More questions sprang to mind, but she held them close, knowing he would make good on this threat. He always did.

He dragged her through a small living room covered in gold shag carpet and then out the front door. As her bare feet stepped onto the rough wood of the front deck, she was greeted by bright afternoon sunshine. Wincing, she had to look away from the sky, even as she savored the first lungful of fresh air she had inhaled in months. It smelled so sweet she nearly wept. Her face tipped toward the sun and absorbed every bit of its warmth. She’d been such a fool to take the sun, her mother, and her freedom for granted.

“No dawdling.” He jerked her toward his truck, opened the front door, and ordered her inside. She struggled with her belly and unsure legs. She was still breathless when she climbed up into the seat. “Put your seat belt on. Don’t want you getting hurt. And there are sunglasses in the glove box. Put them on.”

She clicked the seat belt in place. “Where are we going?”

“I told you not to worry. It’s a better place.”

“Like as in dead? Like heaven?”

He laughed. “Like another house.” He then pointed a meaty finger at her, and his tone changed instantly. “Get out of the car while I’m walking to my seat, and I will break your legs when I catch you. You hear me, girl?”

“I hear.”

He came around the hood quickly, watching her, and before she could map out or process escape, he was behind the wheel.

He started the engine and drove down the graveled driveway. She glanced back at the house, thought about the initials carved on the back of the dresser and the other women who’d been held there. Was this what happened to them?

“Don’t look so worried.” He flashed her that dazzling smile.

He slowed at a stoplight on the main road that she guessed was west of Austin, somewhere near the Hill Country.

They drove in silence, and she stared out at the clouds and blue sky. Soon side roads fed into smaller and smaller roads. She leaned toward her window as the first car she’d seen approached them.

“Sit lower in the seat,” he said.

When she didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm until she cowered down. They drove for almost a half hour, and soon the lights of Austin glistened around her. He exited the main road and took several rights and lefts before pulling into a little neighborhood and into the garage of a house.

When the garage door closed behind them, he shut off the engine and came around to her side of the car. He hauled her out of the car and into the house. She had barely seconds to register her surroundings before he dragged her down a set of stairs and toward another door. Another prison.

He opened the door and flipped on a light. “Go on, get inside.”

This space was half the size of the other. The bed was a twin, and there was no kitchen table but only a side table with a microwave and packets of noodles and bottles of water. There was a toilet in the corner, but no bath or shower.

“This place is so small.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be here long.” He grabbed a chain from under the bed. “Sit down. I need to put this on you.”

“I don’t need a chain. I won’t run.”

He shoved her toward the bed and forced her to sit, clamping the chain around her other ankle. “You fooled me once. You should see the damn bruise on my arm. So that’s not coming off you until the baby is born.”

Death in childbirth was rare in light of modern medicine, but that was in a hospital with doctors, nurses, and clean sheets. “If I have it alone, the baby’s chances of survival are so much lower.”

“I got it worked out. It’s been a while, but I’ve delivered babies before. But you better hurry up and have that baby. If it doesn’t come in the next week, I’ll cut it out of you.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tuesday, June 26, 6:00 p.m.

Hayden met Brogan at the Austin Police Department Forensic Science Division’s forensic lab. Melissa Savage, a technician who favored jeans, flats, and brightly colored Hawaiian shirts, greeted them. Her dark curly hair was wound into a ponytail, and several pencils stuck out at different angles.

“Gentlemen, come on back to the lab,” she said.

She walked with long, even strides as she led them toward a light table. She’d methodically arranged neat rows of Macy Crow’s belongings, which had been found in her backpack and in her pockets. Her bloodstained clothes, which had been cut away by the EMTs and emergency room doctors, were also present.

Among the belongings were a hairbrush, lipstick, mace, PowerBars, and receipts for food and gas and a withdrawal from an ATM. There were also her cracked cell phone, breath mints, and a hotel key.

“What about that phone?” Hayden asked. “Any record of calls? I hear she was trying to call me.”

“That’s correct,” Savage said. “But she was hit before she finished dialing. There’s a voicemail from Dr. McIntyre’s office.”

“They were trading messages,” he said. “What else is on the phone?”

