Frozen on the bed, statue still, she listened.

  There were footsteps approaching, passing the window, heavy ones. The guard, patrolling. Would he know anything was wrong?

  The footsteps scrunched by and she let out a silent breath.

  She'd gotten inside in time. Now, she had to use her time as fast as she could, by searching for the small clues that she strongly felt would be inside this well-used room.

  It was clear this room wasn't often serviced and it was a rent-by-the-hour type of place.

  So, what could be found here?

  She didn't want to switch on the light. If the manager came out of her office to check on that room, it might shine through the curtains and be bright enough to alert her. Instead she switched on her phone's flashlight which had a smaller beam. If she kept this away from the curtains, hopefully she could search without being discovered.

  Apart from the bed, which she was relieved to be able to scramble off, the room contained a small wooden closet, a basic desk and chair, and a tiny bathroom, big enough for a shower and toilet.

  There were no personal items in the room. Nothing that could give Cora a clue about Louella, or Chrissie, or about any of the other victims she suspected had been taken. The room was empty of anything like that. She checked the drawer in the desk, and the shelves in the bedside tables. She looked under the lamp, and opened the closet doors and searched carefully inside.

  Nothing.

  Cora was starting to feel frustrated. She had taken a risk getting into the room, and now she had nothing to show for it. Was there anything in the bathroom?

  She went through and took a look in there.

  The shower held a whiff of disinfectant, as if the current management's approach to cleaning was simply to throw a cup of it in there, turn on the faucet for a minute, and consider it done. Ditto the toilet. Not exactly dirty, just semi-clean in a very minimalistic way. Her toes curled at the thought of having to use it, even though she’d had to use far grimmer bathrooms from time to time in her Navy days, and since then.

  There was nothing on the bathroom counter, or on the shelf underneath where a few spare towels, rather threadbare, were stacked.

  She went back into the main bedroom.

  Then, she jumped, as Gabe’s voice hissed through the window.

  “Cora? Cora! I’ve seen a couple more people arriving. They’ve walked into the office. Look like the type of customers for this room. Can you hear me in there?”

  “Thanks,” she hissed back.

  The clock was ticking now, but she wasn't giving up. She was sure this room held something. It had been used often by these women and their clients. Surely they would have left something behind that could open the door for her?

  Or perhaps not.

  “Heads up. They’re coming out the office, turning in this direction,” Gabe whispered again, and her heart sped up.

  She shone the flashlight around one last time, knowing she needed to get going, that staying in here was a risk because the room could be rented out again at any time, and that it was more sheer doggedness than anything else that was keeping her in here now.

  "One clue?" she whispered to herself. "Just one?"

  And then, just as she was about to head back to the window, she saw what she needed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The clue hadn’t been anywhere that Cora would have expected to see it. It was just a phone number and a short message, jotted on the side of the desk in permanent marker, the letters black and neat. Cleverly positioned at an angle that the manager, doing a check, wouldn't see. But the customer, in the bed, would see.

  "Good time?" the message asked. Followed by the phone number. Short and obvious. That was how they got clientele for room twelve, and maybe some of the others too.

  Cora photographed the number with her phone. Then she stuffed it back in her jacket pocket and headed for the window, jumping off the squeaky bed and clawing her way over the sill.

  There was no time to spare. She could hear voices outside and a scrape of a key in the door. Room twelve was doing business again, and now she realized this must have been why the woman was so reluctant to let them inside.

  Her heart hammered. Her muscles strained. Gabe was there, in the darkness, under the window. His hands reached up, grabbing her, supporting her legs, clasping her waist and helping her down.

  She eased the window closed. A slam, now, might alert them.

  With a grinding complaint from the hinges, it juddered closed, just as the outside door opened.

  Her feet touched the ground. Gabe's arms, strong around her, let go.

  "I got a number," she said breathlessly. "It might get us somewhere. Let's go see."

  Gabe nodded, his face serious. "Let's get out of here first," he said.

  They hustled for the side of the building.

  A shout rang out, "Hey!"

  It sounded like the irate manager. Cora didn't look around to make sure. Instead, she and Gabe broke into a run. They reached the car, piled inside, started it up, and Cora hit the gas. A moment later, they were speeding out of the motel and powering onto the road.

  She stopped a block further up, parking next to a small shopping center. The center's diner was still open but the other shops were already closing their shutters for the night.

  "I got a phone number, written on the desk near the bed," she said to him, opening her phone, sitting right there in the car. "Good time, it said. And this number."

  "Okay. So this must be for an agency, some organization that handled these women and referred them? Maybe they know where they went, and where they were taken from? Someone in that agency could even be involved."

  "That's what I'm wondering," Cora said.

  Gabe looked at her, frowning slightly. "I guess calling it is the only way to find out," he said.

  Cora called the number. She didn't want to waste any more time.

  It rang twice, and then a woman with a raspy voice, which brought to mind cigarettes and late nights and double whiskies, picked up.

  "Hello? Can I help you?" she said.

  "Yes, I hope you can," Cora said.

  There was a short pause.

  "You looking for work, honey?" the woman then said carefully. "Or you looking to hire?"

