He waited until he heard her step into the shower and close the door. Then he crept in and looked around. The bedroom was large, with decorations made of seashells strewn throughout and a couple of beach prints on the wall.
When Rogers heard the water being turned off, he sat on the bed and waited. Then a hair dryer started up.
When the dryer stopped running, he pulled out his vintage M11-B pistol and held it in his hand.
The door opened and she appeared wrapped in a towel. When she saw him she leapt back and screamed.
He said nothing, did nothing.
When she saw who it was she stopped screaming and stared incredulously at him.
“P-Paul? W-what are you doing here?”
Her gaze fell on the gun and she took another step back.
He stood and gripped the pistol.
“What are you doing here? How do you even know about this place?”
“I followed someone here once.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed information.”
“Information? About what?”
“About me.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“Where is Josh Quentin? Isn’t this his pla
ce?”
“No. It’s my place. He just stays here sometimes.”
“And Suzanne Davis stays here with him sometimes.”
Her features darkened. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know Davis?”
She nodded mutely.
“They come here to fuck. They do it very energetically.”
Myers didn’t move a muscle. She just stared at him.
“I need to find Quentin. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. But why do you need to find him?”
“He knows somebody I need to find.”
“Who?”
“He works for Atalanta Group. Did you know that?”
“I-I might have heard him mention it.”
Rogers took another step toward her. She drew back. He rubbed the back of his head, trying to push back the pain that was rising in him again. This was getting very inconvenient.
She said, “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’ve broken into my house, Paul. I could call the police. But if you leave now, I won’t. You might still be messed up from what happened at the bar. I know I am. I still have no idea why those men attacked the place.”
“They were coming to kill me.”
Myers caught a breath and stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“I just know.”
“But why would anyone want to kill you?”
“Because I am what I am, and she is who she is.”
“Who is this person?”
“Claire Jericho.”
He watched her closely for a reaction to the name. And got it.
“So you know her?”
“She works with Josh. Is she the person you want to find?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“She made me.”
“Excuse me?”
In answer Rogers took off his shirt. When Myers saw the scars she slumped back against the wall. “Omigod. What…Omigod.”
“She made me,” he said again.
She started to tear up. “I’m so sorry, Paul. I—”
He cut in, “You can help me.”
“How?”
“You can help me get to her.”
“How!” she wailed.
“Through Quentin.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“You just need to acquire the target. I’ll take it from there.”
“Look,” she pleaded, “I really don’t want to be involved.”
He gripped her shoulder. “You already are involved. Now compose yourself and then contact him. Tell him you want to meet. Here.”
“What reason would I give?”
“I’ll leave that to you. Come up with a good one. And I’ll be watching while you do it.”
“And if he doesn’t come?”
He squeezed her shoulder just enough to make her wince. “You better pray to God that he does. Because I’m running out of time and patience.”
Chapter
57
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
While Robert Puller was digging, his brother was doing the same thing.
In his motel room he was tapping away at the keys on his computer.
He had no idea of the hour.
Knox had fallen asleep on the bed.
But Puller was not tired.
He was pissed.
And when he got pissed, he worked even harder.
Right now he was doing something he should have done earlier. Seen if anything unusual had happened at Fort Monroe around the time his mother disappeared. Anything out of the ordinary that might be tied to that disappearance. There might be nothing, certainly. But right now he would take anything.
He had gone through pretty much every possible event, and there weren’t many, when his gaze froze on the name.
He checked the date.
He checked the location.
He rechecked the name. And the other name listed with the first one.
Son of a bitch.
Is that why she played so coy?
He closed his eyes and thought back to the night his mother disappeared. His brow creased as he strained to remember something.
She had made them dinner. She was dressed to go out. He had followed her into her bedroom as she went to get something.
She didn’t know he was there. She had paused at a dresser.
A drop of sweat appeared on his brow, so intense was his