“A big guy in a suit, one in a tan jacket. He was skinnier. Masked. Guns. Big guns. They were going to kill me!”
“What room?”
“They—”
“I’m not asking again.”
“Three oh six.”
Shaw flicked open his locking-blade knife and sawed through the zip. “Call the police.”
Gun in hand, Shaw moved fast along the Lysol-scented hallway. The door to the room had been kicked in. He moved in slowly, gun low and tight to his right side.
Never extend a handgun out in front of you when entering a blind doorway...
Then, inside, keeping low, pivoting, aiming at every site of concealment.
All the doors were open, bathroom, closet. The place was vacant. The remains of breakfast were scattered over the bed and floor. Articles of clothing and toiletries too.
A children’s cartoon was on the flat-screen TV.
Shaw returned to the office.
“And?” The clerk’s voice quivered.
Shaw said, “Nobody’s there. The two men and the guests in three oh six? You see any of them leave?”
“No, sir. They were going to kill me!”
No, they weren’t. Or they would have.
The clerk nodded at the phone. “I called the sheriff. They’re on the way.”
“What were the men driving?”
“I don’t know. They just, you know, were here, with their guns.”
Shaw looked out the greasy window. The boxy Ford van was gone. “Any guests drive a white Transit?”
“Not that they put down when they registered.”
Eighty percent that was their ride.
“Security tape,” Shaw said.
“They took the hard drive.”
“What county are we in? Marshall?”
“Yessir.”
Shaw jogged outside. He put it at ninety percent that the responding law, in a different county from Ferrington, would have little sympathy for Jon Merritt—at least not now, after killing Allison’s lawyer and breaking in here. Still, he didn’t want to count on the burdensome protocols of law enforcers. He’d go after them himself on his Yamaha. They had a head start, but not much of one. He could catch them easily.
Though, which way?
Probably back toward 55, the main north–south highway.
But only probably. If he chose wrong, he’d lose them entirely.