When Twilight Comes - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,26

“There’s something I need to do first.” She didn’t see Elmer at the registration desk. He must still be doing his check of the hotel.

She stepped behind the desk to take a closer look at the old black-and-white photograph of the men at the bar—one man in particular.

A chill rattled through her. That was the man who’d come to her in her sleep last night. She hadn’t noticed before, but there were names written under some of the photographs. Under his, in small print, was the name Bobby John Chamberlain. The name had a line through it and under that name was another in a different handwriting: Harry Ballantine.

“Mommy,” Lexi whined. “Come on.”

Jenna swallowed hard as she stared into the man’s eyes, then turned as Lexi began to run in circles crying, “Swimming, swimming, swimming.”

Hurriedly Jenna spun the large, partially charred registration book around and did a quick scan for the name Harry Ballantine among the guests registered in 1936.

No luck. She quickly made a search for Bobby John Chamberlain. There it was. Room 318. The same room she and Lexi were staying in.

Why had the name been scratched out and Harry Ballantine written in? She shuddered, trying to tell herself it was a coincidence that she’d ended up in the same room. Vaguely, she remembered Elmer seeming flustered last night, as if he didn’t recall choosing to put her in 318.

“Swimming!” Lexi cried.

“We’re going swimming,” Jenna said, her voice breaking as she took her daughter’s hand and headed toward the pools.

Her hands were shaking, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that it was just a coincidence she’d thought she’d seen the same man watching them from a third-floor room last night. That she’d dreamed about him. That she and Lexi were trapped here.

It was as if forces far beyond her control had not only brought her here, but were trying to keep her here.

Chapter Seven

Lorenzo jerked around on the floor, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t free himself. He’d never been so outraged in his entire life. And that was saying a lot. What made it unbearable was that Rico Santos, of all people, had to be the one to find him. He hated that son of a bitch.

“What you doin’?” Rico asked, standing over him, laughing.

Lorenzo mumbled a string of swearwords behind the thick tape on his mouth.

Rico laughed harder. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Lorenzo glared at him. If only looks really could kill.

And just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Jolly showed up. Jolly and Rico had a good laugh, did some crude speculating on how Lorenzo had ended up on the floor, gagged and bound, in some woman’s house.

Lorenzo fought to free himself. If he could get loose he would kill them both and deal with the ramifications later.

“Oh, hold still, man,” Rico said as he reached down and ripped the tape from his mouth.

It hurt like hell, but Lorenzo would have died before he showed it. He licked his lips. “Cut me loose.”

“Take it easy,” Rico warned, beady dark eyes narrowing as a switchblade appeared in his hand, the long slim shaft catching the light. “You see…” Rico leaned in so close that Lorenzo could smell what he’d had for breakfast “…Mr. Valencia wants us to bring you to him. He’d be upset if we had any trouble with you.”

Lorenzo took a breath and let it out slowly. He would kill Rico. If not today, tomorrow. “Just cut the damn tape,” he said quietly. “My legs are starting to cramp up.”

Rico spun the switchblade in his fingers for a moment, then with a sudden thrust, sliced between Lorenzo’s ankles.

Finally able to straighten his legs, Lorenzo rolled over onto his side and thrust out his wrists.

Rico met his gaze, holding it, while he freed his hands.

Lorenzo rubbed his wrists, staying prone on the floor until Rico finally rose and put the switchblade away.

Jolly offered Lorenzo a hand up. Jolly he would kill quickly. Rico was another story.

“Mr. Valencia is waiting.” Rico’s look said he knew Lorenzo would be coming for him, and he would be eagerly waiting.

Lorenzo couldn’t believe how his luck had gone south. A woman had just kicked his butt. Worse, she’d gotten away. But maybe he could make that work to his advantage. If he couldn’t find Rose Garcia, then neither could Valencia.

And who said she hadn’t gone to meet up with Franco? Nobody.

His cell phone rang. He checked it. Alfredo. “Tell Valencia I’m on