Joint Investigation. Terri ReedЧитать онлайн книгу.
vulnerable and the thought terrified her.
Suddenly, the floor-length curtains on the other side of the room were yanked aside. Light from the hotel’s back parking lot filled the room. Sami blinked back the tears of stinging pain. She could make out a dark figure at the patio door. She raised her gun but the intruder slid open the glass door and escaped over the balcony and into the night before she could sight down the barrel.
Drew gave chase, disappearing behind the assailant.
She stumbled forward intent on pursuit but she made it only to the sliding door before Drew returned.
He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and growled, “I couldn’t see which way he went.”
A sense of urgency gripped her. “Come on—we need to wash this stuff off.” She groped for his hand and latched on to lead him to the bathroom.
Thankfully, the light in the bathroom worked. She turned the cold water on, grabbed two washcloths from the rack and drenched them before handing one to Drew and using one herself.
After a few minutes the burning from the pepper spray was relatively under control. Drew found a pile of lightbulbs on the bed. He screwed one into the table lamp and turned it on. The warm glow expelled the shadows.
Sami’s gaze caught on the wall above the king-size bed. Her heart slammed into her ribs so hard she put a hand over her chest to protect herself.
Drew’s shocked hiss echoed in the stillness of the room.
Her mouth went dry.
WATCHING YOU
The words were scrawled in bright red letters on the beige-colored wall.
She gasped for breath, but her lungs refused to cooperate. Dark spots danced at the edges of her mind. She fought for control, hating the violated and vulnerable feeling invading her. Only one other time in her life had she felt this way and she’d vowed to never be a victim again. “No!”
So much for her vow or her determination. This situation was out of her control. She mentally scoffed. Of course she wasn’t in control. Only God was. Her fingers curled into fists. But where was God when Lisa was being murdered?
Forcing back the searing question, she concentrated on the current situation.
Birdman had been here. In her room. The sense of violation permeated through her like a virus, making her stomach roll.
“How did he find out where I was staying?” Her shaky voice echoed in the silent room. “I let him slip away again!”
And now the hunter had become the hunted.
* * *
With a lump of rage lodged in his chest at being caught unaware, Drew called hotel security. He wanted to view their video surveillance. He needed to catch a glimpse of the killer because he hadn’t caught sight of the perpetrator’s face before he’d vanished in the dark like a wisp of smoke.
No go.
Unfortunately, the security system had suffered a power failure and they were working on getting it back online. Coincidence? Not likely. This killer was savvy enough to down a sophisticated security system. Of course he’d knock out the hotel’s video surveillance before infiltrating Sami’s room.
Drew’s nerves jumped to think what would have happened had he not walked Sami to her room.
What was the guy’s plan? To pepper spray her and then...kill her or kidnap her?
Either way, Drew wasn’t going to let the guy have another chance.
“Pack your bags,” he said.
She turned from inspecting the writing on the wall. “This is paint, not blood.”
“The crime scene technicians can try to find a match to the color and brand and see who bought some recently.” He picked her suitcase up off the floor and put it on the bed. “I need to take you someplace safe.”
Pensive, she nodded and retrieved her clothing from the drawers and the closet. Once she had everything stowed in the suitcase, he grabbed the bag and urged her out of the room just as the local authorities arrived. He ran down the incident. He didn’t expect them to find prints; the guy had worn gloves. That much Drew had seen.
“Where are we going?” Sami asked minutes later as they settled in his Land Cruiser.
Good question. There was only one safe place he could think of on short notice. “My place.”
“Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” Sami asked. She didn’t feel right about intruding on his personal life.
“Not at all.”
She followed Drew up the walkway of a well-lit two-story house at the end of a quiet tree-lined street on Vancouver’s east side. Fancy sconces were mounted on either side of the rust-colored front door. The house itself was painted a pale yellow with white trim. Empty window boxes created a lonely feeling in the pit of Sami’s stomach.
He unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping lights on as he went. She came in behind him and closed and relocked the door.
The house was silent and smelled faintly of savory pasta sauce. Sami’s stomach grumbled loudly. Embarrassed, she placed a hand over her tummy.
Drew’s chuckle heated her face. “I’m hungry, too.” He set her bag by the foot of the staircase. “I’ll make us some eggs and toast.”
He led her through the house toward the kitchen.
The living room had well-worn hardwood floors and brown leather furniture placed strategically in front of a large plasma television, making her wish this were a lazy Sunday afternoon and they were here to watch football.
A much better reason for invading his space than hiding from a madman.
On one wall, a floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace with a stack of wood piled in the firebox behind an ornate glass screen made her think of hot chocolate and cozy winter nights. Over the mantel hung a black-and-white landscape of a windy river cutting through snowy peaks and wooded lands. She recognized the style of a popular American photographer. The place was homey and inviting yet masculine. A bachelor pad.
No signs of flowers or any frilly things to suggest a woman’s touch. She slanted Drew a quick glance. She’d noticed the absence of a ring on his left hand. Did that mean he wasn’t attached, or did he just not wear a wedding ring while on the job?
Better to ask and appease her curiosity than let the question fester. “Your wife won’t mind me being here?”
He flipped on the overhead light in the kitchen. The ’70s-style mustard-colored Formica countertops were clean. A cast-iron skillet hung from a hook over the gas stove. “I’m not married.”
She wasn’t sure why she felt relief. His marital status had nothing to do with her. Yet she was itching to ask him why he wasn’t married. He was good-looking, employed and had a great personality. All the things any sane woman would be crazy not to pursue. But she didn’t want to let things get personal. She mentally snorted. As if staying in his guest room weren’t personal.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you married?”
She met his gaze. “No.”
“Why not?”
Her mouth twisted. He apparently had no problem asking the question. She went with the less complicated answer. “No time for romance.”
“Ah. I can relate to that.” Drew opened the mustard-colored refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread.
From his tone it sounded as if he meant no time for romance was also the reason he wasn’t married. Whatever his reasons, they were his. She wasn’t crazy