Page 55 of 25 Alive

The mild-looking gent put a hand on Cindy’s shoulder after he rose from his chair and said, “Thanks for getting in touch, honey. So long.”

Cindy’s normally bright expression wilted once Palmer was out of sight, and she asked me for my thoughts.

I said, “On the surface, he seems credible. But serial killers, as you know, tend to be careful. They don’t leave prints or DNA, or accidentally confess to a cop. What do you think?”

“If he hadn’t spent years picking up women in this hotel, if he hadn’t called me ‘honey,’ I’d be more inclined to cross him off my list.”

“So, you still view him as a person of interest.”

“He hasn’t changed my mind. I’m going to have to pry into his life a little bit. Or a lot.”

“Virtually?”

“No. I’m going to hunt him to his lair.”

I nodded and slid Palmer’s fork off his plate and wrapped it gently in a cloth napkin.

Cindy gave me a smile, revealing her totally charming two front teeth that crossed over a teeny bit.

When the waiter came to the table, I went ahead and ordered myself the banana pancakes all the way.

CHAPTER82

BAO WAS STARTLED awake. What was happening? It was her nurse, Ana, shaking her by the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Bao asked in Spanish.

Ana replied in English. “Everything all good, Mrs. Wong. You are to leave hospital now.” Switching to Spanish, she quietly added, “Four FBI agents are here and have showed IDs to the fourth-floor head nurse and me.”

Ana was a small, efficient woman of fifty, and she moved quickly, following orders.

Bao had a sick feeling about her abrupt eviction from the hospital. She had been parked here for safety. There were cops in the corridors, at the intersections between departments, at the heads of stairs, at turns leading to the elevators. It was far more dangerous outside, where, given a clear shot, the Diablo cartel could take her out in seconds.

“Ana? What time is it?” she asked in English.

“Eight and fifteen.”

“I have to stay longer. Did the doctor say it’s okay to release me?”

“Sí. Dr. Rodriguez say, Mrs. Wong all good.’”

Ana fussed around her, but Bao was thinking about the four men who had come to take her from the hospital. They may have been vetted as FBI, but they could easily be fakes. Imposters. Maybe the cartel had found her. But they didn’t have their hands on her yet.

Ana was tugging and pulling Bao into a standing position beside the bed. When she was on her feet, she let Ana disrobe her and re-dress her in the same dusty, soiled clothes she’d been wearing during the gunfight.

“You be home soon,” Ana said in English.

She leaned toward Bao as she buttoned her shirt and said softly in Spanish, “Mrs. Wong, it is not safe for you here anymore. These men are your people. They will answer your questions and take you to airplane.”

Then, in a louder voice, Ana switched back to English again and said, “Sit down, please, Mrs. Wong. I put shoes on now.”

Bao asked the nurse, “Will you hand me my purse, Ana?”

The nurse opened the closet and handed Bao her brown leather shoulder bag she’d brought to a gun fight. Bao felt around inside the bag. Wallet. Makeup kit. But her gun was gone. Of course.

Bao opened, then shut, her mouth. She had used her gun. It was either being kept as evidence or lying on the roadside.

She looked up as Ana opened the door for a tall, clean-shaven man in a dark gray suit who walked into the room. He had a hard look in his eyes and, in his hand, a shiny FBI badge.

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