Becca’s stomach dropped to her feet. “Ma’am, please—”
Nick grasped her arms from behind and squeezed. “It’s okay. Come on,” he whispered against her ear. He bustled her across the lobby and out the door to the parking lot.
“What are we going to do now?” she said, looking up at Nick.
“We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” When he rubbed her hand, she realized she was shaking.
Anger roared through her. They were so close. She felt it, like Charlie’d left an echo behind she could still hear. She blew out a long breath and looked away.
At the far end of the row of exterior doors, the maid they’d seen in the lobby—Marla, the clerk had called her—came jogging down a set of concrete steps. Head lowered, shoulders curled in, walking fast, it was like she didn’t want anyone to notice her . . .
On a gasp, Becca’s gaze whipped to Nick’s.
“I’m already with you,” he said. “She looks like a scared rabbit, though. You comfortable asking?”
Becca was already heading toward her. “Miss? Marla?” she said, walking fast across the parking lot, flyers in hand. “Can I please ask you a question?”
The woman lifted her head, her gaze darting between Becca, the guys, and the lobby door.
“Please? I need your help.”
Her shoulders sagging, Marla came to a stop, looked both ways, then waved Becca to follow her. She walked a few steps back the way she’d come and ducked into a dim hallway.
Becca followed at a jog. Nick called out after her, but she was too afraid the maid would slip away to wait for him. She crossed between two parked cars, hopped up onto the cracked sidewalk, and, heart a racehorse in her chest, stepped into the same hallway. At the end of a row of vending and ice machines, Marla stood with her arms crossed tight over her chest.
“Do you know something about my brother, Marla?” Becca asked, passing her a flyer.
Nick barreled into the hallway a moment later, a dark scowl on his face. He didn’t say a word, though the cocked eyebrow said plenty.
Marla’s brown eyes latched onto the sheet Becca held, though she didn’t take it. “Yeah, I saw him. But I need money,” she said, eyes on the floor like maybe she wasn’t proud of the words. “I got kids, and this place don’t pay enough.” She shrugged her thin shoulders.
Becca dug into her purse and grabbed five twenties. Marla balled them in her fist. “My brother? When did you see him?”
Marla sniffed and lifted her gaze, working it back and forth between Becca and Nick. “He came on Sunday, like you said.” Becca leaned in as if she could will the words from the woman’s mouth. “On Monday morning, early . . . they took him off in a gray van.”
Becca’s heart tripped into a sprint. She knew the trail they’d been following probably ended in exactly this kind of story. Obviously, someone had taken Charlie against his will at some point, because he hadn’t cut off his own finger and left it at her house. But hearing it . . . she had no words.
“Who’s ‘they’?” Nick took over, wrapping his arm around Becca’s shoulders and pulling her in against him. Solid. Strong. Unwavering. She soaked him in and forced herself to calm down.
Marla played with a chain at her throat. “Bangers. Kind I left the city to get away from. Same types you see downtown selling heroin on street corners. Was three of ’em.”
“Any of them this man?” Nick said, slipping the paper from Becca’s tight grip and holding it up.
Marla shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I wasn’t trying to see them, either, if you know what I mean. Got a bad feeling the minute their van rolled into the lot. I was upstairs cleaning the room of an early checkout when I heard this loud bang. I peeked through the curtains, and sure enough the men from the van were breaking down a door. They put a hood over his head and dragged him out.”
“Did you call the police?” Becca managed, incredulous. How had something like this happened in broad daylight?
Marla looked at her like she had three heads. “I wasn’t risking narking on a gang for some addict with an unpaid debt.”
Becca’s jaw dropped. “Charlie’s not an addict.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Marla said, flipping the pendant of her necklace between her fingers.
“What made you think that?” Nick asked.
“Dark circles, bloodshot eyes, all disheveled looking and acting paranoid. Plus, he paid with cash when he checked in, like he didn’t want anyone to know he was here. Almost everyone uses plastic these days.”
Becca whirled to Nick. “He’s not a user. I promise you that. God, after Scott—” She shook her head. “There’s no way.”
“I believe you. All of that could easily be explained by him being on the run for so long.”