Page 159 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

Rebecca had thought about the detectives. She wasn’t sure she liked either one—Rivers seemed odd, and Mendoza had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Rainier, but she felt they both were on their game, that they would leave no stone unturned in locating her sister. And being here, stuck in the hotel room, spinning her wheels and sick with worry about Megan, letting her fears assail her, wasn’t healthy.

“Mom—I have responsibilities in Seattle. You know, like a job.”

“Oh, phooey! How many times have you told me you could work from anywhere as long as you have a laptop?”

Rebecca silently cursed herself for being so forthright with her mother as Lenora went on, “I’m sure Angelica will understand.”

Before she could argue, Lenora had claimed another call was coming in and disconnected.

Yeah, right.

So bogus, Mom.

But Lenora had been right about one thing. Rebecca could work from Riggs Crossing. As long as she had her laptop, an Internet connection, and electricity. Well, and inspiration. There was always that. And it was in short supply lately.

Worse yet, Angelica had given her blessing for Rebecca to stay in Riggs Crossing when Rebecca had phoned her.

“It’s where you belong. Until you find your sister. There is nothing more important than family,” Angelica had said breathlessly as she was nearly out the door to catch a flight to L.A., where she was certain the next Vision in White shop would be established. There was no arguing with her when she was in a rush. “Look, you stay there, do what you can do, and keep in touch. E-mail or text or call. This will all work out. I only pray you locate Megan, and soon. If you find out anything, call me!”

“I will.”

“Good. Gotta run if I want to catch my flight! Hopefully by this time next week, we’ll have a Southern California location! Wish me luck. Ciao!”

“Buona fortuna a te!” Rebecca had said, but Angelica was already gone, leaving Rebecca with a phone pressed to her ear as she stared out the hotel room window at the familiar street below. Suddenly, she felt very, very alone in this small, out-of-the-way town, where everyone appeared to know everyone—except her.

Megan was still missing.

Charity Spritz had been murdered.

And James Cahill was involved with Sophia Russo. That didn’t sit well. There was something about the woman that bothered her, even though they hadn’t really met. Her feelings were jaded by her sister’s opinion, but there was something about Sophia that seemed fake or suspicious or—

“Stop!” she said aloud, as she didn’t know the woman. The truth was that James Cahill’s interest in other women, including Megan, still bugged her. Which was ludicrous, all things considered. “Get over it,” she said through clenched teeth. Her time with James was over, and it was for the best. She just had to focus on Megan.

Where the hell was she?

When Rebecca had first driven to Riggs Crossing, she had been certain that this was just another one of Megan’s overly dramatic diva stunts. Now, though, she wasn’t as convinced. Never before had one of her sister’s disappearing acts been so lengthy. Or so worrisome.

This time, the situation felt different.

She remembered the frantic phone call she’d received from Megan, how freaked-out the younger woman had been. Now, Rebecca felt foolish to have thought she was being played. She should have realized Megan’s panic was real. But how could she when Megan was such a drama queen, such a great actress . . .

But Megan hadn’t been acting or playing a part when she flipped out after her fight with James. She’d been furious, and for the first time, Rebecca wondered if Megan had been distraught enough to do something rash, hurt herself or worse. That didn’t feel right. The idea of suicide was hard to imagine, as Megan had always displayed a zest for life. Yes, she was emotional, her temper legendary, but she wouldn’t harm herself. And certainly not just to prove a point.

The last person who had seen Megan had been James Cahill and she, Rebecca, had walked out on him the other night. Before getting any answers.

Maybe it was time to fix that.

He wouldn’t exactly be rolling out the red carpet for her, but she’d track him down. He had to know something more.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she snagged her keys from the dresser, slipped on a jacket and scarf, and headed out the door. Her near-frozen Subaru was waiting for her in the parking lot, and after giving the windshield a quick swipe with the ice scraper, she climbed behind the wheel and headed out of town.

She stopped at James’s house, found he wasn’t home, and drove to the inn, where she spied his Explorer parked and collecting a layer of snow.

First, she checked the hotel, its lobby festooned in ribbons, lights, poinsettias, and, of course, a Christmas tree that climbed nearly two stories. One man sat reading near a fire burning in a river-rock fireplace; another couple emerged from an elevator. Music and laughter filtered in from the bar, where people had gathered on bar stools and café tables.

But the front desk stood unmanned, no receptionist at the computer.

Rebecca waited anxiously, searching for a bell to ring, but could find none. Irritated, she looked for anyone who might be able to help her and spied two women huddled deep in conversation beneath a glowing EXIT sign that marked a hallway leading toward the rear of the building. The older of the two, a wasp-slender woman with a dour expression and over-permed brown hair, was agitated, a muscle near her forehead ticking. A name tag was pinned to her jacket. It read DONNA BUNN, MANAGER, and she was speaking rapidly, almost out of breath. “—never happened before. It’s just not like her not to call in if she wasn’t going to show up for her shift.”

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