Dark Guardian. Jan Hambright
off the bed! There was no one in that room, Officer. No one at all.”
Olivia stopped in front of the elevator, fighting a wave of anxiety that couldn’t be contained. He wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy, even though she felt a little nuts when she replayed the odd things that went on last night at the clinic.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. She stepped inside and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors glided closed and she tried to relax, but every muscle in her body had other ideas.
What if she’d been followed here? Caution laced through her. Maybe she should change hotels. But what good would it do? Maybe she was better off staying put. The security in the hotel would be ramped up now that there had been a break-in.
The elevator reached the lobby level, the doors opened and she walked to the front desk.
“Hi.”
A starched-looking woman in a white blouse and tailored blue jacket instantly smiled at her.
“Miss Morgan. We’re so sorry about the break-in. We carry insurance. Perhaps you’d like to fill out a form for the replacement of any items that were stolen?”
“Yeah. I’d like that. But right now, I need another room.”
“I’ll see what’s available.” The woman moved to her computer.
Olivia leaned on the counter, listening to the clack of the keys.
“You’ve been booked into the Presidential Suite on the sixth floor.”
She straightened. “Really. By whom?”
“The owner, Miss Morgan.”
“And who would that be?”
“Jack Trayborne.”
Anger sizzled in her veins and she nearly let out a growl.
“That’s very nice of Mr. Trayborne.” She pasted a smile on her lips. Was Jack Trayborne aware of her mission in Black’s Cove? She certainly had to consider the possibility that she’d been found out. Maybe the receptionist at the Gazette had ratted her out and told him about her long hours in the dusty archives. Maybe he was the one who’d destroyed her room and taken her laptop to see how far she’d gotten?
“He came as soon as the manager alerted him to what had happened. He’s extremely sorry your security was compromised and requests that you have carte blanche, beginning with the suite.”
The phone call she’d seen him take in front of the coffee shop?
A measure of resolve soothed her irate nerves. Was it a ploy to placate her with creature comforts? Or a genuine gesture? She couldn’t be sure. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take another standard room, please.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, Miss Morgan?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t keep her foot from tapping against the thick carpet in front of the desk. She wouldn’t be put off the scent by his goodwill. She knew plenty of his type. Money didn’t buy character.
“Here you are, room 304.” She handed her the key card. “If you change your mind, be sure to let us know.”
Olivia took the key. “Thank you, but this will do.” She nodded and headed for the elevator, more determined than before to find out what Jack Trayborne was hiding at the Black’s Cove Clinic, a curiosity she planned to satisfy tonight no matter how terrifying she found that damn basement.
OLIVIA STARED INTO FOG as thick as her Grandma Edna’s gravy. She couldn’t see five feet in front of her as she shone her flashlight down at the cobble drive leading up to the gatehouse.
It was like a bad rerun; worse the second time around. The only saving factor was, if she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be seen.
She reached the gatehouse and found the gate wide open. Moisture coated her sweatshirt, its dampness reaching clear down to her bones. She shivered as she pushed through the gate, aiming for the shadow of the clinic she could almost make out in the mist.
She planned to use the same window to enter, if it hadn’t been closed and locked. The thought put a measure of worry in her head. What if she couldn’t get the file?
Olivia shook off the notion as she reached the right side of the building. She hurried along the side and around the back corner, pausing only once to get her bearings.
Breathing deeply, she pulled the earthy scent of the fog deep into her lungs.
Pushing on, she scaled the fire escape and climbed through the window she’d used before. Relief worked through her. Things were going so easily.
Too easily?
She straightened and pulled her Taser out of her tool bag. This time, she’d come prepared to defend herself. From whom or what, she didn’t know, but she didn’t plan to lose an entire hour of her life again in some unknown scenario.
Weapon ready and flashlight showing the way, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway. She reached the staircase and took the steps two at a time. Breezing through the sitting area and the dining room, she didn’t slow until she reached the swinging door that led into the kitchen.
Easing it open, she mentally prepared for the stench of oil and bleach. She stepped through the door and let it swing behind her.
She hurried through the galley and down the stairs, anxious to get in and get out. The door into the storage room stood open. She pulled up short and shone her light around the interior.
“Damn.” The place had been cleaned up. Even the towering metal shelves were in the upright position, not an easy task judging by their size. Certainly whoever had put the place back together knew there’d been some kind of fight down here. Had they increased security?
A zap of caution jolted her and she instantly listened for any sounds of pursuit.
Nothing.
Stepping into the room, she reached for the light switch and flipped it on, surprised that even the bulbs had been replaced, but she didn’t extinguish her flashlight this time.
Easing along the rows, she found the one where she’d discovered the file box she wanted. Raising the light beam to the uppermost shelf, she searched for the box. It was gone.
Dread shot holes in her resolve. Was it possible whoever had been in the room that night took the information? Was it possible someone knew what she was after?
About to give up, Olivia glanced down, the edge of her beam flicking over a file box on the lowest shelf.
Her heart rate kicked up. She dropped to her knees and reached for the box. She swallowed and put her Taser down on the floor, then the flashlight.
It was her lucky day…night, she decided as she pulled the lid off the box. The light penetration from overhead was negligible and she picked up the flashlight, sticking it between her teeth and aiming it into the box as she flipped through the files one by one.
They weren’t alphabetized, something that would have saved her time.
Silently, she repeated the names on the files until she reached the one with “Morgan, Ross A” printed on the tab.
Olivia’s breath clogged in her lungs, whether a result of the dusty files or the emotion choking her throat, she wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain, she’d found what she was looking for.
Slowly, she opened the file and pulled the flashlight out of her mouth, focusing its beam on the faded typewritten pages, paper clipped to the inside of the manila folder.
There was the standard information—height, weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, patient I.D. She studied the sketch of a human foot with three small dots on it in a triangular pattern. Frustrated, she flipped up the first page of the three-page file, looking for the doctor’s notes, the diagnosis,