The Girl Who Wants

by Amy Vansant

  Angelina motioned from Bracco to Shee. “Bring her inside.”

  “Whoa whoa whoa.” Shee wobbled toward her feet like a new-born calf. “I can walk.”

  She tilted to her right and Bracco stepped forward to serve as a wall on which she could steady herself.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled before squinting at the stranger.

  The doctor held out his hand. “Hi. I’ll be the one stitching your scalp back together. Cough, Retired Naval Surgeon.”

  Shee shook it. “Cough?”

  He smiled. “Like turn your head and... Your dad gave me that nickname.”

  Shee glanced at Mason. “Sounds like Dad.”

  She smiled, as if to assure him she was all right, and he offered a tight smile in return.

  “Well, let’s not operate on the lawn. We’ll scare the guests,” said Angelina, heading back up the path to the hotel.

  Bracco walked beside Shee as they followed Angelina.

  Mason lengthened his stride to catch up with them.

  “You’re feeling okay? Not hallucinating about sea turtles anymore?” he asked.

  She side-eyed him, still holding the towel to her head with the arm not gripping Bracco’s.

  “I did see turtles.”

  “Sure.”

  She sighed, her face pointed toward the ground in front of her. “And I’m fine. Except I can feel my heartbeat in my scalp. I don’t think that’s normal.” She looked at him. “She got away.”

  He nodded. “We’ll find her.”

  She paused and he stopped to meet her gaze.

  “Thanks, for saving my life, if I didn’t say it earlier,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I figured Mick would be pissed if I left you out there.”

  She chuckled and mounted the stairs.

  Angelina held open the door and led Shee and Cough to her room to use it as an operating theatre.

  Mason lowered himself onto the leather sofa in the lobby to wait.

  A fiftyish-year-old man with a goatee and a middle-aged woman in a housekeeping uniform entered through the front door. The man eyed Mason and then turned to Croix.

  “Where’s Angelina?”

  Croix pointed down the hall. “She’s with Shee and Doc Cough—”

  Angelina appeared where Croix pointed, scowling when she spotted the blond.

  “What’s up, William?” she asked.

  “There was a guy in the woods.”

  Mason looked up. “Doing what?”

  William scowled at him.

  Angelina motioned to Mason. “It’s okay. He’s Shee’s, uh...friend.”

  William directed his answer toward Angelina. “He said he was looking to buy a lot.”

  “Any reason to be worried?”

  William shrugged. “Rental car. Didn’t look like a guy who could afford it, but who can tell nowadays?”

  “I got his plate,” said the housekeeper.

  Mason studied the housekeeper with new eyes. Her squat, taut frame, her thick neck, the way she held herself... If she spent half her day cleaning rooms, it looked as though she dedicated the other half training for the local Ultimate Fighting Championship.

  Angelina nodded. “You two come with me. We’re going to mix things up a bit.”

  Angelina motioned for Bracco to join her and the four of them moved into the breakfast room.

  Mason turned his attention to Croix typing on her laptop at the reception desk.

  “You’re not part of the defense meeting?” he asked.

  Croix’s gaze didn’t rise from the screen. “I’m doing more right now than they’ll do all night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Care to share?”

  Croix huffed. “I’m tech. I run the cameras. I helped Mick set up the security system.”

  “Ah.” Mason tapped his knee with his finger. All the extra walking had his stump aching. “What does your tech tell you about Martisha?”

  She grunted. “Not much.”

  Mason chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I can tell you she didn’t seem very nurse-like shooting at us.”

  Croix shrugged. “So weird. She always seemed so nice.”

  “Could she have set Mick up? Could she have wanted to be his nurse?”

  Croix put her elbows on the counter and plopped her chin into her hands. “Like she hired someone to shoot him in the head but not kill him? Hoping we’d move her from Captain to Mick? That’s crazy.”

  “How did Captain die?”

  Croix’s eyes widened. “He died after Mick showed up. Right when we were thinking about getting a second nurse... I wonder if—” She straightened. “We’re going to have to dig him up again.”

  Mason scowled. “Again?”

  Croix nodded. “We buried him with his wife the other night. Your girlfriend helped.”

  “My—” Mason grit his teeth. “Funny, she didn’t mention that.”

  Croix ignored him, still seemingly lost in her own thoughts. “Thing I can’t figure out is, why didn’t she kill him weeks ago if that was her plan?” She slapped the counter. “We should check her room.”

  Mason stood. “Yep.”

  She squinted at him as she rounded the desk. “I meant me.”

  He followed her. “Many hands lighten the load.”

  “Many—?” She hit the elevator button and turned to face him. “Where do you old people get all these goofy phrases? Do you just buy them online, bulk?”

  “Mail order.” He offered her a double-dimple grin, trying to look as harmless as possible. “Come on. Let me come with you. We’ll make a game out of it.”

  Her rapier stare jerked back toward him as if he’d used a fish lure to hook it.

  “What kind of game?” she asked.

  The doors opened and she stepped inside. Mason followed. She didn’t stop him.

