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Kelly had always relished the rush that came with closing a case, finding a killer, getting justice. Ask anyone in law enforcement, and they’d tell you it was a high like no other. But her time as a homicide detective investigating, for the most part, single murders paled by comparison to hunting a killer who took out more than one person. She supposed the feeling was similar to when she’d had a part in taking a gang leader nicknamed Rock off the streets and hitting him with five murder charges. That had truly been a good day.
She was next to Jack as they scoured the eighth floor of the Royal Plaza. The place smelled of cleaner and chlorine—comfortable and familiar scents for a hotel. It made Kelly want to snuggle under a fluffy duvet, order pay-per-view and room service. If only.
Jack ignored the Do Not Disturb sign and knocked on room 819. They’d taken the rooms to the left of the elevator bank, and two officers went to the ones on the right. Jack made it clear to the uniforms they were to take detailed notes if they ran into any guests, and he provided them the basic questions they should ask.
A third officer watched the elevators and was to make sure no one left the floor until they were spoken to.
Jack knocked a second time, and footsteps approached the door. The chain slid across, and the door opened. A man in dress slacks and an unbuttoned shirt with a tie dangling loose around his neck was standing there looking bedraggled and smelling of whiskey. He perked up at the sight of Kelly.
“Well, hellllooo,” he said with a smile.
Oh Lord! Too many men live up to the womanizer stereotype.
“My boss and I would like to talk to you for a minute,” she said, sensing from Jack it might work to their advantage if she handled this one.
A cocky grin. “Sure.” He opened the door wider.
Jack gestured for Kelly to go inside first. For the guy’s leering—and practically drooling—Kelly thought him harmless. Even if Jack wasn’t around, she could handle this loser herself.
“Have a hard day?” she asked, making light conversation.
“Very hard.”
She fought not to roll her eyes, but realized she’d opened the opportunity for a lewd innuendo. She pulled out her badge. “We’re agents with the FBI. I’m Kelly Marsh, and this is Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Jack Harper.”
“No shit.” The man clamped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack tensed, and the man removed his hand.
Kelly’s guess was Jack preferred not to be touched. “How long have you been staying here?” she asked, though she knew the answer. Before they set out on the eighth floor, they got all the guest information from the front desk, in gratitude to a cooperative hotel manager.
“Since last night.”
“Nice. Just to get away for the weekend early?” Kelly was looking past him. The bed was disheveled. The comforter bunched to one side, half on the floor. A glass with amber liquid was on the nightstand, and across the room, a near-empty bottle of Jim Beam sat on a table in front of the window. The drapes had been pulled in about two feet on both sides.
“I lost my job.” He belched.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Hey, you’re a bright spot.”
Kelly pasted on a smile. “We just need to take a look around. Okay?”
“Whatever you want, sunshine.” He grabbed his glass.
Kelly walked farther into the room, headed toward the window. She looked down and could see that it had a clear line of sight to Wilson Place, and she swept back the drapes. No hole. She shook her head at Jack, and they went to leave.
“You’re leaving already? You just got here.”
“Don’t destroy your liver just because some boss couldn’t appreciate you,” she said. “You should be thanking them for letting you go. Now you can take your life in a direction it was meant to go.”
The man stood straighter, and a grin spread across his lips. “No shit. You some guru or something?”
Or something… “Take care,” she said, closing the door behind her and Jack.
“We can mark room 819 off our list,” she said.
“No shit.” Jack smiled, and she giggled.