Chapter 6
“Beckett, open up.” I bang on her door again, frustrated that she didn’t answer her phone and that I had to drive all the way over here to give her bad news to her face.
My captain ripped me a new one earlier for using resources to look into a closed case that’s not in my jurisdiction, and he’s ordered me to stop.
I nearly got suspended when I argued back, but here we are.
“Beckett, it’s Shawn.”
Still nothing.
My stomach begins to twist with unease. Surely, she wouldn’t be sleeping through this…right? Not wanting to leave the door, I withdraw my cell phone to call the front desk. But as I start to, the elevator doors ding, and a man wearing a golden nametag, carrying an armful of towels, steps off.
“Hey, do you work here?” I ask.
He nods.
I pull the badge out of my shirt and show it to him. “Detective Sampson. I need to get into this room. Now.”
“I need to call my mana—”
“I have probable cause, and I need to get into this room. The seconds you’re wasting by making a call we both know will result in me getting what I need anyway could mean all the difference. Open the door.” I’m being intense, and everything is probably fine.
But what if it’s not?
Clearly frustrated, the guy reaches into his pocket and withdraws a white keycard. I place my hand on the hilt of my weapon, ready to draw if anything is off, and shove into the room.
It’s pitch black.
I flip on the light switch, and warm light illuminates the very reason she wasn’t answering. My blood runs cold while my heart is pounding at a rate that would likely set off alarms on a monitor.
Rushing forward, I fall to my knees beside Beckett’s unconscious body and lean forward to feel for a pulse. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slack.
“Is she dead?” the man behind me asks.
Please, God, no. Please let her be alive.
Breathing a sigh of relief when I feel the steady thumping of her pulse, I turn toward the door where the hotel employee is standing, wide-eyed, his face pale. “Call 9-1-1,” I order. “Now.”
“Okay. Okay,” he repeats, dropping the towels and yanking his cell phone out of his pocket.
With that handled, I turn my attention back to Beckett. Her lipstick is smeared, her hair a mess, but that could be from the fight. There’s a fresh bruise on her forehead, but her clothes are all still in place.
Even her boots are laced up.
“Get me a cold washcloth,” I order him as soon as he hangs up the phone. “Beckett?” I say her name loudly, cradling her face as I do. “Beckett.”
“Here.” The man offers me a wet washcloth, so I slip it behind her neck and hold it there, hoping the cold snap will wake her up.
Within seconds, those gorgeous brown eyes that captivated me from the moment we met flutter open, and she stares up at me, confused.
“Shawn?” Her voice is gravelly, and she winces in pain.
“Go downstairs and wait for the paramedics,” I tell the employee.
“On it.” He turns and rushes out of the room, the door slamming behind him.
“I’m going to get you up, okay?” I say gently as I move the rest of her tangled hair from her face.
She nods and starts to sit up. I guide her slowly, not wanting to move too fast. Then, I reach down and lift her into my arms and carry her over toward the bed. As I sit her on the edge, I kneel in front of her.
“Do you remember what happened?”
She swallows hard. “I came back, and someone was here.” Reaching up, she touches her throat. It’s covered by a turtleneck, so I can’t see much, but it’s clearly bothering her.
“Are you wearing something under your sweater?”
She nods, then reaches down to lift it over her head. I help, trying to keep her from moving too fast. When it’s tossed aside, I kneel again and brush the hair from her neck.
The moment I see the handprints branded into her skin—an ugly, dark red and splotchy—an unfamiliar level of rage burns hot and fast through me.
She was strangled.
I have to take a calming breath in order to formulate a rational thought. Focus, Sampson. She needs you focused. “Did you see who did this?”
Her body begins to tremble, and tears fill her eyes. “No. I didn’t. It was dark.”
“Come here.” I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her as she crumbles. Her shoulders shake, her entire body quivering while she realizes just how close she came to dying tonight.
The truth is: I’m shaken up, too.
Consumed with the idea that I came so close to losing what was never really mine.
That the world was nearly robbed of all she has to offer.
Thank You, God. Thank You for keeping her alive.
Had she fought? Had she screamed for help, and no one had come?
“He told me,” she starts as she pulls away, “that if I didn’t stop looking, I would end up dead, too.” She coughs, sucking in a ragged breath as she does.
Which means this attack is tied to the case the captain insists I drop.
One thing is certain: Even if it costs me my badge, I’m not walking away now.
“Listen to me.” I push her back enough so I can look into her wild eyes.
“You’re not going to die, okay? They didn’t want you dead, or you would be.
” I hate that it’s the truth. That she clearly wasn’t much of a match for whoever was after her, but pulling punches in a case like this only ends up with someone dead.
She nods then wipes some of her tears away.
“How long ago did this happen?”
She takes a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t know.
I came up here around six-forty-five?” Beckett presses her fingers to her temples.
“My head hurts so bad.” Her hand slips down from her head toward her throat, flaring my anger all over again when I follow it with my gaze and take note of the bruises.
“That was ten minutes ago,” I note as I check my watch. Another wave of fresh anger burns hot and fast through me. Which means I just missed him. Did I pass him on the street when I was coming into the hotel?
“He put something over my nose and mouth. It smelled sweet? But like it could be used as a cleaner, too.”
