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Wes ended the call. “Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t.”
He hovered, as though he didn’t believe she’d sit still, then walked into the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth and folded it as he crouched in front of her. Carefully, slowly, he wiped the blood away. The washcloth trailed over her cheek. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Does that hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head as hot tears spilled over her cheeks. “He’s getting away.”
“My concern is you,” Wes said. “You’re my priority. If that was him—”
“It was, Wes. Who else would it be?”
“If it was him,” he repeated, “there are surveillance videos. There’re parking lot cameras. Me running after him wasn’t gonna help, and I’m sure as fuck not walking away from you when you’re bleeding like this.”
He wiped the blood from her temple and went to the bathroom to rewet the washcloth, returning quickly. Gently, he pushed her hair back.
“Is it bad?”
He dabbed at her temple. “It’s not a big cut.”
The blood on the washcloth said otherwise.
He caught her dubious stare. “Head wounds are notorious bleeders. I don’t even know if you’ll need stitches.”
“I don’t know why this is happening.” The dizziness was clearing up, and anger was taking its place. The audacity of breaking in. The risk of entering her room while she was out. Bailey didn’t get it.
“We’re gonna figure it out.” A knock sounded. Wes gave her the washcloth, then slid his knuckles along the other cheek. “I promise.”
She nodded.
“Promise.” He smoothed her hair back, then answered the door.
The police arrived first, then the EMTs. Wes did most of the talking as she sat numb on the sofa. After inspecting the cut on her head, the EMTs said the same thing as Wes had, but they urged her to get checked out at the hospital for a possible concussion.
She’d explained that the dizziness was slowly lessening. That didn’t convince either EMT to let her stay at the hotel. No one agreed that a trip to the emergency room wouldn’t help right now. No one understood her desperation.
Wes reentered with a police officer. The woman introduced herself with a sympathetic but all-business smile. Detective Sergeant McGavins. She glanced at Bailey’s head and the ice pack hanging on her shoulder. “Mr. Wilder explained what you’re working on, Ms. Cosgrove.”
Her eyes darted to Wes. He flinched at the use of “Mr. Wilder.” He really didn’t like the word mister, did he? His dad must’ve done a number on him. “Please. Just Bailey.”
“Bailey,” the detective amended. “We rarely have problems at this hotel. Given everything that I’ve learned about your visit to New Jersey, this wasn’t random.”
She nodded.
“I want to be honest with you. I can’t promise you’re going to get your computer back.”
Bailey waved away the sergeant’s concern. “Everything is backed up to the cloud, and I travel with an old laptop. Just in case.”
“That’s good,” McGavins offered.
Bailey didn’t think anybody could break into her files. She used a fingerprint reader and a facial scanner to log in. But they’d tracked her even after Dean helped evade their tail. Not to mention breaking into her house with her security code. Because of the gruesome nature of her work and the sensitive information she had about victims and their families, she’d always gone above and beyond to password-protect and secure her documents. Maybe that would slow down someone from breaking into her documents. Unless Dean could use that to find who did this.
Thinking about organizing her next steps made her head pound. But they were so close to Caitie’s killer. Even if she had no clue who it might be. “Can you dust for fingerprints? Wes already said you might grab videos from the surveillance system. Anything to figure out who did this?”
The officer nodded. “Mr. Wilder mentioned you believe this might be who killed your sister.”
Bailey nodded. “I do.”
