Page 42 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

“It’s missing.”

He walked into the dining room and saw the drawer where he’d always stashed his pistol. It was hanging open, the Glock not inside.

They think you killed her.

For the first time, he realized that until Megan was found, he would be a primary target of an investigation looking into her disappearance.

“I told ya, you shouldn’t have left the hospital,” Bobby reminded him. “I don’t know why that doctor let you out.”

“And I told you, it was my decision.”

“A piss-poor one, if you ask me.”

“No one did.”

“Look, if you want, you can bunk with me,” he said. “The missus won’t mind.”

James wasn’t so sure of that. “The missus” was Bobby’s third wife, Cynthia—“Just call me Cyn”—a buxom brunette who had always viewed James with a calculating eye, forever, he thought, measuring him up, her eyes thinning behind the smoke of one of her imported cigarettes. He didn’t doubt that “Cyn” had googled him many times.

“You and Ralph can bunk in the second bedroom. Now that Cyn’s kid is gone, it’s free, and Ralph, I think he likes The Princess.”

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James didn’t believe it. The Princess, Cyn’s long-haired cat, whose entire name seemed to be Princess-Baby, wasn’t all that likable.

“Thanks, but I’ll stay here,” he said, feeling his lips twist. “Home sweet home, and all that, y’know.”

“More like ‘Home sweet disaster,’ if ya ask me, but hell, it’s your life.” He scowled at the stairs. “You able to get up to your room?”

“If I have to.” But not tonight. The steps, which he’d always taken two at a time without a second thought, now seemed formidable. And there was no food in the fridge. And the house was filthy, almost unlivable.

Ralph was pacing at the foot of the stairs, looking up to the second floor and whining as if to say, Come on, let’s go to bed.

“Okay, how ’bout this? I stay at the inn for a few days until I can get this place right.” He owned the place, and the hotel had clean rooms, maid service, telephones, working Wi-Fi, and room service connected to the restaurant and bar.

“What about Ralph?”

“One of the dog-friendly rooms.”

“Cyn and The Princess will be disappointed.”

James snorted. But Bobby was nodding, so he asked, “Would you mind going upstairs and grabbing some of my things? In the closet. Jeans and a couple shirts. I’ve got a shaving kit in the bathroom.”

“Not a problem. I’ll be right back down.” He started up the stairs, and Ralph, the traitor, was bounding ahead, leading the way.

* * *

Rebecca’s heart was beating like a drum. With her ear pressed to the door of James Cahill’s bedroom, she strained to listen, catching only bits and pieces of the conversation. It sounded like they might be leaving—James and some other man and the dog. God, the dog. It had come galloping up the stairs just as Rebecca was about to leave. She’d been able to slip back into the room, but the dog hadn’t been fooled and had whined and barked.

Now, it sounded like someone was coming again. She looked around frantically at the closet and bathroom, then under the bed. No, no, and no! The only hiding spot was a smaller closet, one with a door barely three feet tall, and she shot across the room, ducked down to the point that she was nearly kneeling, and folded herself inside the cold, dark attic space where she suspected insects, bats, and mice had probably nested.

Her skin crawling at the thought, she heard the door to the bedroom swing open, a light snap on, and then the dog barking and lunging at the door to this attic space. Oh, God, no! How could she explain that she’d come here looking for some kind of clue to her sister’s whereabouts?

“Ralph! Stop it, ya fool dog! Christ, what’s in there? A raccoon?”

She half-expected an angry hiss to come from the dark corners of the space where luggage and boxes and broken furniture had been shoved. The dust was thick, and she had to hold her nose to keep from sneezing.

The dog was still going at it. She heard his sharp barks and saw his shadow in the thin line of light shining beneath the door.

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