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At this last thought, he gave out a little cry and backed up until the backs of his knees met the bed, where he plopped down, a defeated doll, on its surface.
“Miranda!” he cried out.
He sat that way for a long time, longer than he should have.But, he wondered,what can I do?
And he answered himself:You can at least check with the front desk. See if there’s a message or if they at least have a clue as to where she’s gone.
He gave calming himself his best shot and went downstairs.
The woman at that front desk approached when it was his turn. She was young, only in her early twenties he guessed, and beautiful—skin the color of coffee with lots of cream, pulled-back, long, black hair, and dark eyes that seemed to say, “I can help you, or I can wound you. What’ll be?”
Her smile was dazzling. She knew his name. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Ryman? Everything okay with the room?”
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine,” he lied. “I was wondering: Have you seen my daughter? Has she been by? Maybe left a message for me?”
The front desk clerk cocked her head and then shook it. Her smile faltered, and Connor supposed she was thinking,Why wouldn’t your daughter just leave a message on your phone or in the room?Why indeed.
“No, sorry to say I haven’t seen her today. I know who she is.” She leaned close and confided, “I’m a big fan of your work, so I’m thrilled that you’re staying with us.”
Connor tried to smile but failed. He couldn’t be bothered with celebrity right now. Maybe not ever again. “Well, if she happens to come by, tell her I’m looking for her.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
He wanted to respond that she could help him reverse the tailspin his life had gone into, but didn’t know how that would go over, so he simply nodded and gave a little wave over his shoulder as he turned and walked away.
Just as he was nearing the end of the long line of people waiting to check in, the clerk called out to him. “Wait! Wait!” He turned and saw her ask a man in a suit to step aside as she motioned Connor back to the desk.
“I’m sorry. I almost forgot.”
“Miranda did stop by?”
“No, I’m sorry, but someone did.” She reached under the desk and brought out a small padded envelope. “They left this for you. I was going to have someone bring it up to your suite, but you can save them a trip…and yourself a tip.” She grinned. Connor thought it must be nice to be in her bubble—clueless, carrying on with life as though every step wasn’t one that would put a person in peril.
He regarded the envelope lying on the desk. “Did you talk to the person who left it? See them?”
“Sorry. Another front desk person took it.”
“Are they here?”
“Again, my apologies. We just switched shifts. Rebecca won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” She slid the envelope toward him and raised her eyebrows. “If there’s nothing else?”
“Okay.” He snatched the envelope up, feeling something rectangular and hard within the padding. As he hurried back to the bank of elevators on the north end of the lobby, he wondered why this turn of events was making him feel nauseated. Dread hung over him.
Once back in the room, he barely waited for the door to close behind him to tear the envelope open with trembling hands. A bright yellow Post-it® fluttered to the floor and a small Nokia flip phone, which looked suspiciously like a burner, slid into his hand.
Grunting, he stooped to pick up the sticky note. “Don’t ignore the messages” was all it said.
The dread and nausea rose higher within, making him fear he’d need to run to the bathroom.
He flipped open the phone. There were no messages.
But he didn’t have to wait long for one to come through.
The words on the small screen chilled him, sickened him so much he sunk to the floor on his knees, unable to support his own weight any longer.
I have her. Await further instructions. Trey.
Chapter Thirty-One