“Probably chloroform,” I reply. Which means he was out of here literally minutes before I got here. Otherwise, she would have already been awake.
Someone knocked out with chloroform doesn’t stay out for hours like they do in the movies. Depending on how much she was exposed to, she would have been out for less than ten minutes.
“I thought I was going to die,” she says. “I really thought I was going to die.” Her whole body is shaking, her teeth chattering.
Sirens scream in the distance, growing closer with every passing moment.
“You didn’t,” I reassure her. “You’re alive.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “What was Paul into?” she whispers. “What is going on that’s worth killing for?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to figure it out.”
Whoever did this wasn’t simply trying to scare her—they wanted to leave a mark. A visual reminder that, if she doesn’t back off, the next time, she won’t walk away.
How they found out she was looking into this, I’m not sure.
My best guess is that someone is monitoring those files I requested from the Washington State Police office that handled the original investigation.
They probably discovered she was with me at the precinct and decided she was the easier mark.
Cowards. They went after her and not me.
I rub the heel of my palm against my aching chest. Since I personally called and requested those files rather than submit a formal request, only the people I spoke with knew about it.
There’s a dirty cop somewhere.
By attacking her, they just painted a massive bullseye on them. I will find them. And I will make them pay for what they did to her.
It’s not a threat—it’s a promise.
“Thank you,” I tell the paramedics as they step away from Beckett.
“We tried to get her to let us take her in, but she refused. Still, might not be a bad idea for her to get checked out,” David Glover comments. He’s the same paramedic who tended to me when I got shot a few years ago. We’ve got a good rapport, and I’m glad he was on call tonight.
“I’ll talk to her.”
He nods. “You good?”
“I’m not the one who nearly died.”
“No, but you look pretty shaken up.” David clasps a hand on my shoulder. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Is it that obvious?
“No problem.”
As he and the other paramedics leave, I cross over toward where Beckett is seated on the bed, now wearing a baggy t-shirt I’d pilfered from her suitcase to cover the tank top she’d been in before.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and get checked out?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I hate hospitals.”
“It might be—”
“I’m okay,” she interrupts. The shock has worn off, leaving her angry and so exhausted she looks like one light breeze might knock her right over. I need to get her out of here and somewhere she can rest safely.
Then we can reassess.
Kneeling in front of her, I stare up into her dark almond eyes. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything? How he smelled? What he sounded like?”
“No,” she says. “He was—” She trails off and touches her throat as tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes.
The tears have been coming off and on over the past forty minutes since the paramedics and uniforms arrived, and her expression betrays just how frustrated she is at herself for not being able to remember anything.
“It’s all a haze. I only remember what he said.
His voice was distorted. I hit him in the nose.
” Her eyes widen. “Could there be blood somewhere? He was wearing a mask, but maybe?”
“We’ll check,” I assure her, though given she has none on her fist, I’m guessing the mask he was wearing prevented any splatter.
She nods.
“Don’t worry about the rest right now, okay? We’ll find something.” I push to my feet and survey the room once again. Most of the crime scene team has left, but a few remain behind, packing up what little evidence we have.
They bagged the sweatshirt Beckett was wearing when she was attacked. I’m hoping we’ll get a print somewhere in the room, but I know we won’t find one. Not since he had a mask and gloves on. He was careful.
Since there was no forced entry, my best guess is he lifted a maid’s hotel key and slipped inside when no one was looking. The hotel is currently looking into that, though that confirmation won’t necessarily come with a new lead; it’ll just be another answer.
I clench my hands into fists at my sides. Either way, I’ll find him. And I won’t be letting Beckett out of my sight until I do.
“Do you have things in the bathroom?” I ask her.
She nods. “Just my toothbrush and shower stuff. Why?”
“I’ll get it. You’re not staying here.” I turn toward the bathroom right as my partner strolls in from the hallway.
“How is she?” he asks, keeping his voice low and gesturing toward Beckett, who is still sitting on the bed, legs crossed, eyes closed.
“Shaken up, but alive. The area canvas turn up anything?”
My partner runs his hand through his dark hair. “Unfortunately, no one saw anything. I’ve got a uniform checking security cameras now, but whoever this guy was, he knew how to stay out of sight. We’ve got nothing right now. But that’ll change. It always does.”
“Call me when you have something.” I push past my partner and into the bathroom. After sticking her toothbrush back into its holder and re-packing small bottles of shampoo and conditioner into a travel bag, I head back out and stuff them into the front pouch of her suitcase.
“You taking her to the hospital?” my partner questions.
“No,” I reply. “Finish looking at that footage, and call me if you find anything.”
“You got it.”
I don’t mention the threat delivered by her attacker. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I get the feeling I need to keep this close to the chest until I get a chance to talk to the captain.
I can’t risk him putting someone else as lead on this.
As Beckett gets to her feet, Anderson offers her a smile. “I hope you feel better. We’ll find the guy who did this to you.”
“Thanks.”
When I reach out to steady her with a hand on her elbow, she pulls away and continues forward on her own.
I try not to be bothered by the dismissal, though.
Truthfully, I get the need to be seen as strong after a moment of feeling weak.
But even as I understand her reasoning, I’m still desperate to hold her again.
Just to prove to myself that she really is okay.