* * *
Forty-five minutes later—ten of which was used driving around the block looking for a goddamn place to park his ridiculously oversized vehicle—Tate and I entered the foyer of the Ceilo Hotel and made our way to the service desk.
A middle-aged woman looked up and smiled. I didn’t miss the way her eyes perused the entire length of both our bodies as we approached.
“Welcome to Ceilo Hotel. How can I help?”
Tate took the lead. “Hi, I’m Tatum Combs, and this is my associate, Dante Bateman. We’re with Cole Security Services and are investigating the disappearance of a young woman.” He flashed her his ID. “Our I.T. specialist has tracked a ransom email to this hotel. With the manager’s permission, we would like to view the security footage from Saturday night to early Sunday morning.”
The woman’s mouth worked open and closed, and she double-blinked from behind her glasses.
“That is definitely something you need to speak to the manager about. You’re not with the police?”
Tate shook his head. “No, we’re a private firm hired by the family. Here’s my card.” He slid it across the shiny reception bar and eyed her intensely. “And,” he added, “the woman who is missing is Dante’s girlfriend, so we’re here to get this taken care of before the police finally get off their asses and process the missing person report.”
I bit back the urge to react—to deny that she was my girlfriend and to kick his ass so hard he’d forever walk with a limp. Instead, I stared at the woman as she looked at me with concern bunching her eyebrows.
“I’m so sorry. Let me see what I can do.” She offered a small smile, then excused herself to have a word with the manager.
Once she was out of sight, I turned to Tate and landed a kidney punch. “What the fuck, Tate!”
He grunted and bent a little to breathe through the pain. “I told you to roll with it. It’s called using what we have to get what we want.”
“Well, I’m not impressed.”
“You’ll thank me when it works.”
Agitated, I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Is your real name actually Tatum Combs?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I let out a snort. “It sounds like a country drag queen’s stage name.”
Tate snickered. “What can I say? I’m from Nashville.”
My retort was cut off by the woman returning with her manager. The busty woman looked us over, then extended her hand across the reception desk.
“I’m Miranda Lewis, manager on duty. I understand you’re requesting access to our recent security tapes?”
“Yes. In particular, the one from three nights ago,” I explained. “We’re with Cole Security Services and have reason to believe my girlfriend is being held in one of your rooms.”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “And what makes you think she hasn’t just left you?”
Ouch.
I set my hands on the reception desk and leaned forward. “Because we received a photo of her the night she went missing. Because a courier delivered her ponytail in a box.Becausewe received a video of her gagged and bound to a dining room chair and her screaming for help!” My blood pressure skyrocketed until each word was growled from behind my clenched teeth.
“We have the video if you need more convincing,” Tate added in a somber tone.
Miranda visibly gulped. “Follow me. We’ll talk in private.”
Tate shot me a triumphant look. While I should have been equally pumped, I couldn’t shake the pitching sensations that nearly blinded me.
I dreaded what we would see. What we would find. And one thing was for sure: Tate and I would be having words once this was all over.
* * *
Miranda didn’t need any more convincing after showing her the video of Penelope, and she confirmed the hotel did, in fact, own the exact style of dining chair Penny was tied to.