“You got engaged,” was the only thing Cara could think to say.
“Seriously? You kill my father, escape from prison, and show up in my house... and that’s all you have to say to me?”
“I didn’t kill your father. And I didn’t escape from prison. I was in an accident and managed to stay alive long enough to realize that I had to come back here and find out who did.”
Taylor rolled her eyes theatrically. “You really don’t quit, do you? Ever since you hypnotized my dad, or whatever you did to make him fall in love with you, I’ve had to deal with your bullshit. I thought maybe getting convicted would finally stop you from lying about what you did, too.”
“I have a very good idea about who actually did do it,” Cara said, starting slowly down the stairs.
“Then tell me.”
“The killer is somehow connected to your dad’s surgical center. I think he may have agreed to a bad financial deal. I went out there and the lot is empty. Nothing was ever built there. I just needed the paperwork to prove that?—”
“You’re fucking crazy?”
Taylor took a step toward the wall separating the kitchen from the dining area. Where the panic button was hidden.
“Don’t do it—I have Karl’s gun.” Cara pattedTHE TOTE BAG, hoping that would be enough to fool her.
Taylor hesitated, like she was trying to decide. “Then I guess you’re going to have to pretend you didn’t commit another murder.”
She lunged for the panic button.
SIXTY-EIGHT
JORDAN
As a valet parking attendant, you will be responsible for greeting guests and transporting luxury automobiles in our hotel’s ongoing effort to deliver best in class guest service. Must be able to drive manual transmission. $18.25/hour plus tips.
—Indeed.com
“Sir? Can you please move your vehicle? It’s impeding the efforts of our associates to welcome our guests.”
Jordan turned and saw a man with slicked-back hair wearing a black suit and a yellow tie. His silver name tag identified him as Jean-Christophe, Assistant Manager. Jordan didn’t understand how he’d been linked to Wen’s car until he realized he was still wearing the blue US Marshals windbreaker.
He felt sympathetic to Jean-Christophe, who was clearly just trying to do his job. But he also didn’t have the keys.
“We’re hunting a fugitive,” Jordan explained. “If she was still here, you’d be looking at about a hundred more vehicles, including TV trucks. So I think you came out pretty well.”
Jean-Christophe looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “Are you saying Cara Campbell is no longer on the premises?”
“I’m saying the car needs to stay where it is for the moment.”
Wen arrived, ending the awkward exchange. When it became clear she was ignoring the hotel’s assistant manager, he scuttled off. Another blacked-out Explorer pulled up, and Crosby and Hart climbed in. It pulled out and Jordan was left standing with Wen.
“What did the waiter say?” he asked.
“The visual ID was shaky, but it has to be our girl. He said she hid behind a pillar and asked him to deliver a message to Stephanie van der Lind, who he knows because she’s, like, a regular.”
“So they all left separately?”
“As far as we know. Ellett’s reviewing video with the hotel’s security team now. I sent Crosby and Hart to van der Lind’s house—man, I’m already tired of saying her name. Hope you had a nice phone call home.”
“I oversee a department with a hundred and four employees,” he told her, not wanting to admit one of them, the grandmother who ran his department’s Facebook and X accounts, had been leaking information. “One of them told me Troy Silverman is apparently en route.”
“Remind me. Is he chasing the reward?”
“He’s chasing Campbell, anyway. He wants to be the next sheriff of Madera County.”
