Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,64
sir.”
“Where’s Meg?” Cruz asked.
“Mr. Slater’s office,” Tim answered.
Cruz took off running again, taking the steps to the third floor two at a time. When he got to Slater’s office, the receptionist wasn’t at her desk. He opened the inner-office door and Slater looked up from his desk.
“Where’s Meg?” Cruz asked.
“Get out,” Slater said.
“Where is she?” Cruz asked.
Slater shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her all morning.”
Cruz got a very bad feeling. “Come with me,” he said. “Something is not right.”
To Slater’s credit, he didn’t argue. Just hurried down the hall with Cruz. When they got back to Meg’s office, Officer Burtiss stood again.
“Is Meg back?” Cruz asked hopefully.
“No, sir. Neither she nor Charlotte have returned.”
They were both missing? What the hell did Charlotte have to do with this?
Cruz opened the door. He searched Charlotte’s work area first. The light was on, as was her computer and there was a cup of coffee on her desk. Cruz felt the cup. Still warm.
He moved into Meg’s office. There was a yellow legal pad on her desk, filled with pages of notes. He glanced at them. Some kind of customer complaint. He pointed at the name. “See if this guest is still here,” he instructed Slater. Was it possible that Meg had simply left to personally resolve a problem?
While Slater was on the phone, Cruz kept looking. He saw the crumpled up note in Meg’s garbage and unfolded it. He read it.
Slater ended his call. “They checked out two days ago.”
Cruz showed the note to Slater. “You didn’t talk to Charlotte this morning?”
“No. What the hell is going on here?”
Cruz looked at Meg’s phone. He saw the voice mail light blinking and realized it was probably his frantic message. “I don’t know. But we need to find both of them.” He pulled out his cell phone to call Myers and fill him in. Before he dialed, he continued his instructions. “The police will be here soon. Get your security staff started on searching the hotel. Tell them to hurry.”
* * *
“T.J.,” SHE SAID, working hard to keep her voice steady. She did not want him to know that her sudden knowledge had her insides twisting up in a painful knot.
He ran a hand through his long hair. “I hated having to cut my hair for that stupid job. And the beard itched like hell. But nobody would have ever known it. Because I was nice. Officer Friendly, that was me.” He laughed at his own joke. “Yes, Ms. Montoya. No, Ms. Montoya. Whatever you want, Ms. Montoya.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she said, staring at his light brown eyes. Without the glasses and the blue eyes, it was easier to recognize him.
He laughed again. It was almost a cackle and it made him sound crazy. “Blue contacts. Weren’t they fabulous? I’ll bet you are sorry. I watched you every day and you had no idea.”
“How did you find me?”
“I went through my mother’s filing cabinet after she and my stepfather died. She had a copy of your wedding announcement. Once I had your married name, it wasn’t hard to find you, although I never expected you to be in Texas.”
He sprawled onto the dirty couch and motioned for her to sit in the lone straight-backed kitchen chair. “You’re some kind of big shot. You get your picture in the paper and everything.” He tilted his head down. “You know why you help convicts, Meg? Because you almost were one. They should have sent you to jail for what you did.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m sorry you lost your job at the hotel,” she said, searching for some way to turn him. “I could talk with our human resources manager and you could get it back. Start fresh.”
“I already told you it was a crappy job.” He got up and started to pace around her.
Okay. That probably wasn’t the right tactic. “How are your parents?” she asked.
He stopped suddenly. “My mommy is dead,” he said, as if he was five years old.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “I’m sorry to hear that, T.J.”
“Don’t call me that,” he yelled, lunging at her. He got so close that his spit hit her face. “You ruined everything. We lost everything because of you.”
“I was fifteen,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Now, you’re going to pay.” He kicked her chair, hard enough that it pushed her backward. “You sit right there,”