entire walk down. I had felt a cold fury like this only one other time in my life. I couldn’t say how this would end, but I swore on every kiss, laugh, and stolen moment I shared with Belle, that mercy would not hold me back this time.
The door banged against the wall, startling the gangly man behind the desk.
“Ruben Fuller’s room number,” I said by way of greeting. “What is it?”
Huge eyes darted between the three of us. “I— I can’t give out that information,” he cried. “The police taped it off.”
Carter pulled out a stack of bills. He slapped the entire wad on his inspirational desk calendar. “The number. Now.”
I thought his eyes might fall out of his head. He stopped pawing through after the fifth hundred and quickly stuffed it in his pocket. “Third floor. 367.”
Carter took the key. He and Nathan ran up the staircase next to reception.
I hung back.
“All the guests staying here on Rosalie Desai’s dime,” I said. “Round them up in the living room. I don’t care what you tell them. Just get them down here.”
“Okay.”
Leaving him to it, I went upstairs, ducked under the police tape, and walked in on the guys tearing Ruben’s room apart.
It was a modest space. Full bed, desk, breakfast nook, and a television mounted over the dresser.
Nathan ripped out a drawer and dumped its contents on the floor.
“The cops would have checked the usual places,” Carter said. “If he left something they missed, he hid it well.”
Nodding, I scanned the room. “He took the risk of me seeing his face. After handing over Belle, he had to get out quick. When he rushed back here, he’d want a hiding place he could get to easily. He wasn’t expecting to get shot in the head, so if there is something, it’s still here. We need to find it.”
Nathan overturned another drawer. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” Drawer number three joined the rest. “The colonel searches my room almost weekly. I got good at this. Forget the air vents and loose floorboards. Everyone knows about those.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Carter, check the toilet paper bar. It’s great for hiding money or notes. Preston, the vacuum cleaner compartment. I’ve hidden bottles in there since I was fifteen.
“You can tape things behind these drawers,” he said. “Most people stop at looking inside of them. They don’t take them all the way out. If those turn up nothing, take down the clocks and pull out the electrical outlets.”
“Damn, Nathan,” Carter said as he rushed into the bathroom. “Never thought I’d be thankful you’re an addict.”
“Recovered addict. Our girl saved my life. Now let’s save her.”
He didn’t have to say it twice.
I took the vacuum out of the closet. The cover was ripped off and sent sailing over my shoulder.
“Found something,” Carter called. “A couple hundred stuffed in the bar. Proves Ortiz didn’t search as well as he thought.”
A crash sounded behind me.
“Nothing behind these drawers,” said Nathan. “Got anything, Preston?”
“I think so,” I murmured.
A single white notecard stuck to the back of the vacuum bag.
“Look at this.”
I removed it—turning it over to find writing scribbled on the underside. The guys crowded over my shoulder to read.
022514965
Friday. Noon.
US-3634-AA
“The top line looks like a routing number,” Carter said. “But what’s that at the bottom?”
“Boat registration number,” Nathan announced.
We threw him questioning looks.
“It’s a boat, no question. I’ve been sailing longer than I’ve chewed solid food. Trust me, that is the number for a boat, and the first line is the number for his money. This is his getaway.”
“But what’s Friday at noon?” Carter spoke up. “If you’ve got the money and the boat, you’re not hanging around for three days.”
“Unless he doesn’t have the boat yet and Friday is when he was supposed to get it.”
My brows drew together. “Anyone else thinking that it’s a lot easier to sneak off an island in a boat than it is a private plane?”
“I am now,” Carter said slowly. “You think this is Byrne’s way off the island too?”
“If we’re Byrne, what would we do?” Nathan asked. “We’ve chased Belle for years and she’s gotten away from us three times. We’re not taking chances on number four.”
“He didn’t,” I replied. “He killed his only loose end. Whatever plan he came up with to get off the island, he made sure it was foolproof.”
“A plane still works pretty well,” Carter said. “Especially if he got her on and took off while Ortiz and Hanson had