Page 99 of Colton's Last Resort

“I’ll place the call,” he finished. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, then walked away as Adam’s speech wrapped to the roused clatter of applause.

“Ms. Fitzgibbons?” Laura called. She knocked again on the door of Ariana’s bungalow, louder this time. “Ms. Fitzgibbons!”

No answer came. The windows remained dark. Laura cupped her hands around her face to peer through the nearest one.

A shaft of moonlight revealed an empty couch and table.

If Ariana had returned to the bungalow before sunset, she would have left a light burning before she’d departed again.

Trying not to panic, Laura sprinted along the path to the VIP bungalows.

When she reached Bungalow Two, where she knew Doug was staying on CJ’s dime, she slowed.

Noah had made her promise not to approach a suspect. That promise made her hesitate on the doorstep.

She wasn’t approaching a suspect, she reasoned. Doug was back at the rock labyrinth, where she knew Roland would watch him.

Raising her fist, she knocked on the door. When she heard nothing inside, she pressed her ear to the door, willing her pulse to stop knocking so that she may better hear a call for help.

When none came, she peered through the window. The blackout curtains had been drawn.

Frustrated, she tore open her beaded handbag and extracted her master key. If Ariana was in there and she wasn’t answering, Laura could only assume she had been drugged, like Allison. That maybe she, too, had been given too much and was...

She swiped the master key. The lock chirped and a green light blinked. Laura pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She switched on the light beside the door.

There was no sign of a struggle. As she shut the door behind her, she peered at the couch. The cushions weren’t mussed. A pair of men’s shoes sat tidily near the door to the patio. There was a glass of wine, unfinished, on the kitchen counter.

Laura stared at the last sips of dark red wine. She saw the faint impression of lips on the rim. No lipstick.

Through the glass door, the pool sat undisturbed. Folded towels lay in the corner on a raised surface, compliments of Housekeeping. Laura counted one, two, three. None of them had been used.

She twitched the curtain back in place. There was no sign of a woman here. No sign that anything nefarious had taken place.

She eyed the short passage to the bedroom and clutched her handbag tighter.

If she could find proof...if she could help Noah nail Doug DeGraw...this would all be over. Allison’s killer would be caught.

Laura stepped toward the bedroom door. It was open. She turned on the overhead light, illuminating the white linens on the bed.

She scanned the space, wondering where to start. Doug’s toiletry bag lay on the dresser. His suitcase was open on the rack near the bathroom.

She searched all the outside pockets first, then lay a hand flat between folded shirts. After running her hand around the inside rim to no avail, she checked the toiletry bag. Careful not to disorganize the high-end men’s products she found inside, she shifted them one by one. Nothing hid underneath them except a sample sleeve of under-eye cream.

She stepped back, making sure everything looked exactly as it had before she’d begun her search. Frowning, she turned a slow circle.

Where else would a guilty man hide evidence of wrongdoing?

She opened the drawer on the nightstand. Nothing there—not a single dust mote.

The corner of the sheet stuck out kitty-corner underneath the coverlet. It had slipped from its holding under the mattress.

...under the mattress...

Hadn’t Fulton found Dayton Ferraday’s drug stash under the mattress or inside it?

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