Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

"Give me the hotel address," I said. "We can pop by and see . . . No, you'd have already called. She hasn't checked in."

"Correct. Paige is running Jaime's credit cards now. I'm having the security department pull GPS records for the operative's vehicle. In the meantime, Jeremy would like you to return to the motel."

TEN

Lucas had us pick up a rental car. All the paperwork was filled out in the Cortez Corporation name, so I just had to flash ID. I drove. We really didn't want anyone pulling over my mother and asking for her license.

"Shit," she whispered as we pulled into the motel lot.

A dark blue Toyota was parked in front of our room. The same dark blue Toyota that the operative had been driving.

Mom was out of the car before I stopped. She left her sword in the trunk and raced inside. The motel room door was unlocked.

I was getting out when the car lurched, the back end rising. It thumped down so hard my teeth rattled. I hit the trunk release before the damned thing ripped through the metal. The sword flew--case and all--through the motel room door.

I tore after it. When I got inside--

Blood. Oh, God, there was so much blood.

The operative lay on his back, arms raised to ward off something. His clothing was shredded, exposed skin mangled and torn, like he'd been attacked by . . .

I had no idea what he'd been attacked by.

I dropped to look under the bed.

"Already checked," Mom said. She stood in the middle of the room now, turning slowly.

I ran into the bathroom.

"Checked there, too," Mom called.

I still looked. There was nowhere else to search. The bathroom was empty, but there were bloody footprints on the floor.

Small sneaker prints.

"Mom . . . ?"

She came in. I pointed at the prints.

"Jaime must have put those sneakers back on," she said.

I moved my foot alongside one of the prints. Mine was nearly twice the size.

As Mom crouched for a better look, I followed the prints into the bedroom and noticed as I did that the bathroom doorknob was crooked. Broken.

"Jaime locked herself in there," I said. "Whoever killed the operative broke in and--"

I stopped. There was a handprint on the outside of the bathroom door. It was two-thirds the size of mine.

"There's a kid's handprint here," I said. "How could a child--?"

"Children," Mom said. "The prints are from more than one person. And--"

She stopped and turned to the bathroom window as the curtain billowed. She yanked it up. The window was broken out, jagged glass like shark's teeth in the frame. Blood-tipped shark's teeth.

"She went out here," Mom said.

I pointed to a small shoe print on the toilet seat. "And they followed."