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“Sir, we have over one hundred rooms.”
“And cameras,” Otto says, looking around, thoughtful as he spins the ring in his lip and casually pulls his jacket back as a subtle reminder. What the fuck happened to smiling? “Where’s the control room?”
Poor Simeon. His forehead becoming shiny from his stressed sweat, he clicks his fingers and tells the staff member to take Otto to the control room. Then he produces a key card and invites me to accompany him to the elevators.
“May I ask who she is to you?” Simeon asks, making small talk as we ride up to the top floor.
“No.”
An hour later, I have entered every room in that fucking hotel and she wasn’t in one of them. Our search and endless invasions of people’s privacy has cost Simeon hundreds in complimentary drinks. For that alone, I hand him another wedge of cash and tell him to put my number in his phone. “Call me if you see her.” Simeon nods and gives me directions to the car park, where I find Otto looking over my Range Rover.
“Engine’s cold,” he says, feeling at the bonnet. “And cameras show nothing in the hotel. This space here falls into a blind spot. She knew what she was doing.”
“You can’t just park in any old hotel car park. You have to be a guest.”
“Maybe she doesn’t plan on collecting your car.” Otto rounds my Range and gets up close and personal with the back window. “There’s a train station down the street. Goes straight into MIA.”
My stomach turns. “She won’t get answers if she leaves Miami.” I try the handle on the passenger side for the sake of it. “Did you see her pull in?”
“Yes, at eleven last night.”
“But she didn’t go into the hotel?”
Otto shakes his head and checks his watch, reminding me that we have somewhere we need to be. She won’t come back while I’m here. I know that.
I nod and leave the car park, constantly looking back to my motor as Otto slips a tracking device under the wheel arch.
Where are you, Beau?
28
BEAU
I pull the hotel room door closed behind me and wander down the corridor to the elevators, feeling exhausted in every sense. I didn’t get any sleep, just lay there battling the anger, the frustration, the unknown.
The grief.
Losing my focus on Mom’s murder and redirecting it to Dad’s is playing havoc with my conscience. Mom didn’t deserve to die. Dad didn’t either. But Dad’s selfish choices mapped his path. Mom’s selflessness mapped hers.
I step in the cart and move to the back when a few more guests join me, turning on my cell and wincing at the endless missed calls from everyone I know.
And love.
And who love me.
The elevator dings, the doors open, and I walk to the reception desk armed with my key card, sliding it onto the counter. “Ah, Beau.” Quinton leans over the counter and takes my cheeks, air-kissing each one. “I’ll have the valet collect your vehicle from across the road.” His beautifully plucked and dyed eyebrows lift as he looks over his rimless glasses at me. “Care to enlighten me as to why you needed parking away from the premises?”
“No.”
“It’s not stolen, is it?”
I laugh as he checks me out. “You think I’ve gone from cop to car thief?” God, it’s so much worse than that.
“Well, it’s all very strange, and coming from me, a man of the world who works in a bustling hotel, strange requests are part of the job.” He staples a few sheets of paper together and folds them precisely. “How’s Zinnea? God, I miss working the circuit.”
“She’s good,” I say, suffering another pang of guilt.
“And Dexter?” he asks, curious. It was common knowledge Quinton always had a soft spot for Zinnea. “How is he?”
