Dark Guardian. Jan Hambright
in a nonchalant manner she didn’t feel. He’d set her damn nerves on fire and she was blowing it. There wasn’t much incognito about gawking at her enemy.
Chancing another look, she almost choked. In the instant between realization and reality, he’d slipped away.
She set down the cup, tossed a couple of bucks on the table and left the café.
Looking both ways, she crossed the street and entered the Gazette, determined to forget about the odd encounter. This was one strange town; it only stood to reason that Jack Trayborne was odd, too.
“Miss Morgan,” the receptionist said, looking up from behind a high counter positioned between the public and the newsroom, visible behind a half wall of glass. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to use the archives for a couple of hours this morning.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”
A zing of caution wiggled up her spine. “Is there a problem?” She glanced at the sign-in sheet on the counter. It was blank.
“No. No problem. The exterminator is coming in to spray this morning. Everything has been draped. No one is allowed down there right now.”
Arguing didn’t appear to be an option. Anyway, who could argue for exposure to chemicals.
“When can I get into the archives?” she asked, picking up the morning’s edition of the newspaper from the desk. The headline leaped out at her. Phantom Saves Elderly Couple from Plunge off Hwy 21.
Couple claims they never saw the man who saved their lives, but they don’t dispute that the phantom played a role in their miraculous rescue and they believe he exists…
“At the end of the week.”
“Hmm?” She snapped back into the conversation, still pondering the ridiculous article.
“I’ll come back then. Thanks.” Olivia put the newspaper down, turned and left the office, pausing on the sidewalk to get her irritation under control before she crossed the street again and headed for her car. Up until this point, the Gazette had been her only source of information. She’d used archived articles to establish a time line on the clinic and its nefarious activities, but she still had to obtain Ross’s medical file.
An involuntary shiver crept over her body and bloomed on her skin as goose bumps. If she had an explanation for what had happened last night she’d feel better, but the unknown aspects left her nerves in tatters. Things definitely went bump in the night around here.
Had she simply walked to her car and climbed in without being aware? It didn’t make sense, but neither did any of the things that had taken place in that creepy basement.
Strolling at an easy pace, she headed for her vehicle.
In the distance, a siren howled and a police cruiser whizzed past, lights flashing. It turned right onto a side street.
Somehow, the commotion seemed out of place in the sleepy town of five thousand residents, where everyone seemed to know everyone else.
Curiosity zipped through her. The police car was headed in the same direction as her hotel.
Picking up her pace, she reached her car, pulled her keys out of her pocket and climbed in. She fired the engine and pulled out onto the main drag.
At the intersection of Main and 10th, one block up, she took a left, then another, finally turning onto 9th street, headed for her hotel. Up ahead, she spotted flashing emergency lights.
Caution stirred in her blood. They looked like they were corralled in front of her hotel.
Olivia pushed down on the gas pedal, an extension of her need to get to the scene as soon as possible.
She pulled into the parking lot on the side of the Emory Hotel and climbed out of her car. Moving quickly, she entered the main entrance, noting a couple of officers standing at the front desk speaking with the clerk. There didn’t appear to be anything urgent going on. She headed for the elevator. Lights and sirens usually spelled trouble for someone.
The elevator glided to a stop, illuminating the number 4 above the door before it dinged and the doors slid open.
Olivia exited into the hallway and stopped. At the end of the corridor two more uniformed officers milled around, another cop with a notepad appeared to be questioning a guest. Realization slammed into her brain at the same moment she charged down the hall.
An officer looked up. “You can’t come in here, miss. We’re investigating a break-in.”
“It’s my room!”
He stepped back, motioning her inside.
Olivia walked through the open door, almost running into another cop who was snapping pictures with a digital camera.
“What happened?” she asked, staring at the interior of the hotel room she’d occupied for the last five days. Worry laced through her as she looked for her laptop in the upheaval.
They got my laptop?
“This is your room?” the officer asked, turning his attention on her.
“Yeah.” Olivia swallowed, staring in disbelief at the chaos someone had inflicted on the place. The mattress was ripped open, stuffing scattered on the floor like puffy clouds. Dresser drawers were yanked out, her clothes tossed in every direction. One of the two lamps in the room lay smashed on the floor. The place was uninhabitable.
“Did you have valuables, miss?”
“Olivia Morgan.”
“Miss Morgan.”
“My laptop. Nothing else really matters.” Caution latched on to her nerves. She stepped to the window, pulled back the drapes and stared down into the parking lot.
Whoever broke in knew she wasn’t in her room. Was she being followed?
At the back entrance of the lot, she caught a glimpse of black, just in time to see Jack Trayborne’s Jaguar turn right out of the parking lot and jettison away.
Anger sluiced in her veins, but she held her tongue. Was it possible he’d trashed her room and stolen her laptop? It did contain her research and the makings of her exposé about the Black’s Cove Clinic. Information that could eventually convict the Trayborne Foundation and the clinic for medical mistakes.
“Any idea how they got in?”
“We’re going to dust for prints, but because the window is fixed, we believe the perpetrator came in through the door.”
“My laptop is a Mac. I have the serial number written down at home. I’ll have to phone it in to you after I leave.”
“Anything else?”
“No. I can probably salvage my clothes and personal items.”
The officer scribbled on a police report. “Do you know of anyone who might have reason to break into your room?”
Jack Trayborne. “No. I’ve been in town for less than a week. I don’t know anyone, really.”
“Okay, Miss Morgan. We’ll do what we can to catch the perpetrator and recover your laptop. Do you have a cell phone number where we can reach you?”
Olivia rattled off her number and turned toward the door. “I’m going to get another room. I’ll stop by later to collect my things.”
The officer nodded and she stepped out into the hallway, striding past an officer questioning a hotel guest. The man appeared to be more agitated with each question the officer posed.
“Excuse me.” Olivia moved past them only half listening to the exchange.
“I’m not crazy. I know what I saw!” The exasperated man’s raised voice sliced into her nerves and tuned her hearing. Her steps faltered and she