“What are you doing?”

“Making it impossible for you to record anything I’m about to tell you.”

“I had no intention of recording it!” Thrusting her hand toward him, she said, “Give me back my phone.”

He laid the phone in her palm but kept the battery. “For the time being, anything I say is off the record. Okay?”

She gave a curt nod.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Fuck you.”

He snickered. “Good enough.” He let her stew for a moment, then said, “Several times you’ve asked what caused my split with The Major.”

Still miffed over the phone, she answered stiffly, “A perfectly valid question.”

“It was the Pegasus bombing.”

Her vexation immediately changed to captured interest.

“You also wanted to know what caused my severance with the ATF.”

“Yes.”

He looked across at her. “Same thing.”

He held her gaze for several seconds, then returned his attention to the icy roadway. The SUV was better equipped to drive on it than his car would have been. Carson was good for something.

They rode in silence for half a mile before Kerra said, “Well? Talk to me. You had a quarrel with the ATF and with The Major over the bombing.”

“Yes.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“I will.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He drove past the motel without even slowing down. She turned her head to look at the neon sign that blurred and then disappeared in the freezing fog and mist behind them. “You passed the motel.”

“Did I?”

“You know you did, Trapper. What’s going on?”

“I’m concentrating. Trying to keep this thing from skidding off the road and still maintain some decent speed.”

“We don’t need to maintain a decent speed.”

“We do if we don’t want them to catch us.”

“Catch us? What are you talking about? Who’s after us?”

“Nobody yet. But there will be as soon as you’re reported missing.”

“I’m not missing.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Trapper, what are you doing? Turn around this instant. Take me back.”

“No can do.”

“You damn sure can!”

He kept driving, eyes on the road.

“What is this? A kidnapping? I’m your hostage?”

“No, not a hostage.”

“If you’re hauling me off to God knows where, without my consent and against my will, then what would you call me?”

He shot her a glance. “Bait.”

Chapter 13

Gracie knocked three times. “Kerra? Kerra, are you in there?” She waited for fifteen seconds, then knocked again. When she didn’t get a response, she turned to the young man whose plastic name tag read “Travis.” Gracie had dragged him from the check-in office, explaining that her friend wasn’t responding to attempts to rouse her. “Still not answering. Unlock the door.”

“Maybe you ought to call her first.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” She glared at him. “I have called her. About a dozen times.”

“There could be lots of reasons she’s not answering.”

“Yes, and one of them could be that she’s unconscious.”

He went over to the window, cupped his hands around his eyes, and peered through the crack in the drapery. “No lights on. She’s probably just asleep. Maybe left her earbuds in.”

“Unlock the door.”

“If we walk in on something, uh, personal—”

“I hope to God we do.”

“I’ll get canned.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“The owner’s number one rule is to protect the privacy of our guests.”

“My number one rule is to make sure my friend is breathing! Open. The. Door.”

“We’re not supposed to—”

Gracie grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him toward her. “The woman is recovering from a concussion, you moron! If you don’t open that damn door, I’m going to smash the window with your head.”

“Okay, okay.” She let him go. He fumbled with the key but managed to unlock the door, then opened it no wider than half a foot and called softly through the crack. “Ms. Bailey?”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Gracie pushed him out of her way, shoved the door open, and strode in, flipping on the light switch in the process. The room was empty.

The young man was relieved, but Gracie’s distress increased tenfold. Two members of the production crew appeared in the open doorway. One, the lighting tech, had the temerity to ask, “She’s not here?”

“Does it look like she’s here?” Gracie screeched. “And it’s your fault for coming back without her.”

“She’s a grown-up. What was I supposed to do? Besides, isn’t that deputy guarding her? He followed us to the hospital in his police car. Maybe she’s with him.”

Gracie said, “Tell me again what she said when she called you.”

“‘I’ve got another ride.’”

“But she didn’t say with who? She didn’t specify the deputy?”

“No.”

“Call the sheriff’s office. Ask.”

“You know, keeping tabs on Kerra isn’t in my job description.”

Gracie placed her hands on her hips. “Your next job description could be cleaning the crapper.”

He slunk away to make the call.

His fellow crew member weighed in. “Maybe she’s with that guy. The one with the sweet truck.”

The possibility that Kerra was with John Trapper made Gracie uneasy. She remembered how irate he’d appeared when he practically mowed her down outside Kerra’s room. “Did you see him at the hospital?”

“No. The doctor made his excuses for not being at the press conference.”

“Uh …” Travis the desk clerk cleared his throat. “When you say the guy with the sweet truck, do you mean Mr. Trapper?”

Gracie turned to him. “Speak!”

He nervously wet his lips. “He’s got a room here, too. It’s in the other wing. I can’t remember exactly which number, but if you come back to the office with me, we can call it.”

After they trooped out, Harvey Jenks took the first deep breath he’d taken in minutes.

He had heard the harpy terrorize the kid into unlocking the door and then had stood motionless and breathless inside the closet of Kerra Bailey’s room during the ensuing discussion, which seemed to have lasted forever.

Somebody, probably the skittish motel employee, had conscientiously turned out the light as they went, so the room was in darkness when Jenks moved soundlessly from his hiding place.

His plan had been to be waiting inside the room for Kerra Bailey when she returned.

His plan was now screwed.

The closet had been a tight fit for him, but he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t been discovered. He crossed to the door, opened it a crack, and made certain that the coast was clear, that the TV people weren’t yet making their way back from the motel office, then slipped out.

Although he wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing him leave. The weather was keeping motorists off the roads. Even if he were spotted by a passerby, so what? He was a deputy sheriff. One would assume he was guarding Kerra Bailey.

Inside her room?

If challenged, he’d come up with a rambling explanation that would sound plausible to a civilian even if it was nonsense. But he returned to his car confident that his break-in and breakout of Kerra’s room had gone unseen. He slid behind the steering wheel and pulled out his cell phone.

His call was answered with a brusque, “Done?”

“She didn’t come back.”

“What?”

“I was in place. All set. Except she didn’t come back from the hospital with the TV crew.” He related the rest of the story. “Narrows down to her being with the deputy. Or Trapper.”