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Authors: Beverly Barton
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inviting. After all, she didn’t want to get out and go down the hall to the cola machine. After turning on the TV, she lifted the bottle from the basket. Wonder why the basket isn’t wrapped? She undid the cap on the bottle, pleased that it opened so easily. Often getting caps off could be a major hassle. She sat on the bed, lifted the bottle to her lips and sipped the juice. It was a little warm, but sweet and wet. It would do.
She pulled both pillows out from beneath the spread and propped them against the headboard, then settled in and channel surfed, searching for something of interest. She needed a silly, mindless program to help take her mind off her problems. And she had major problems.
God, I’m so miserable. What am I doing here in a motel room, all alone? I wish I were home in my own bed .
She could go home, couldn’t she? First thing in the morning, she should call her mother and tell her she was coming home. She was an idiot for running off the way she had. What did running away solve? Nothing. If her biological father was a serial murderer, she could run to the ends of the earth and that fact wouldn’t change.
But what if it wasn’t true? What if whoever sent her the package had lied to her? She should go home, show theletter and newspaper clippings to her mother and grandfather, then demand the truth from them.
Leslie Anne finished off the small bottle of juice, then dropped the empty bottle on the floor. The channels were limited on the motel TV, so she decided to stop searching for something to watch. She yawned. Suddenly she felt very drowsy. Maybe the long hours behind the wheel and all the stress she was under had caught up with her.
She yawned again. The room began to spin around and around. What was wrong with her? Unable to sit up any longer, she fell across the bed sideways. When she tried to lift her hand, it seemed to weigh a ton. Her eyelids flickered open and closed of their own accord, as if she had no control over them.
Something was wrong with her. Terribly wrong.
W HEN D ANTE and Dom arrived at the motel, he met up with the police lieutenant in charge of the search and pulled the man aside.
“Have you searched the entire hotel?” Dante asked.
“We’ve checked every room on the ground floor and have started on the second floor,” Lieutenant Nesbitt said. “The management isn’t happy that we’re disturbing their guests and at first we weren’t getting much cooperation.”
“Screw the management. We’ve got a sixteen-year-old girl who could be in trouble.”
“I realize the seriousness of this matter, but I don’t have an army at my disposal. Just me and two officers. This is a big motel, in case that fact escaped you.”
“Well, you now have two more men to help knock on doors,” Dante said. “Let’s stop wasting time and get upstairs.”
“Hold on, Mr. Moran,” Nesbitt said. “You should let us handle this.”
“Look, Lieutenant, I’m heading upstairs to search for Leslie Anne Westbrook and the only way you’re going to stop me is to arrest me.”
The policeman grimaced. “Just act official, will you?” Nesbitt told Dante.
“No problem.”
Dante and Dom took the other side of the building from the lieutenant and his two officers. Dom went right and Dante left. First they knocked on the door, then waited for a response. If they didn’t get someone to the door, they’d knock again and inform the guest that this was official police business. One by one the doors either opened or Dante and Dom used the keys, reluctantly provided by the manager, to unlock each door.
Dante knocked on the door to Room 231. No response. He knocked again. “Please open up,” Dante said. “This is official police business. We’re searching for a missing girl whom we believe is in this motel.”
Silence. Dante knocked again, then inserted the key and unlocked the door. The room lay in darkness except for the faint shimmer of artificial light shining through the
She pulled both pillows out from beneath the spread and propped them against the headboard, then settled in and channel surfed, searching for something of interest. She needed a silly, mindless program to help take her mind off her problems. And she had major problems.
God, I’m so miserable. What am I doing here in a motel room, all alone? I wish I were home in my own bed .
She could go home, couldn’t she? First thing in the morning, she should call her mother and tell her she was coming home. She was an idiot for running off the way she had. What did running away solve? Nothing. If her biological father was a serial murderer, she could run to the ends of the earth and that fact wouldn’t change.
But what if it wasn’t true? What if whoever sent her the package had lied to her? She should go home, show theletter and newspaper clippings to her mother and grandfather, then demand the truth from them.
Leslie Anne finished off the small bottle of juice, then dropped the empty bottle on the floor. The channels were limited on the motel TV, so she decided to stop searching for something to watch. She yawned. Suddenly she felt very drowsy. Maybe the long hours behind the wheel and all the stress she was under had caught up with her.
She yawned again. The room began to spin around and around. What was wrong with her? Unable to sit up any longer, she fell across the bed sideways. When she tried to lift her hand, it seemed to weigh a ton. Her eyelids flickered open and closed of their own accord, as if she had no control over them.
Something was wrong with her. Terribly wrong.
W HEN D ANTE and Dom arrived at the motel, he met up with the police lieutenant in charge of the search and pulled the man aside.
“Have you searched the entire hotel?” Dante asked.
“We’ve checked every room on the ground floor and have started on the second floor,” Lieutenant Nesbitt said. “The management isn’t happy that we’re disturbing their guests and at first we weren’t getting much cooperation.”
“Screw the management. We’ve got a sixteen-year-old girl who could be in trouble.”
“I realize the seriousness of this matter, but I don’t have an army at my disposal. Just me and two officers. This is a big motel, in case that fact escaped you.”
“Well, you now have two more men to help knock on doors,” Dante said. “Let’s stop wasting time and get upstairs.”
“Hold on, Mr. Moran,” Nesbitt said. “You should let us handle this.”
“Look, Lieutenant, I’m heading upstairs to search for Leslie Anne Westbrook and the only way you’re going to stop me is to arrest me.”
The policeman grimaced. “Just act official, will you?” Nesbitt told Dante.
“No problem.”
Dante and Dom took the other side of the building from the lieutenant and his two officers. Dom went right and Dante left. First they knocked on the door, then waited for a response. If they didn’t get someone to the door, they’d knock again and inform the guest that this was official police business. One by one the doors either opened or Dante and Dom used the keys, reluctantly provided by the manager, to unlock each door.
Dante knocked on the door to Room 231. No response. He knocked again. “Please open up,” Dante said. “This is official police business. We’re searching for a missing girl whom we believe is in this motel.”
Silence. Dante knocked again, then inserted the key and unlocked the door. The room lay in darkness except for the faint shimmer of artificial light shining through the
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