  “The person who finds evidence first wins. Seasoned professional versus snot-nosed kid.”

  Croix stared at him, as if weighing the pros and cons of letting him to the upper level. He’d forgotten the key wasn’t being allowed on the elevator, the key was the key.

  Mason folded his hands in front of him and stared forward, chuckling.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just I’m going to crush you.”

  Croix fit the key hanging off the squiggly pink plastic bracelet on her wrist into the control panel.

  Mason smiled.

  When the doors opened, he followed Croix to the bedroom at the end of the hall, where she used a key card to enter Martisha’s room. The open door revealed a sparse but not particularly neat room. Mason was intrigued to see the unmade bed. If the nurse asked housekeeping to skip her room, maybe she did have something to hide.

  “Okay, here’s how we’re going to do it,” said Mason, clapping his hands together. “You pick the spot you want to search, and then I do. First one to find something helpful wins.”

  “I can go first?”

  He scoffed. “Of course. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

  She grinned. “Oh, you’re going down, old man. Closet.”

  “The whole closet? Jeeze, I should have been more specific.” Mason crossed his arms against his chest.

  Croix opened the closet door and searched every inch, knocking on the walls, shaking out dirty laundry and feeling inside pockets and shoes before tossing cleared items to one side. She dragged a chair from its table by the window and stood on it to check the upper shelf.

  “Dammit,” he heard her mutter.

  “Looks like you struck out,” said Mason.

  She returned the chair to its place. “How can there be nothing in a whole closet?”

  “Too obvious,” said Mason, pretending to yawn.

  She frowned. “Maybe.”

  “Rookie mistake.”

  “Shut up. Your turn.”

  He scanned the room. “I’ll take the bed.”

  “Ha!” Croix pointed. “You c
ould have had the dresser.”

  Mason ignored her and patted each pillow of the queen bed. He lifted the mattress to peer beneath it. He lowered himself to his knees to look underneath.

  “Nothing but dust bunnies,” he muttered.

  Croix grinned. “I call dresser.”

  Mason used the bed to pull himself back to his feet as Croix rummaged through the dresser’s drawers.

  “Jeeze, you could wait until I said I was done,” he said, peering over her shoulder.

  That’s weird.

  Something about Martisha’s underwear drawer looked different to its opposite mate. The stain at the bottom of the drawer was a darker shade of brown. He looked away so she wouldn’t notice his interest.

  Finding nothing, Croix closed the last drawer and turned, her gaze settling on the side tables flanking the bed.

  “You only get one side table,” she said.

  “What? Side tables are a pair.”

  “Nope. Which do you want?”

  He pointed behind her. “I pick the bureau.”

  Croix’s jaw dropped. “But I just did that.”

  He slipped past her to open the underwear drawer with the darker bottom. Sliding it from its frame, he dumped the contents to the ground. As he turned it sideways, something thunked.

  “What was that?” Croix tried to snatch the drawer and they jerked it back and forth.

  “My drawer,” said Mason.

  “The bureau was mine.”

  “Until you were done.”

  “I never actually said I was done.”

  “Ooh, you’re such a cheater. How can you sleep at night, girl?”

  Croix giggled as the door to the room swung open and Shee appeared, her hair a dark explosion bunched around the white bandage stuck to her head.

  “What are you two doing?” she asked.

  She looked annoyed.

  “We’re checking Martisha’s room,” said Croix, breathless from their struggle over the drawer.

  Mason released and the girl stumbled back onto the bed, starting her laughter anew. She knocked on the bottom of the drawer.

  It sounded hollow.

  She glanced at Mason, smirking.

  “Hey now. That’s my find,” he said.

  “Nope. My dresser.”

  She flipped the drawer and pushed against the bottom until it slid away to reveal a hidden compartment, and in it, a cell phone.

  “False bottom,” she said, looking at Mason. “How’d you know?”

  He thrust his hands in his pockets. “Um, I’m awesome?”

  “Don’t touch it,” said Shee, pointing at the cell. “We might need prints.”

  “They’re probably all over her underwear,” said Mason, pointing to the pile on the floor.

  Croix tittered.

  Shee’s expression suffered an extra twist of lemon. “Can you hack the phone?”

  Croix shook her head. “No, but I know someone who maybe could. I can lift prints, though; want me to do that?”

  Mason pinched a pair of granny underwear and dangled it near Croix’s face. Snorting a laugh, she knocked it away.

  “Ew. Cut it out.”

  Shee jerked a t-shirt from an open bureau drawer and handed it to the girl. “Take the phone downstairs. See what you can do.”

  Croix wrapped her hand in the tee and picked up the phone.

  Mason took a step forward to block the girl’s path, bumping her as she tried to leave.

  “Oh excuse me. I didn’t see you,” he said.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said, snickering.

  Croix left and Mason looked at Shee to find her scowling at him.

  “Head hurt?” he asked.

  “It’s fine. He numbed it.”

  “For a couple of stitches? What a wuss.” He thought his expression made it clear he was teasing her, but she continued to frown at him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  She nodded toward the open door. “What did you do to her?”

  “Huh?”

