Nothing.
I look down at the receipts again.
Nothing.
I’m just about to say to hell with it and shove everything off the bed when I look at the rope.
Rope.
Hardware store.
Receipts.
Missing clothes.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I dig for the receipts again, trying to read what the items were. When I see something that resembles rope, my chest constricts. I reach for the paper again and pace with it in my hands.
The numbers on the side are confusing, but it could be a map. Maybe it’s where they hid her clothes? There must be a reason they took them off her. Maybe they needed to hide their DNA? And suddenly, it slams into me.
Coordinates.
I glance down at the paper and the random numbers.
They’re coordinates!
Whatever is there, it’s the answer.
When I look up, Madison is nowhere to be found. With the paper gripped in my hand, I hurry to my laptop, waking it. I go into Google Maps for help, and I type in the numbers, hoping something will magically appear.
The circle loads, and finally, the coordinates square in on the Redwoods State Park in Ferndale. I stop breathing and choke for a second on my disbelief.
This is it. This is really it.
With clammy hands, I open the word doc and continue where I left off. I don’t know how long I sit there typing, but it’s long enough that I finish my coffee and sunrise streams through the curtains. I don’t stop. I don’t stop when my hands hurt. I don’t stop when my vision starts to blur. I don’t stop until I’m at my final paragraph. My proof.
After saving my work, I open my email, searching through my alerts for any news or keywords with Baz or any of the guys. There’s only one. Something about a pool party happening tonight at Baz’s resort. I know I should probably keep my distance, but I have to do something. He has to know.
I don’t even know if he’ll be back at the resort yet. He could still be in Las Vegas. They all could. Or they could all be here.
In the ghetto motel, I head down to the front desk, ringing the bell until the same potbellied disgusting man comes out from the back, much as he did when I first booked my room. His eyes trail up and down my body, and they settle on my face, his brows crinkling when he takes in my stressed state.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I probably look like a mess—maybe even worse than he does, but I need his help.
“I need a printer.”
He stares back at me dumbly. “And?”
I grind my teeth together. “I need to print something. It’s important.”
He raises a brow, then grins, leaning against the desk between us. “There’s a fee if you need to use the printer.”
I narrow my eyes. “This is a shitty motel.”
“You can always pay using other favors.” He shrugs.
I shoot him a glare that would eviscerate most men. I dig into my back pocket, pulling out my last wad of cash and slide over a hundred.
“Take it or leave it, asshole.”
He nods over his shoulder and grins, slipping the hundred into his pocket. “The printer’s back there.”
I curl my lip in distaste when I look at the printer and computer. There’s an open bag of Fritos and bean dip, and right next to the keyboard, there’s a pump of lotion and Kleenex. I almost gag when I think about what that could be used for.
Perching my bottom on the edge of his seat, I wake the computer with a grimace on my face, not wanting to touch anything that belongs to this man. When the screen comes to life, it opens to the Pornhub homepage, and I roll my eyes.
Seriously?
I open a new tab, logging into my email, and open the last doc I sent myself. I click print, and I wait anxiously as the printer wakes up from its slumber, mechanically spitting out my pages filled with words. About halfway through, I have to refill the paper tray. That’s how much I need to have printed.
Twenty minutes later, I have a thick stack of papers bundled in my arms, and I’m logging out of my email. I walk past the clerk, giving him a wide berth. His eyes widen when he gets a look at the thick stack in my arms.
“You’re all out of ink. But thanks,” I toss over my shoulder, hurrying back to the stairs.
“Hey! That’s gonna cost you more than a bill!” he yells after me.
“Have a great day!” I yell back, running up the stairs.
Back in my room, I take a shower, dress quickly, and make another pot of shitty coffee before I leave. With the stack secured in my arms, I take an Uber back to the resort.
I’m banned. I know that.
I likely won’t even be allowed inside the premises, but I need to get Baz’s attention. I need him to read it, so he’ll understand who his friends are and who he’s protecting.
With my Yankees cap pulled low over my head, I climb out of the car and shift my bag over my shoulder, slipping inside. I bypass the check-in desk entirely, instead walking down the hall. I glance conspicuously over my shoulder, making sure I’m not being followed. I jab at the elevator button frantically, hoping it’ll come. The faster I get up there, the less chance I have of being caught.
The doors slide open, and I hop in quickly; I’m just about to hit the penthouse floor when I realize my mistake.
Fucking hell.
I don’t have access anymore.
I smack my hand in the center of my forehead, trying to think. I just need to get on the top floor and figure out where the hell I can go from there. Maybe I can use the stairs? I can wait up there until someone opens a door, and I can say I lost my key card. With my mind made up, I jab the top floor that’s just below the penthouse.
The ride up is long. Much longer than I remember it being. The thick stack of papers is burning a hole through my bag and weighing heavily on my shoulder. The elevator pings, and when the doors slide open, I’m just about to hop out when I see who is waiting on the other side.
My stomach drops.
Shit.
Dan and three other security guards stand there scowling at me. I heave a deep sigh and step off, staring straight at Dan.
“Please, Dan. I need to speak to him. It’ll be quick. I promise. I have to show him something. I need him to understand.”
Dan and the other guards don’t budge. “I have strict orders to keep you off all premises.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Please, Dan. I need one minute. Just one,” I whisper, a tear trailing down my cheek. Though Dan’s face gives nothing away, his eyes start to soften. He suddenly glances down, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He brings it to his ear, his eyes on me the entire time.
“Okay. I’ll bring her up then.”
I stand a little taller and strain to hear who is on the other side of that call. Is it Baz? If he didn’t want to see me, why would he let me up?
Dan shoos off the security and beckons me back into the elevator, taking me to the penthouse. I shift toward him, trying to contain my tears and the sudden bout of anxiety.
“Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“You’re a good man.”
He seems uncomfortable with the praise. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches me, a grimace stealing over his features.
“I hope you don’t take offense, Ms. Williams, but you look like a mess.”
I glance down at myself, then look at the mirrored wall before me and cringe. I guess I do look like a mess.