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  Alex entered the Hyatt feeling tired, cranky, and in no mood for bullshit. But given the way this trip had gone so far, she felt certain she was in for some anyway.

  She strode up to the reception counter. The clerk there glanced up, and her perky smile faltered at the sight of Alex’s bruised face.

  Alex gave the woman her name. “I’m meeting someone,” she added. “She said she’d have a key waiting for me at the front desk.”

  “Just a moment, Ms. Lovell.” The woman’s fingers tapped over her keyboard. “And may I see some ID, please?”

  Alex dug her driver’s license out of her purse and showed it to the clerk. She typed more stuff into her computer as Alex dropped her backpack on the floor beside her feet and looked around.

  Marble floors, bronze statues, a coffee kiosk. This place had to be nicer than the All Saints Motel. And why Melanie had decided to blow a chunk of her limited funds on a pair of rooms here remained a mystery. But she had insisted. She’d called Alex an hour ago and hit her with another change of plan: the All Saints Motel was booked, so she’d checked them into the Hyatt.

  “You’re all set, Ms. Lovell. Room 412.” The clerk handed her a brochure containing a key card.

  “Thank you.” Alex shouldered her backpack and her purse and forced a smile. “Does my room have a mini-bar?”

  “Of course. And twenty-four-hour room service.”

  Alex’s mood lifted.

  “Oh, and your friend called and left a message for you.” The woman slid a white envelope across the counter. “She said it was important.”

  Her mood sank. “When?”

  Another cheerful smile. “Just a few minutes ago.”

  Alex took the envelope and tugged the slip of paper out. The typed message was amazingly brief and infuriating: Sidetracked with something. Will explain at breakfast. 8:00 A.M. hotel café.

  “Un-freaking-believable.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  She glanced up at the concerned clerk.

  “Nothing.” Alex stuffed the note in her pocket and headed for the elevators. Once again, she was supposed to chase Melanie down just to do her a favor. Alex had had it. She was done. First La Grange. Then the airport motel. Now this. For months, Melanie had been silent as a tomb, and now this exasperating flurry of communications. Alex was sick of trying to keep up with all her—

  She halted in her tracks.

  That last e-mail.

  It had come in hours ago, but Alex had been flying down the freeway at seventy-five miles an hour and she’d merely skimmed it: Meet me tonight at the All Saints Motel, map attached.

  She jerked her phone from her pocket now. Her chest tightened with fear as she scrolled through this afternoon’s mail. She found the message. She opened it up to check the header—

  “Dammit!”

  It had been sent from an AOL account, but not the one Melanie had been using recently. The more Alex stared at the address, the more she felt certain: this was the account Melanie had mentioned last fall, the one she’d suspected Craig knew about.

  I’m not sure how he’s doing it. Maybe he figured out my password or something, but I know he’s been spying on me. Alex recalled the conversation, which had taken place at Lovell Solutions, just days before she’d helped Melanie disappear. I guess I should change my password, huh?

  No, don’t change it, Alex had advised her. Then he’ll know you’re on to him. Better to keep using it, just for nothing important.

  Nothing important.

  Like communicating her precise whereabouts to the man who wanted her dead.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nathan sped through the endless tupelo and cypress swamp and got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t from the gloom of the bayou. It was Alex. She was just a few miles away, somewhere in the vibrant, pulsing city where he’d grown up. And his gut told him she was in danger.

  Again.

  He’d never met a woman so prone to hazardous situations. It was as if trouble came looking for Alex. Or maybe she went looking for it. Whatever the case, Nathan knew that getting close to her meant signing up for an infinite number of moments just like this, when he knew she was putting herself at risk, and no amount of logic and persuasion would make her change course.

  So maybe he shouldn’t get close to her. Made perfect sense. He should just wish her well and back the hell off.

