Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(10)

“Sorry about the mess,” Andrew said. “I’d offer you some coffee, but this place doesn’t have coffee brewers in the rooms. Who doesn’t offer that these days? And I had to ask for a hair dryer from the front desk. They looked at me like they’d never heard of one.”

Zane hadn’t used a hair dryer in twenty years. And didn’t know many men who did. If his hair wasn’t dry by the time he’d brushed his teeth, it meant he needed a haircut. But Andrew Reynolds had one of those hairstyles that looked like he spent a little more time. The man was almost . . . pretty. Except for the bloodshot eyes and dark circles below them. “You didn’t go home for Christmas?” he asked.

Andrew plopped onto the edge of his bed and waved a hand at the single chair. “No. The wife and I had a fight.”

“Kids?” asked Zane. He continued to stand. He didn’t want to spend a second more than he had to in the fumy room. Beer bottles and a half-empty fifth of Jack Daniel’s cluttered the nightstands. Three greasy paper bags on the floor indicated Andrew had discovered Nell’s fried chicken.

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“Nothing could have kept me away if we had kids.” Andrew looked him hard in the eye, and Zane’s estimation of him rose a degree. “What’s this about a murder?”

“Young woman, age twenty-five, with long blonde hair, was found dead in her room Christmas morning. We’re looking for anyone who saw her before Christmas. As early as four or five days before.”

“She stayed in this motel that long?” Andrew asked in a sour voice. “You sure she didn’t kill herself?”

Andrew flinched at Zane’s glare and held up his hands. “Sorry. That was tasteless. I have a f*cking headache, and I just want to go home.”

“Why haven’t you left if you hate it here so much?” Zane was ready to help him pack.

“Because I’m not done tying up the loose ends on the O’Rourke property and everything shut down for the holidays. We’ve come to an agreement, but it’s not on paper yet. The only Realtor in this town took time off and so did my lender. If I went back to Portland, I’d have to turn around and drive the four hours back. Stacey’s pissed at me, and I don’t want to deal with her right now.”

“Did you see Vanessa Phillips during your stay here?” Zane shifted back to the business at hand. He held out a copy of the picture from Vanessa’s driver’s license.

“Was that her name?” Andrew took the picture. “Pretty girl. She was killed on Christmas? That’s horrible. She doesn’t look familiar. I think I would have remembered her. The only people I’ve seen at this motel are truckers. I’ve ventured out a few times to get food, because no one in town delivers. I’m about to go stir-crazy.”

While Andrew studied the picture, Zane scanned the motel room. Except for clothing and towels on the floor, nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. Andrew didn’t have any scratches on his hands or face; he just looked exhausted.

Zane felt off-balance in the man’s presence.

Or there were too many alcohol fumes in the room.

He took another look at the man’s hands, wondering if Andrew had the strength to subdue Bob Fletcher and slice through his neck. Zane guessed Andrew’s cell phone was the heaviest thing those hands had ever held.

Please don’t let the killer be a local.

The thought that someone he passed every day on the street had killed Vanessa and Bob made the acid in Zane’s stomach simmer.

He took the picture back from Andrew. “You haven’t seen anything suspicious? There’s a chance the girl was carried into the motel room. Possibly transported in a vehicle and maybe unconscious during that time.”

Andrew shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything like that.”

Zane handed him a business card. “Give me a call if anything occurs to you.”

He stepped outside and pulled the door closed. Being in the room had made him feel like he’d been sitting in a filthy bar all night. He glanced at his watch and decided to grab a cup of coffee before pounding on one more motel door.

Interviewing a sex offender would be a new experience for him.



Stevie slammed shut her patrol car door and eyed the Coopers’ single-wide. Her sister, Carly, had described her own visit, during which the stepfather Tony had expressed a financial interest in taking Amber Lynn’s daughter, Charlotte. He’d given Carly the creeps and unnerved her.

Do I need backup?

Her weapon felt heavy at her hip. Men might be willing to intimidate her unarmed social worker sister, but few tried the same behavior on Stevie. A woman’s face appeared in a window and Stevie smiled and held up a hand. She’d seen Dana Cooper downtown enough times to nod and say hello. Sheila swore she wouldn’t let anyone but Dana do her nails. All Stevie did with her own fingernails was clip them.

Dana opened the front door, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. “You here to see us?”

“I am,” said Stevie.

“Is it about that * who killed my Amber Lynn?” Dana asked.

“Yes, it is. How are you doing, Dana?” Stevie thought she looked thinner than usual. “I’m so sorry about Amber Lynn.”

“Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents. I’m doing as well as someone whose child was murdered can be.” Dana looked away and blew her smoke to the side in an angry huff. “I heard Bob Fletcher got what was coming to him.”