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Therewas no answer, only the hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur oftraffic outside. Jake's pulse quickened as he moved further into the room,every sense alert to the possibility of an ambush. He knew that Bradley wasclever, that he wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Damnit," he muttered under his breath, frustration mounting. "Where areyou?"
Heglanced around the empty room, taking note of the unmade bed and the disarrayof personal belongings strewn about. There was something off about the scene,some subtle clue that eluded him. A half-eaten sandwich rested on thenightstand, the bread curling at the edges as though abandoned in haste.
Think,Jake, think, he urged himself, racking his brain for any detailthat could lead him to Bradley's hiding spot. You're missing something.
As hesearched the room, his attention was drawn to the closet, its door slightlyajar. With measured steps, he approached it, gun aimed and ready. His hearthammered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire.
Heregoes nothing, he thought, gripping the door handle tightly.
In oneswift motion, he yanked the door open, prepared to confront Bradley head-on.Instead, he was met with the sight of neatly hung clothes and an emptysuitcase.
"Sonof a bitch," Jake spat, slamming the door shut. "He's not here."
Hismind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Bradley Caine. Wherecould he have gone? Was this all part of his twisted game?
"Dammit,"Jake muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room for any clue thatmight lead him to Bradley. A glimmer of light caught his eye from underneaththe bed, and he knelt down to find a suitcase partially obscured by the hangingbedspread. It was an old leather piece, scuffed and worn, as though it had seenbetter days. Jake pulled it out with one hand, keeping his gun aimed at thedoor, just in case.
"Pleaselet this be something," he whispered, unzipping the suitcase withtrembling fingers.
Inside,he found neatly folded clothes, toiletries--and a dark shirt with a large stainon it. The metallic smell hit Jake like a wave, causing him to flinch back. Heknew that smell all too well. It was the odor of blood, fresh and unmistakable.
Jake'sheart rate spiked as he reached into the suitcase, pulling out the shirt withtrembling hands. He examined it more closely and saw that it was covered indark splotches, which were still wet to the touch. They were crimson in colorand unmistakably human.
"Jesus,"he breathed, feeling bile rise up in his throat. "What the hell has hebeen up to?"
But healready knew. These were some of the clothes he'd been wearing when he waskilled.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
As shescanned the hotel lobby, taking note of each entrance and exit, Fiona couldn'thelp but let her thoughts drift back to Annie, Bradley's ex-wife, who hadvanished without a trace. What had happened to her? Was she still alive, hidingin fear somewhere? Or had she met a grisly end at the hands of the man theywere hunting?
Fionaclenched her fists, resolve hardening within her. She wouldn't let Bradley slipthrough their fingers. He had to pay for his crimes—against Annie and all hisother victims.
Theminutes ticked by like hours, each one stretching out endlessly as Fiona waitedin the lobby. She fiddled with her lanyard, spinning it around in her fingers,trying to keep her nerves at bay. The hum of conversation buzzed in her ears,punctuated by the occasional laughter of guests checking in. The hotel, once aplace of refuge and relaxation, now felt like a den of vipers waiting tostrike.
Afamily wandered past her, their children giggling and clutching oversizedstuffed animals won from a nearby carnival. For a moment, Fiona envied theircarefree happiness, but then her mind snapped back to the task at hand. Bradleyhad caused so much pain and suffering; she couldn't let herself be distracted.
Herphone rang, jolting her back to reality. Jake's name flashed on the screen, andshe answered with a clenched jaw. "Tell me you've got him."
"Room'sempty," Jake said, his voice tense. "No sign of Bradley. We mighthave to check security footage."
"Damnit." Fiona's heart sank, disappointment settling like a weight in herchest. They'd been so close, and now he was slipping through their fingersagain.
"Butthere's something else," Jake said. "He’s got bloody clothes in here.Lots of them. He’s our guy, Red.”
Fionaclenched her jaw. She couldn't agree more.
"Stayput. I'm coming back down. We'll figure this out together," Jake reassuredher.
"Okay.Be careful," Fiona replied, her eyes darting around the lobby.
Fionastood near the hotel's entrance, her hands clasped together, as she anxiouslywaited for Jake. She tried to ignore the trepidation that bubbled in her chest,but it was difficult to push away those nagging thoughts. They had left themuseum early, hoping to get some rest and reassess their situation, butsomething deep inside Fiona told her they should have stayed.
Theelevator doors finally opened, and Jake stepped out, his brows furrowed, lostin thought. His tall frame seemed to shrink under the weight of theirinvestigation. As he moved closer to Fiona, his phone rang, shattering thesilence of the empty lobby. He fished it out of his pocket, glanced at thescreen, and then met Fiona's eyes with a worried expression before answering.
"Thisis Tucker,” he said.