“She also visited the website for the medical examiner’s office and did a search on Dr. McIntyre.”

“She saw a picture of her?” Hayden asked.

“It was on the page she pulled up.”

How had Macy been tipped off about Faith? Had she learned something when she’d visited Jack Crow’s trailer?

“No more calls,” Savage went on to say, “but Special Agent Crow did snap a selfie in what looks like her hotel room, as well as a picture of a missing person poster, all on the night she was attacked.” Savage opened the phone and showed the Rangers the pictures of the selfie and the missing person poster. “Remember Paige Sheldon?”

Paige. The name Macy had given the responding officer. “Sure. She was a pregnant teenager who vanished about eight months ago.”

Savage pulled up the case on her computer. It was the same picture on the flyer, but this one was more vivid, in color, and showcased her stunning looks. “She’s now nineteen, and according to the missing person report, she vanished in May,” Savage said.

“Why did Macy take a picture of her poster?” Hayden asked.

“Missing girls, runaways, and black market babies are the exact kind of case Macy Crow specializes in investigating.” Savage spoke the words as if she were saying Hayden’s thoughts out loud. “She’d have been drawn to a poster like Paige Sheldon’s.”

These cases got under Hayden’s skin because he remembered how Sierra used to talk to him about adoption. They had always known she couldn’t have children, so adoption had been the plan. They had just been referred for a mixed-race toddler when she’d been diagnosed with cancer. Adoption was put on hold, and whenever she was sick from the chemo, he’d remind her that one day she’d hold their baby in her arms.

“Is there a geotag on the picture?” Hayden asked.

“Yeah,” Savage said. “It was taken on Third Street outside a bar called Second Chances, which is two blocks from where she was struck by the vehicle.”

“Her old man gets brutally murdered. Macy’s in town less than five hours, visits a bar, takes the time to snap a picture of Paige Sheldon’s flyer, and then an attempt is made on her life,” Hayden said. “I want to talk to Paige Sheldon’s family. Macy Crow saw something, and I want to know what it was. What else did you find?”

“Her Uber app showed she was picked up at a hotel at ten p.m. last night.” Savage reached for the hotel key that was among Macy’s belongings. “I called the hotel, identified myself, and told them to hold off on housekeeping until we can investigate the room. The manager said Macy wasn’t supposed to check out until Friday and had put a Do Not Disturb sign on her door. The room should be untouched.”

Hayden wrote down the hotel name and address. “I’ll check it out.” He looked at the picture of the Paige Sheldon flyer Macy had taken outside Second Chances.

“She might have left more information in her hotel room,” Savage said.

“Which is exactly why we’re headed there.”

The drive to Macy Crow’s hotel room took Hayden and Brogan just under twenty minutes. It was an average, nondescript chain hotel that could be found in hundreds of cities across America. They introduced themselves to the clerk, who ducked into the back and brought out the manager, a tall man with short, graying hair.

He came from behind the front desk and extended his hand. “I’m Jay Sanchez. You called about one of our guests?”

“That’s right,” Brogan said. “We’d like to see Macy Crow’s room.”

“It was a hit-and-run?” the manager asked.

“She passed away late last night, and we’re trying to find out what happened.” Brogan was sticking to the story that Macy was dead.

“That’s terrible,” Sanchez said. “Of course I’ll show you the room.”

As they rode the elevator to the third floor, Hayden asked, “When did she check in?”

“Yesterday,” he said. “She was supposed to check out on Friday.”

“Did you notice anything about Ms. Crow?” Hayden asked. “Did she have any visitors?”

“No visitors that I know of, but I don’t work the front desk anymore.” The elevator doors opened, and Sanchez extended his hand and waited for them to exit. “I did ask the gals that worked the front desk, and none of them remembered. I’m having the surveillance tapes pulled. As soon as I get the all clear from corporate, I’ll turn them over.”

The manager stopped at room 342, where a DO NOT DISTURB sign dangled from the door handle. He removed a passkey from his pocket, swiped it, and opened the door. “Ms. Crow checked in Monday, but she didn’t have a reservation. I checked the room status myself when Ms. Savage called to confirm that housekeeping had not been inside. As you can see, they haven’t.”

“Did you enter the room?” Hayden asked.