  “Croix. You two were laughing your asses off when I came in here.”

  “So?”

  “So she’s been staring daggers at me since I darkened her door.”

  “You’re jealous?” He shrugged, amused. “I guess I’m just charming.”

  Shee frowned more deeply as she reached to touch her dressing.

  “Don’t play with them.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know they can itch—”

  “They don’t. The bandage is ripping out my hair.”

  She yawned.

  “Tired?” he asked. “Maybe you should lie down?”

  She thrust a hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded envelope, holding it up for him to see. “No time.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Angelina found Martisha’s address, before she moved into the hotel.”

  “I guess that’s where we’re headed?”

  She nodded and headed into the hall. “Yep.”

  He followed.

  “Hey,” he said as they stood waiting for the elevator doors to open. “Tell me about the guy you buried the other night.”

  Shee’s chin dropped to her chest.

  “Shit.”

  &&&

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Martisha saw the black pickup truck pull to the curb in front of her house. She recognized the big man at the steering wheel.

  How did they find me so fast?

  Didn’t matter. Too late now.

  “Mom?” said a voice in the phone at her ear. “Are you still there?”

  She smiled. “I’m here. Gotta go. Me luv ya.”

  Her daughter finished with the family sign-off and hung up. They both knew when the other was too distracted to chat.

  Martisha sighed. She shouldn’t have packed. She should have just grabbed her passport and run. But as she stuffed clothes into her overnight bag she had realized she couldn’t run.

  She couldn’t pack her daughter and her family into her bag.

  They’d still be out there.

  He would come.

  I’m so tired.

  The couple dropped out of the truck and headed for her door.

  Mister Mick’s girl.

  Martisha had seen her fall into the water. She thought she’d shot her, though she’d only been trying to scare them away.

  She thought the darkness in her life had claimed another victim.

  But no. Shee’s alive, walking to her door with the big man.

  That’s something.

  She wondered if she could warn them.

  No. Best not.

  She didn’t want to give that vengeful, demon of a man any more reason to go after her daughter.

  I’ll snip my thread clean.

  The couple mounted her front stairs. Mick’s girl saw her through the big front window. They locked gazes, and Martisha tried to will all the knowledge in her head into the girl’s brain as she raised her gun.

  I’m sorry.

  Shee grabbed the man’s arm to warn him.

  Martisha pressed the nose of the gun to the soft flesh beneath her jaw and pulled the trigger.

  &&&

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Now I understand why they had me pop the old man in Minneapolis.

  Tyler spat on the ground and peered through his rifle sight again. He couldn’t shake the feeling The Loggerhead Inn was more than it seemed.

  First, it sat nestled at the end of a one-way road, surrounded by water and nature preserves. If you were on the Inn’s street, you were there for the hotel or the smattering of private houses.

  Excellent defensive position.

  For that reason, he’d decided to paddleboard to the clump of trees west of the hotel. He didn’t want the staff spotting him again. Didn’t want some army of housekeepers showing up.

  On the upside, he felt even more confident Shea “Mick” McQueen had holed up in the hotel.

  He p
eered through the scope again. The barrel-chested doorman remained at his post.

  The couple from the airport had left in the Ford F150. After watching the man rough up the guy in the parking garage, it had buoyed Tyler to see him leave.

  He chewed on his options.

  Maybe I’ll just storm the place.

  Mr. and Mrs. America would probably return. His odds might be better without them around.

  But the damn cameras.

  Red and green glowing eyes peeked from every crevice of the building.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, the housekeeper he’d met earlier guarded the west perimeter.

  Who asks their housekeepers to march back and forth outside?

  Tyler lowered the scope and stared at the dirt.

  Do they know I’m coming?

  The place seemed on high alert. Weird. The client had known how to reach him—called him directly. Weird. The girl holed up with McQueen might be another old target. Weird.

  His leg growing stiff, Tyler shifted, reconsidering the entire operation.

  Everything about this job feels—

  A twig snapped as he moved and Tyler winced more out of habit than concern. The noise had been barely audible—

  The housekeeper stopped her marching and turned toward the clump of trees.

  Tyler froze.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  She remained still, head cocked.

  What is she? Half bat? Some kind of Terminator robot?

  Tyler glanced at his feet and looked up again. That quick. The time it took for his heart to beat.

  The housekeeper was gone.

  What the—

  He raised the scope to his eye and leveled the crosshairs on the doorman. He still stood like an overfed statue. No one had alerted him. The little woman hadn’t moved to the porch.

  The patch of trees around Tyler felt darker. He glanced toward the edge of land flanking the Intercoastal Waterway where he’d landed his paddleboard.

  At least delay...

  He could push his plane ticket home a few more days. Give himself more time to run recon on Hotel Fort Knox.

  Tyler straightened to full height and secured his rifle on his back. He didn’t like moving without knowing where that crazy maid went but—

  “Ow!”

  Something bit his arm. Sharp pain exploded from shoulder to wrist. He slapped at the spot with his opposite hand, fingers touching metal. He whimpered as the object protruding from his flesh shifted.