  But he couldn’t do it. He liked her too much. At the heart of it, that was his problem. He couldn’t leave her alone because he genuinely liked her, and although he didn’t agree with whatever she was doing, he couldn’t stand by and watch her get hurt.

  His phone vibrated on the seat beside him, and he snatched it up.

  “I’ve got a problem.”

  It was her. No hello. No preamble.

  “Hey, thanks for getting back to me,” he said. “Only took, what? Five hours? Are you at the All Saints Motel yet?”

  “How’d you know about—”

  “You need to get gone from there. Now. I’m pretty sure Coghan’s on his way to Louisiana, and he’s looking for you and Melanie.”

  “He is. That’s the problem. I think Melanie lured him here so she could kill him.”

  Nathan clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. He tried not to explode. “Is she there now?”

  “I’m not there now. I’m on my way. I have to talk her out of—”

  “Shit, are you crazy? Don’t go anywhere near her! Call her on the phone and tell her to get her butt someplace else, someplace Craig won’t come looking.”

  “Could you call the New Orleans police for me? I’m thinking, as a cop, you’re a better one to explain. But don’t tell them she’s armed or anything. I don’t want a big SWAT team rushing over there all locked and loaded—”

  “Alex, stop, okay? Don’t go over there. Let the police handle it. I’ll call them right now, just—”

  “Thanks,” she said, and clicked off.

  Melanie sat on the side of the bathtub and stroked her finger over the Smith & Wesson. It felt cool. Smooth. It wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected, but the man who’d sold it to her said it packed a wallop. And she believed him because he’d had dozens of firearms beneath the glass counter, and his pawnshop seemed to specialize in them.

  She rested the .38 on the Formica counter and stood up. Steam from the shower filled the room, and she wiped the condensation off the mirror with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  A stranger looked back at her.

  Short brown hair, where she’d always loved blond. Pale skin. She pulled up her sweatshirt and gazed at her doughy stomach that had once been so flat. As a teenager, she’d wanted a navel ring, a little silver hoop to draw attention to her perfectly toned abs. Now she was glad not to have one, not to have anything that would emphasize this new body she couldn’t stand.

  The worst were the scars. She brushed her fingers over the back of her neck. Even with makeup, they made her intensely self-conscious. The raised pink circles were a constant reminder of the most degrading moments of her life, and Craig’s putrid, rotten soul, and the way he’d managed to control her every move.

  And he wasn’t done yet. Especially now, after what had happened with Joe, Melanie knew that no matter how far she ran, as long as Craig was alive, she’d always be looking over her shoulder. And one day, he’d be there.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Melanie squared her shoulders and gazed at the mirror. The woman staring back at her had a steely glint in her eyes. She wasn’t beautiful anymore, or even pretty. But none of that mattered, and she was beginning to realize it never had. The woman in the mirror looked determined. She looked like someone who could pull this off.

  Thud.

  Melanie whirled around. Beyond the door, over the sound of the shower, she’d thought she’d heard—

  Thud, thud, thud.

  —someone at the door.

  Melanie picked up the gun. She clutched her hands around the grip. She steppe
d into the corner beside the bathroom door and waited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alex rattled the doorknob again. It was a pitifully flimsy lock. Flimsy door, too, which was probably the point. A man like Craig Coghan would barely have to throw a shoulder into it to bust through.

  “Melanie!” She knocked again, but stood off to the side while she did it, because she wasn’t sure what exactly lay behind the door. “It’s me, Alex. Open up.”

  She strained to listen. Nothing. Just the muffled whoosh of traffic on Airline Drive. Alex turned and looked at her Saturn behind her, which was conspicuously parked right in front of this door. Far from being “full,” as Melanie had claimed, the All Saints Motel had plenty of vacancies, judging by the nearly empty lot.

  Alex unzipped her purse and took out her SIG. She knocked again.

  “Melanie, it’s just me, Alex. Are you in there?” God, what if Coghan had already come?

  “Melanie!” She pounded her fist. “Open this door!”

