Page 25 of The Wedding Party

Of course, I think. It appears this hotel and tiny town really are the perfect place to commit a murder, sans the mistake of doing so when there is an FBI agent present. If I believed this was planned, I’d say Lana screwed up someone’s perfect murder. But some murders don’t need to be profiled. This was an act of emotional rage, expressive violence, which translates to the murder communicating an emotion like love, hate, jealousy, and so on. Whoever killed Oliver knew him. Statistically there’s a 38 percent chance it was the spouse. As one of my instructors at the academy said, love breeds murder.

“The second occupant of the room is missing,” I say, getting back to business and Officer Michaels. “We need manpower and to organize a search and start interviews. And, as I instructed the manager, we need the hotel fully secured.”

“Right.” He fumbles for his radio. “I’ll call the chief. We don’t have much available manpower, only eight officers and two detectives, but we’ll get what we can out here.”

In other words, this is a shit show. “Get me what you can now,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. I start walking toward the stairs, dialing Aiden as I do.

I step around the corner, out of view, as he answers. “Why are you up so early?”

Exactly, I think. Why am I up so early? “Murder, of course,” I say. “What else is there? The groom was stabbed to death, and I’m dealing with a police department of about fifteen. Add to that, I’ve had no coffee, which really sucks right now.” I stop in front of the main stairwell, which connects all floors of the hotel.

“Holy hell,” he murmurs. “How does murder follow you? What do you know?”

“Aside from a gut feeling something was wrong all weekend? The bride-to-be is missing, which means running or dead.”

“Most likely running,” he says. “Keep me posted. I’ll run support. Obviously, you’re no longer on leave.”

I’d celebrate that news, but Officer Michaels rounds the corner. “Oh good,” he breathes out. “There you are. Chief Wilhite wants to talk to you.” He shoves a phone at me.

“Gotta run,” I tell Aiden and disconnect.

I accept the cellphone and say, “Chief Wilhite, Special Agent Andrea Castle. Let me start by saying I’m not trying to step on toes here. I just happened to be present at the hotel when the crime took place.”

“We’re glad to have you,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of sincerity. “We don’t have the resources needed.”

“Then I need to let you know that the victim was here for a combo bachelorette/bachelor party. One of the bride’s friends brought me along to get me out of town, but I don’t know anyone else beyond brief meetings.”

“I bet you needed that. I know who you are. You caught the Spider Man. I checked you out the minute I heard you were on-site. And no, you don’t need to comment. Bottom line: you don’t have a conflict of interest, but I appreciate you making sure I know as much.” He moves on. “I’ve called in backup from Fort Collins, but I’m happy to accept your aid and leadership if that’s how you see this.”

“We can talk about how this plays out,” I say. “But considering our obvious suspects are all from Denver, where I live and work, it’s logical for me to be involved in some way, shape, or form.”

“Agreed. I have eight officers and two detectives on the way to you now,” he says. “I’ll be there shortly as well. I hear we have a missing bride?”

“Bride-to-be,” I say as my gaze catches on what look like roped-off stairs leading to an attic with blood on the wall. “Chief, let me call you back. I might have something.” I hang up and hand the phone to Officer Michaels, walking toward the stairs, gloving up as I do. Once I’m at the barrier, Michaels is beside me and I point to the blood on the wall.

“Oh shit,” he says, at the commotion behind us.

I glance over my shoulder to find police piling up the steps. “I’ve got this,” Michaels says, turning to greet them. I pull my weapon, then step over the barrier and onto narrow steps, starting a path upward. The wood is old, creaking beneath my weight. The paint on the walls is even older. The climb, however, is short. Once I’m at the top landing, there’s a door cracked open with an unlatched padlock hanging from the handle. I step inside, weapon in front of me, and scan the room. At first, I find no one, but there’s a sob and I turn quickly to find Carrie sitting in the corner, naked and covered in blood.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I rush toward Carrie, into the small space with a steepled ceiling and wooden walls. My first priority is to assess the blood all over her as hers or Oliver’s.

“What happened?” I ask urgently, kneeling in front of her. “Are you hurt?”

She blinks up at me. “I know you. Don’t I know you?”

Her brown eyes are dull, glazed with what appears to be a drug and/or booze high. “Agent Castle,” I say, no “Andi” to this introduction. This is business. The party is over. “Are you hurt?” I repeat.

She hugs herself, trembling all over.

“I’m cold. I’m confused. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Her gaze catches on her stained arm and she gasps, pushing to her feet, surveying the blood on her body with disbelief before panting out, “Oh God, oh God, oh God. What is happening? What is happening?!” She screams out louder, “Where am I? What is happening?!”

“Agent Castle!” comes a loud shout.

At Michaels’s voice, I call out, “Get me a blanket and an EMS team,” and I immediately refocus on Carrie, who is now frantically searching her body, I assume for the source of the blood.

“Are you hurt?” I demand more firmly this time. “I need to know if you’re hurt.”