  "Actually, I'm looking for information," she said.

  "On what?" Now the woman sounded even cagier.

  "On Chrissie Evans, as well as others who’ve disappeared. I’m guessing they were on your books? I think Chrissie was, because your phone number was written in the motel room she used. I want to know – where did Chrissie go before she disappeared? You got details? Was she in any trouble?"

  There was a pause. Then a click. The woman had hung up.

  Cora made a face. "Okay," she said. "She's not telling."

  They looked at each other again.

  "I guess we have to take this a step further," Cora said. "Get face to face with them. Then they can’t hang up on us."

  "Call someone out?" Gabe quirked an eyebrow.

  "Yes," Cora said. She couldn’t think of a different way to do this. But she knew that they couldn’t ignore this source of information. It felt as if slowly but surely, they were making headway into somewhere very dark, with no idea what was waiting. Whoever arrived might know more, or else they might be able to pass on the details of someone who did.

  "That had better be me, then. Different number, man's voice? Shall I call and book?" Gabe asked.

  "We need to give them an address. We can’t just call and tell them to come to the car." Cora frowned, thinking through the logistics.

  "We need a room anyway, so if we’re going to end up renting one, then let’s do it, but not from that place. We also need to sleep, after all. So let's look for something a touch more savory?"

  Cora nodded. She started up the car and they drove down the main street, looking left and right, until another motel came into view.

  This one, definitely, looked a few rungs higher on the ladder.

  The neon sign outside read "Sunset Motel." It was a two-story building with a balcony running along the second floor. There were planters outside the main reception building, and the forecourt was clean and swept.

  They parked outside and headed into the office.

  A young woman with a pink streak in her hair greeted them with a smile. This looked like a much better set-up, Cora saw instantly. The floor was polished, the desk was organized, there were pictures on the walls, and the atmosphere was friendly. No cheese flavored popcorn in sight, to her relief.

  "Evening," the woman said.

  "We'd like a room, please," Cora said.

  "Sure. We have a couple of those available. First floor or balcony level?"

  "First floor," Cora said. "Twin beds."

  She tapped some keys on the computer, took a copy of Cora's ID, and slid the key across the desk.

  "Room twenty-one, on the right," she said. "We recommend the diner down the road, Barbie's, if you're hungry."

  "Thanks," Cora took the key and they headed out. She wasn't hungry. Not yet. She was keen for information, and the sooner they got it, the better.

  Gabe made the call as soon as they were in their room. It was a bright, well decorated place, with twin beds that had clean looking white covers and floral throws over the top, lamps on the nightstands, and a generously sized bathroom that looked like it had been properly cleaned.

  Gabe sat at the desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Cora sat on the nearest bed, keeping quiet, hoping this would work.

  "Hello, there," he said. "I'm looking for some company. I'm checked into a motel on Main Street."

  He waited, listened.

  "For an hour, please," he said. "Any preferences?"

  Thinking quickly, Cora whispered. "Age. Nineteen?" She wanted to get as close to Louella's specifications as possible.

  "I'd like a girl of around nineteen. Young, please," Gabe said, making a disgusted face as he spoke the words. Watching him, Cora felt memories surge at what his father had done. But Gabe was different, not a predator. He was the opposite.

  "Sure. Half an hour? That'll be great. Yes, I'll pay her in cash."

  He disconnected.

  "Well, we've got someone arriving. I guess, in half an hour, we can start to learn more."

  Half an hour wasn't long.

  Cora spent it trying to research more about the local scene, reading the news articles over and over, going to social media sites to see if any of the victims had a profile that might offer further clues.

  It was painstaking work, and it didn't get her very far before there was a tap on the door. Twenty-five minutes had passed. Their date was early.

  Gabe strode to the door and opened it.

  A blonde woman walked in, her hair yellow-bleached, flat and lifeless, with a dark strip of roots. She wore a leather skirt and a red down jacket that had seen better days, and carried a large purse.

  She wasn't eighteen, Cora saw that instantly. More like thirty. Her blue eyes widened as she saw Cora inside.

  "I didn't know I was booked for a double," she said nervously.

  Cora could have kicked herself for staying in view. This woman had seemed scared at first, which she hadn’t expected. Why would the presence of a woman have made her more nervous? Cora would have thought it would be the other way around. Now, she was seriously spooked, and Cora was worried it would compromise their plan. She should have hidden away in the bathroom, and come out when Gabe had already started talking to her and there was, at least, a rapport and some trust between them. She hadn’t put herself firmly enough in the woman’s shoes.

  Gabe stepped forward. "Risk of sounding clichéd, we only want to talk," he said. "We'll take half an hour of your time, no more than that, and we'll pay you the full rate. It’s about –”

  But he didn’t get a chance to explain himself. The woman's eyes widened. Fear was visible in her face.

  "No. No, I don't think you want to talk."

  Then, before Cora could stop her, before either of them could say anything, she turned and ran, hotfooting it out of the motel room, speeding toward the gate.

  Cora had only a moment to let out a heartfelt curse, because she’d messed this up, and now they might lose a valuable lead.