  It swung back, and there stood Melanie, clutching a revolver. “What are you doing?”

  Alex strode past her. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

  Melanie glanced at the SIG. “Why aren’t you at the Hyatt?”

  Alex slammed the door shut and threw the latch. She glanced around. The dim motel room smelled like must and mildew and the remnants of a thousand sleazy encounters. The shower was running. If Coghan had busted in here, he would have thought his unsuspecting wife was in there, totally defenseless.

  “Clever setup,” Alex snapped. “Did you even stop to think about how dangerous this is?”

  “You can’t be here.” Melanie rushed forward. “You need to leave. Right now.”

  “We need to leave.” Alex bent down and scooped up Melanie’s backpack from the floor beside the nightstand.

  “I can’t leave. He’ll be here any minute.” She turned and cast a frantic look at the door Alex had just locked. “You’ve got to go now. I have a plan and—”

  “Great plan.” Alex zipped the backpack and held it out to her. “Use the two of us as bait? Get convicted of murder and spend the rest of your life in prison?”

  “He’ll be here any minute!” She clamped her free hand around Alex’s arm and started pulling her toward the door. “You have to go.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” Alex shook off her grip and shouldered the backpack herself. She gazed into Melanie’s face, trying to read her state of mind. She looked desperate, more desperate than Alex had ever seen her. Alex needed to steady her, talk her down from whatever ledge she was on, but she didn’t have much time.

  “Don’t throw your life away,” she said firmly. “He’s not worth it, Mel. I can get you out of the country where you’ll be safe.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I can do that. I’ve got you all set up—”

  “It’s not just about me now.”

  Alex’s gaze flicked over Melanie’s shoulder. Something moved.… The door. To the adjoining suite.

  Pop! Pop!

  Alex’s ears exploded as Melanie shoved her to the ground.

  Pop! A lamp burst just above her head. She was on her back, a heavy weight on her chest.

  Alex rolled Melanie off of her and took a shot at the doorway. Splinters flew, but the doorway was empty.

  Her gazed dropped to Melanie, lying beneath her. Blood was everywhere—her face, her shirt.

  “Oh God.” Alex scrambled to her knees. She glanced at the doorway again. No one. A siren sounded faintly outside.

  “Melanie!” Alex put down her gun and groped around, searching the source of all the blood. It was everywhere. She jerked up Melanie’s sweatshirt and found the warm, sticky source of it at her side, near her rib cage.

  “Melanie!”

  The sirens grew louder as Alex yanked the spread off the bed and used the corner to try to staunch the bleeding. The sirens were loud now, right on top of them. Brakes screeched. Car doors slammed. Fists pounded on the door.

  “Police! Open up!”

  Alex glanced frantically over her shoulder. “Bust it open! We need help in here!”

  “Freeze!”

  Alex whipped her head around. A uniformed cop filled the doorway where the shooter had just been. His gun was pointed straight at Alex’s chest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

  Alex was wounded.

  Maybe critically.

  Nathan squealed into the ambulance bay at Tulane Hospital and whipped into a space marked EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY. He hooked his APD hang tag on the mirror and jumped out of the car.

  Both females were transported to Tulane. The words of the patrol officer Nathan had practically accosted in the motel parking lot kept running through his head.

  One looked serious. Not sure she’s going to make it.

  Which one? Nathan had asked.

  The brunette, I think. It was crazy here. I didn’t really see her that good.

  Nathan plowed through the double doors now and strode across crowded waiting room. He flashed a badge at the receptionist, who was talking on the phone. “I need to see a patient who just came in here.”

  She covered the phone with her hand and cast a glance over her shoulder, not paying a lick of attention to the badge that technically granted him zero access here.

