She Can Hide (She Can #4)(39)

Oh yes he had. After eight years of teaching high school, Abby could spot a liar from fifty feet away.

She squeezed her eyes. Moisture gathered in the corners. She tried to look desperate. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much of a stretch. “I’m really worried about him. He would never ignore my calls.”

Big man’s nose twitched as if he was trying not to laugh out loud. Clearly, he had no trouble believing Faulkner would ignore a girlfriend’s calls. Abby tried to look even more wretched. She sniffed. “Are you sure?”

He sighed and looked again. “He might look familiar.”

“Oh my God, really? If you could remember where you’ve seen him, I’d be grateful.” Abby put the photo back into her purse and pulled out three twenties. She slid the bills across the counter.

Big man didn’t hesitate. He swiped the money and stuffed it into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt. “He’s in room 27, but I haven’t seen him today.”

“Thank you so much.” Abby smiled and walked out. She got back into the car, conflicting nerves roiling in her belly. “He’s here. Number 27.”

Ethan’s brows lifted in surprise. “Nice work.”

“Thanks.” Her mission had been successful, but now she had to face Faulkner. Her heart stuttered for a couple of beats. She inhaled deeply and held the breath in her lungs for a few seconds before letting it slide out through her nose.

Ethan reached for her hand. “It’s OK. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Damn it. Abby believed him.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Unit 27 was at the other end of the property. Ethan surveyed the empty parking lot. Were the other units occupied? He drove over but parked a few units away. In case Faulkner was inside, Ethan didn’t want him to have a clear view of the truck—and Abby.

On reflex, Ethan checked the weapon at his hip. “His mother said he was driving an old white Camaro, so it looks like he’s not here. I’ll just knock on the door to make sure. I want you to stay in the car. Keep your head down and the doors locked.”

Abby opened her mouth.

Ethan cut off her protest. “It’s not safe.” He touched her forearm. “Plus, if he sees you, he might run.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t going to argue. I was going to say be careful. Honestly, I doubt I could face him again.” She sighed. Relief or regret? Just coming down here and facing the prosecutor proved Abby’s courage, but Ethan had no doubt fear pulsed through Abby. The man who had terrorized her was staying twenty feet away.

“You shouldn’t have to.” Ethan squeezed her hand. It was steady. Amazing. “Do you want me to drop you at the diner down the road while I talk to him?”

“No. He’s probably not here anyway.” She took her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll have 911 ready to dial, just in case.”

“OK.” Ethan unzipped his jacket for access to his gun and got out of the car. He pointed at the door locks and waited for the click.

A few hundred yards down the road, they’d passed a road crew patching potholes. The smell of burning tar carried on the cold air. He approached door number 27. Stepping up onto the concrete walkway that fronted the building, he passed into the shade of the roof overhang. Without the sunlight on his back, the temperature dropped to butt-numbing. He tried to peer through the window, but the curtains were drawn. Standing to one side, he tilted his head and listened for a minute. When he heard no sounds from inside the unit, he tapped on the door.

No response. Ethan knocked again. All he heard was the swish of traffic on the highway. A tractor-trailer clattered past.

“Zeke? Zeke Faulkner.” He probably wasn’t here. Ethan tried one last time. He pounded on the door with a fist. The weak latch gave. The door eased open an inch. Sweat broke out on Ethan’s back, and the hair on his nape lifted in alert. He pulled his gun, stepped behind the jamb, and nudged the door with a fingertip. A foul and distinctive stench wafted out of the room.

Shit.

The room was dark. His eyes probed the shadows. Nothing other than the usual motel fixtures. A duffel bag sat on the dresser, open. A shape lay on the bed.

Leading with his weapon, Ethan side-stepped into the room. He swept the gun around, but the space was empty.

Except for what was left of Zeke Faulkner, but he was no longer a threat.

At least Ethan was pretty sure the body on the bed was Faulkner. From the smell and the color of his skin, he’d been dead at least a day. A clear plastic bag covered his face, secured at the neck with duct tape. Under the plastic, his face was distorted and purple. His eyes bulged, and his black tongue protruded. Ethan looked away from his face. The body was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a black hoodie. The sleeves and the pants’ legs were pulled up slightly. Plastic zip ties bound his hands and ankles. He’d fought enough for the binds to have cut into his flesh, but there was no other blood on his body. The room was clean for a violent murder scene. The lamps were upright. No other signs of a struggle.

Either Zeke had known his attacker, the killer had incapacitated him immediately, or there’d been more than one assailant.

Not touching anything, Ethan squatted and checked under the bed. The bathroom was empty too. The sunshine seemed brighter when he went back outside.

A frigid gust kicked a plastic bag across the parking lot. Ethan sucked in a great big lungful of not quite fresh air. After the death-stench in the motel room, he welcomed the harsh smell of burnt tar.