  Then, she and Gabe were bursting out the door, sprinting in pursuit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Get her!"

  This was urgent, an emergency. This scared, blonde woman might hold the knowledge that Cora needed. And, right now, she was racing out the door and into the darkness. She could be gone in a flash and disappear forever.

  Cora launched herself in pursuit, quicker off the mark than Gabe, who, with another oath, was pausing to lock up before joining the chase. After all, there were valuables - phones, laptops - in their motel room. Ever the practical one of their partnership, he was making sure they would still be there when they got back.

  Cora kept her gaze fixed on the woman as she ran. She was hurtling out of the motel now, veering to the right, heading along the main street. She wore white boots with fluffy tops to them, but they weren't high heeled and she was clearly capable of running fast.

  Where was she heading?

  Cora's eyes scanned the street, trying to spot any vehicles that she might be heading toward. If she got into a vehicle now, Cora couldn't stop her. She’d be too far away. She needed to catch up, and fast. But the woman didn’t seem to be aiming for any of the parked cars. There was a convenience store up ahead, its lights bright and glaring in the night. Was she going in there? Cora thought so, for a surprised moment, but then she veered down a dimly lit alleyway just past the store. That was where she was going, and now, Cora felt sure, there must be a car waiting at the other side of it.

  Cora followed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she ran, her feet in their tough, workmanlike shoes pounding over the uneven paving stones. Splashing through a puddle, stumbling over a dip in the ground, she powered on, keeping her gaze fixed on the blonde hair, bright in the darkness, and the white boots that provided a guide for her to follow, even in the gloom.

  Urgent footsteps, heavy and fast, behind her told her that Gabe had caught up and was racing into the alleyway.

  The woman burst out of it, disappearing to the left, and Cora followed. She’d gained some ground, but whether it was enough, she didn’t know.

  Her instinct had been right. The woman was heading for a car, a deep red BMW, low slung, gleaming in the faint glow from the street lights. It was close, just twenty yards from the alleyway, and Cora had to get to her before she climbed inside.

  To her surprise, the fleeing woman didn't run to the driver's door. Instead, she hurtled up to the passenger door, wrenched it open, and dove in. Cora got there just before it closed.

  She grabbed the handle and yanked it out of the woman's hand, opening the door all the way again.

  "Listen," she shouted breathlessly. "We need to talk to you! This is about an investigation!"

  At the same time, the woman was pleading, "Drive, just drive, this wasn't my fault!"

  Taking a closer look, taking in the circumstances, Cora now saw that the man at the wheel was a big, burly, bouncer-type. A low level thug. She recognized the type instantly. Piggy eyes, aggressive expression, shaved head, thick neck and muscle-bound shoulders.

  Drive, just drive, would not go well for her now. Cora rushed around to the driver's side, needing to speak to this thug driver before he started up and hit the gas.

  She was able to see him more clearly the next moment, because the door opened and he half-stood, turning to face her.

  She added another detail. Big, burly thug with a gun. He had a Sig Sauer on his hip. But he didn't use it. Instead, he drew back his fist, faster than she'd thought him capable of doing, and hit Cora squarely in the nose.

  It would have been worse for her if her reactions hadn't kicked in.

  She spun back, lightning fast, as he punched, and that meant that instead of breaking her nose, crushing the cartilage and turning her into a bleeding, spitting wreck, it was just a sore, glancing blow on the side of her nose and the edge of her cheek. Damned sore. Her eyes watered instantly, in an automatic response to the pain.

  "Ow!" Cora shouted. No time for anything but to retaliate before Mr. Muscles got another lucky punch in. She wasn't going to let that happen.

  Squaring off, catching her balance, still with her nose on fire, Cora bunched her own fists and let the guy have it.

  She landed a solid punch on his chin, driving it upward, feeling the satisfying impact of the heel of her hand connecting with bone. The thug staggered back, reeling from the blow, grabbing the door frame to steady himself.

  Cora didn't wait for him to recover. She stepped forward and aimed another punch at his face, but he saw it coming this time and blocked it with his arm. Then, still faster than she'd expected, he dodged to the side, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her backward.

  Cora stumbled back, almost losing her balance, but managed to recover herself just in time. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her heart race and her palms sweat, but sharpening her reactions and her power. Then, she lunged forward, using the extra distance between them to deliver a roundhouse kick to the thug's abdomen.

  The thug let out a groan as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Cora took advantage of his weakened state, grabbing hold of his arm and twisting it behind his back in a classic arm lock. She tugged at the arm, yanking it up, making sure that it hurt him. A lot. Because a guy like this, if he hurt a lot, Cora didn’t think he’d carry on the fight. Big guy like this, he was used to quick wins and easy victories, she reasoned.

  Sure enough, he let out a yell of pain.

  "I need information," she said through gritted teeth, when he’d drawn breath after shouting. "It's urgent. I'm even willing to pay for this information. But I can't pay for anything, or get anywhere, when you're trying to beat me up. Don't try. You'll come off worse."

  She'd got him in such a tight hold that his focus was all on his arm, which, twisted up behind him, Cora was pretty sure was causing some agony.

 

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