahead and let yourself out.”
Manuel marched into the bedroom as Preston sat on the couch and dialed his own number. Which went directly to voice mail.
Come on, Emma, pick up.
He called again—and sagged in relief when she said hello.
“Barbara?”
“Preston?” she replied, obviously recognizing his voice. “It’s not—”
