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They’d searched nearly every inch of the resort and questioned countless employees and guests. Given that they’d been at least an hour behind her, and it took them half an hour to realize Sylvia’s car was there but she wasn’t, it had been the middle of the night at that point. All parts of the resort except the valet and front desk had been closed, so there’d been no one to question until employees started returning at six a.m. That questioning had been pointless—everyone they talked to either hadn’t been on site the previous night, didn’t see anything, or had been paid very handsomely not to talk.
Hugo’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the trunk of Sylvia’s car, looking just as sweaty and discouraged as Lancelot. “She’s gone. Sylvia’s gone, and this monster has her.”
Or killed her and dumped her body in the ocean.
Lancelot shoved that thought away. He had to operate on the assumption that Sylvia was still alive and with Alicia.
Lancelot had been determined to find some crumb that would give a lead, something to work with. They were out of threads to pull. “Fook. We’re going to have to call Lorelei, tell her we’ve lost Sylvia and Alicia. Maybe she’s found—”
Before he could finish his statement, a tricked-out Ford F150 squealed tires around the circular drive leading to the front entrance of the resort, slamming on the brakes, and skidding to a stop right behind Sylvia’s car.
Lancelot started to reach for the gun he’d tucked in his back waistband, but stopped just before grabbing the grip when Sylvia’s brother, Oscar, leapt out of the truck and crossed in front of the hood.
He just kept coming.
Lancelot read Oscar’s intentions in his body language a second too late to call out a warning to Hugo.
Too late for Hugo to dodge as Oscar swung hard, punching Hugo in the jaw.
The blow sent Hugo staggering sideways, the trunk of the car at his back the only thing stopping him from hitting the ground.
Oscar whirled on him, but Lancelot was ready, his fists up. He wasn’t taking a sucker punch.
“Give me a reason,” Lancelot said through gritted teeth. He sure as hell felt like hitting someone. Fear—no, terror—over what Alicia had done to Sylvia was starting to take over. He hated feeling so helpless.
Lancelot’s tone slowed her mammoth brother down, but only just barely. “Where the fuck is my sister?!”
Lancelot lowered his fists. “How did you know she was here?” He was sick and fucking tired of this guy asking a bunch of questions while never giving one damn answer. He needed that answer. Needed a thread. “Did she call you?”
The dark look on Oscar’s face told Lancelot he was sorry he hadn’t swung that initial sucker punch at him instead.
Hugo pushed himself upright and swiped blood off his split lip. “She’s not here.”
“What did you do with her?” Oscar asked him.
“Nothing,” Hugo replied. “We came here to find her, too.”
“What are you doing here?” Lancelot needed to get his answer.
“Sylvia sent an SOS.”
“A what?” Hugo asked.
Alive. She was alive. Lancelot made sure none of his feelings showed on his face. He’d lost it once, yelling his fears out over the phone when he realized she’d gone to see Alicia. Not that she’d heard a word of it.
“Her watch. It’s a special design. At three o’clock this morning, she used it. Said she was in danger. I was able to track you—er, her—here.”
Lancelot caught the slip of the tongue. “You’ve got a tracker on us?”
Oscar showed no remorse. “Yeah. Don’t trust your intentions with my sister. Turns out, I was right.”
“Sketchbook,” Hugo muttered. “We should have placed a tracker on her sketchbook.”
“Can’t you track her watch as well?” Lancelot asked.
“Design flaw. One that will be addressed in the very near future. The GPS only works when connected to Wi-Fi. She sent her distress signal as a text message. Which means she must be on the road or somewhere without Wi-Fi.”
Lancelot turned back to her vehicle. So much for that thread.
