had earlier.
That was until he stepped deeper into the room. A piece of two-by-four lay in the middle of the hallway. He frowned, sure it hadn’t been there earlier.
Stepping over it, he started toward the wall of plastic and stopped. Part of the plastic was torn from where it had originally been tacked along the ceiling to keep the dust out of the bedroom.
He stared at the floor. He couldn’t swear to it, but there appeared to be more tracks in the Sheetrock dust.
Taking a step back, he picked up the two-by-four and shifted the flashlight to his left hand as he thought about the call he’d received. The caller had known that he and Samantha had been here last night. How? Had they been followed?
Cautiously, he slipped through the opening in the plastic and saw that the bedroom door stood open. He’d made a point of closing it the last time he and Samantha had been here. He gripped the board and flashlight and stepped toward the bedroom.
At first glance, everything looked the same as he remembered it. But then he’d been so upset about his discovery that his sister was pregnant, he wouldn’t swear to anything. Just the thought of her celebrating it in this room…
His gaze went to the nightstand beside the bed. The champagne bottle and glasses were gone. His heart began to beat a little faster. He glanced toward the bathroom, expecting to see his reflection in the large mirror just as he had earlier.
Instead, he saw only fragments of himself—and what was left of the mirror.
“What the hell?” He reached for the bathroom light. He’d lived in Miami long enough to recognize a bullet in a wall. There were two in this one, most of the mirror shards on the floor.
He looked around for blood, thankful he didn’t see any. What had happened here last night? And why hadn’t the guard seen—or heard something?
Because the guard patrolled the entire complex. No doubt whoever had been here had known about the guard and made a point of avoiding him.
Samantha knew about the guard, Alex reminded himself. So did Preston Wellington III.
Alex swore and snapped open his cell phone, but as he started to punch in 911, he stopped. The caller had said the wedding planner had been here.
Someone sure as hell had.
If he called the police he’d have to tell them what little he knew—which was next to nothing. The police were already investigating the abduction of that other woman—and Caroline’s hit-and-run.
If he told the police about the call he’d received, they’d question Samantha and probably get nothing. Either way, they wouldn’t tell him what they’d learned—just as they hadn’t about Caroline’s hit-and-run.
No, he thought, putting his cell phone away and thinking about the interlude in the back of the limo tonight. He wanted a shot at Samantha Peters first. If she was involved in this, he would damn well find out.
WHEN SAMANTHA REACHED the office, she wasn’t surprised to find Clare working late again, along with several other agents.
“I was just going to call you,” Clare said. She didn’t look happy. More bad news.
Well, that was the way the night seemed to be going.
“I just got the fingerprint analysis results from the champagne bottle and one of the glasses you sent in last night tagged Urgent,” Clare said.
Samantha held her breath. The fact that Clare had gotten results this quickly meant that Preston Wellington III’s fingerprints were on file. It was looking more and more as if Alex was right—and she was dead wrong about the man. What a surprise.
“The prints belong to a man named Presley Wells,” Clare said with a lift of one eyebrow. “Preston Wellington III. Presley Wells. You think?”
Samantha groaned. She felt sick. Alex had been right. The names were too similar for there to be any mistake.
Still she held out hope, telling herself he could have changed his name for all kinds of reasons. And his prints could be on file because of a job—not because he had a police record. “He have a record?”
“More than a few problems as a juvenile, but only one arrest as an adult,” Clare said. “A burglary. Served some time in Tennessee.”
“Tennessee?” Samantha echoed, growing sicker at this news. Alex had been right to worry.
“Tennessee. That’s where he was born,” Clare said. “I thought you might want an address for his next of kin. His mother is still alive and living outside the town where he was born.”
Samantha took down the information. She