Page 65 of Lethal Game

"I'm not talking about Henry, although, I hope he makes it."

He flung her a grim look. "I don't know, Alisa. That's why I need to go into the motel first. I've already called my team. They're on their way. They will probably get there before us."

"That car that almost hit us…it could have belonged to Novikov."

"I know. We'll look into it."

She stared out the window for several long minutes, then looked back at him. "I'm scared, Jason."

He stopped at a light, his expression softening as he gazed at her. "I know. Maybe this is no consolation, but Henry said that Novikov needs your father for something. That suggests he's still alive."

She grabbed the lifeline he was throwing her. "That's true. They won't kill him, at least not yet. But how long does he have? If Henry had only given us the address yesterday. If my dad dies, Henry is partly responsible."

"He was being loyal to his friend, Alisa, and he didn't give up your dad easily. You saw what they did to him. Frankly, I'm surprised they left him alive. That rarely happens."

"Maybe they thought he wasn't going to make it. And he might not." She blew out a breath. "He said my father was a brilliant chemist. What would Novikov need a chemist for?" As soon as the question left her mouth, she shook her head and said, "Never mind. I don't want you to answer that."

Jason continued through the intersection without a word.

"Chemical weapons, right?" she asked a moment later.

"That would be my guess."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I want to say my father would never do something related to chemical weapons. But then, I didn't even know he was a chemist, that he was once involved with a terrorist on the FBI's most wanted list." Her voice rose with every word until she was almost shrieking.

To his credit, Jason let her ramble without commenting or telling her to calm down. Maybe that's because he was smart enough to know she didn't want to calm down. She was terrified and angry, and every emotion in between those two was rocketing through her so fast she felt like she was being battered by feelings she couldn't even define. She felt enormously overwhelmed, and as much as she wanted to go to the motel and find out if her father was there, she also wasn't sure she could handle it if he wasn't.

"Keep breathing," Jason told her. "Breathe in for five and blow out for ten—slowly."

She followed his instructions, finding that the counting of breaths did help to distract her brain from trying to race in a dozen different directions at the same time.

Ten minutes later, Jason pulled into the motel parking lot, which was already crowded with black SUVs and two police cars.

Jason got out to talk to two men who were standing by the front door of a first-floor guestroom. She rolled down the window so she could hear their conversation.

"He's not in the room," one man said.

Her heart jumped at his words, and she instinctively got out of the car to join them, ignoring Jason's pointed look. There was a heavy police presence; she couldn't believe she was in any danger. "My dad isn't inside?" she asked.

"This is Alisa Hunt," Jason told the men. "Agents Flynn MacKenzie and Nick Caruso."

The blond-haired Flynn gave her a quick nod. "Your father is not in the room. The manager said a van went racing out of here about ten minutes before we arrived."

"If he's not there, can I go inside?" she asked. "I need to see the room, to see where he's been staying."

"We're waiting for forensics," Flynn said. "But if you want to take her in…"

She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping the interior of the very modest motel room. There was one king bed that wasn't made. Several suitcases and boxes were in one corner of the room. One suitcase was open, with clothes spilling out. There were more clothes on the floor. There was also a chair that had been turned over and broken. The old TV monitor was shattered. The coffee pot looked like it had been flung against the wall, leaving coffee dripping down the tired wallpaper.

Worst of all were the spots of red on the bedspread and the floor. Not as much blood as she'd seen pooling under Henry's body, but enough to make her feel sick at the thought of that being her dad's blood, that he'd been beaten like Henry had, that he was in pain and in trouble. She turned around, walking straight into Jason's chest.

He caught her around the waist and held her there as she buried her face in his shirt, needing his solid strength to keep her on her feet.

"Let's get out of here," he said quietly. "There's nothing to see, Alisa."

His words lifted her head. She looked into his compassionate blue eyes and felt his gaze steady her. Then she glanced back atthe boxes in the corner, the things her father had taken out of his house before the fire.

"One second," she said, feeling a new energy. She moved toward the boxes. The top one was open, and inside she could see photo frames. "He brought the pictures from the house," she said, wanting to look through them but mindful of her promise not to touch anything. "Maybe not everything is lost."

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