  “You’re talking about the GSW, right?” She looked up at him expectantly, and he forced himself to nod. “Through the double doors and to the left. Trauma 4. Although I don’t think she’s conscious—”

  Nathan shoved through the doors and navigated the typical Friday night minefield. He cut a path through the gurneys and wheelchairs and harried ER workers until his gaze homed in on a placard beside one of the doors. TRAUMA 4. Medical personnel clustered around a table. Their movements were sharp and hurried, their expressions grim.

  “Nathan.”

  He whipped his head around.

  “Over here.”

  Just across the hall, sitting up on a table, was Alex.

  Nathan’s heart jumped into his throat. She was awake and alert… and covered with blood.

  He stepped over to her.

  “What are you doing here?” She frowned up at him as some kid in scrubs tended a cut on her arm.

  “Are you okay?” He reached for her free hand, then jerked back when he saw that it was bloody, too. “What happened?”

  Alex shook her head and gazed down at her lap. Her T-shirt and jeans were saturated.

  “Alex, what the hell happened?”

  She looked up at him, and the misery in her eyes made his chest squeeze. “He shot Melanie.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced at her arm, and he could see her struggling not to lose it. “It’s just a scratch. I hit the bed frame on the way down. Melanie fell into me.”

  The kid stitching up her wound looked calm and steady and about twelve years old.

  “Have you seen her?” Alex gazed up at him pleadingly. “She wasn’t conscious when they put her in the ambulance. No one’s telling me anything.”

  “I’ll find out.”

  “Alex Lovell?”

  They both turned to see a uniformed police officer standing in the doorway.

  “I’ve got some questions about the events earlier. Mind if I come in?”

  “Not at all.” Alex straightened her back. She looked fairly collected all of a sudden, aside from the blood. But Nathan saw the nerves beneath the surface. He glanced at the needle as it pierced her skin.

  “You using enough anesthetic on that?” he asked the doctor.

  The kid looked at Alex. “You tell me.”

  “It’s fine.” She turned to the cop. “Go ahead with your questions.”

  The officer gave Nathan a look he’d used a thousand times over the years: Hey, buddy, mind stepping outside while I have a word with this witness?

  Instead of leaving, Nathan extended a hand. “Nathan De
vereaux. Austin PD.”

  The cop glanced at the hand warily. He accepted the handshake, and seemed to accept the message, too.

  Nathan eased closer to Alex’s side and watched the doctor stitch her up as the officer rattled off questions. The questions were routine, and she answered each one in a clear, remarkably steady voice. She tucked her free hand under her thigh so no one would see that it was trembling.

  “So you’re saying you didn’t see the shooter?” The officer looked up from his notepad.

  “No.” Alex bit her lower lip, and Nathan could tell that part was tearing her up. “But it had to have been her husband. She knew he was coming after her. He’s tried to kill her before.”

  The cop met Nathan’s gaze, and Nathan could see he wasn’t convinced.

  “Did you see anything?” The officer shifted his attention back to Alex. “Even a glimpse of his clothing? Maybe he had on a cap or something?”

  “I didn’t see him.” She sighed, clearly frustrated. “I just saw the door move. And a shadow. Then Melanie was on top of me.” She paused. Swallowed. Met the officer’s gaze. “That’s all I saw. But you have to find him. It was him.” She glanced at Nathan, as if he’d jump in and back her up. He caught the flash of anger in her eyes when he didn’t. “I know it was him! Who else would it be?”

  The cop kept a neutral expression on his face while he jotted notes.

  A commotion dragged everyone’s attention into the hallway, where a team of people were wheeling a gurney out of Trauma 4.

  “Where are they taking her?” Alex turned to the doctor working on her arm.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you find out?”

  “I’ll go,” Nathan said, partly because he wanted the information, but also because he needed a word with whoever was running this investigation.

  Plus he needed some space. From Alex. The last few hours had taken a few years off his life.

  Alex wasn’t dead.

  She wasn’t critically injured, even.

  Nathan, on the other hand, felt like he’d just absorbed a bomb blast. He had to get some air. He slipped past the cop.