“I have her home number, I need her cell number.”
Her brightly painted fingernails trailed down the paper. Then she glanced up. “Her cell number is scratched out. I remember now. I tried to call her last week about her mom and it was disconnected.”
“Fuck!”
The woman flinched.
Brit held up his hand. “I’m sorry.” Then he remembered the other teacher from this morning. She might know where Cali was. “What about the other teacher, the young brunette who teaches in the classroom beside her?”
“You mean Tanya Craft? Bright, colorful dresser?”
“I guess.” He didn’t remember what she’d been wearing. Didn’t care. “Give me her contact information and address.”
The principal turned back to the file cabinet and opened the drawer. “A... B...”
~
Tanya Craft wasn’t answering her phone. He tossed the phone in the passenger seat and squealed off the school grounds. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, praying he’d see Cali’s silver Honda. Nothing. He parked and took off in search of apartment 105. Music blared behind the door. He knocked. Hard.
“Ease up!” a voice said as the door jerked open. Tanya’s brown eyes went wide. “Wow, it’s the cop with an attitude. What do you want?”
He frowned. “Is Cali McKay here?”
She tilted her head back. From the twinkle in her eyes, he knew she was going to give him some lip. Before she could speak, he leaned forward. “I need to know where she is. Now!”
She drew back. “Cali’s right. You really are a dickhead.”
“She could be in danger,” he said, trying to take it down a notch, but he remembered the scene at the hotel that Humphrey left behind, and knowing he might have Cali chewed on his last nerve.
The chick’s eyes rounded. “She’s...staying at a hotel off Highway 6. I tried to get her to stay here, but she wouldn’t.”
“What hotel?”
~
Brit saw Cali’s silver Honda in the hotel parking lot. Pulling in beside it, he cut off the engine and dropped his head on the steering wheel. A few deep breaths later, he headed to the front office, his badge drawn.
“What room is Cali McKay in?” He showed his badge.
The clerk’s round face tensed. “Is she a hooker? I swear, I didn’t know.”
“No.” Brit shoved his badge back in his pocket. Who could look at Cali and think hooker? “Just give me a room number.”
The man turned to the computer and pecked on a few keys. “Room ten. Five rooms down on the left.”
After rushing to the door, Brit hesitated. What was he going to say to her? “I thought I’d lost you.” Hell, she wasn’t his to lose. Then he remembered he had a reason to be here, besides just needing to see her alive. He needed information on Stan. And to inform her about their suspicions concerning her ex. She needed to know how dangerous the freak really was.
He knocked. No answer.
He knocked again.
“Cali? It’s me, Brit.” It suddenly occurred to him that she hadn’t ever called him by his first name. Had he even given her his first name? Jeez. He’d made love to the woman in his mind, and he hadn’t even given her his first name.
“Cali, it’s me, Detective Lowell. Brit Lowell.” He knocked again. “Cali?” All the panic he’d felt earlier and just released suddenly U-turned with a rushing force. “If you’re in there, open the door. Please.”
Nothing. Visions of her lying on the bed with her throat slashed filled his head. Then he considered that maybe she just didn’t want to see him.
“I’m sorry again for being a dickhead. Open the door, please.”
Still nothing. He stormed back to the front office. “Give me the key to her room.”
The desk clerk shot him a cocky look.
Fear of what he’d find behind that locked door churned in Brit’s stomach. He reached across the counter, grabbed the man’s shirt, and jerked the clerk so close that Brit knew the man had onions with his lunch. “Give me the damn key.”
Seconds later, key in hand, he ran back to her room. “Cali?” He pushed open the door, his gut knotted, ready to be sick.
Chapter Fourteen
An hour later, Cali sat across from Betty, her mom’s hospice nurse. She knew the conversation would be hard—talking about her mom always was—but she also knew she had to do it. Just as she had to do other unpleasant things, like find a new place to stay. Luckily, she’d found a hotel only a block from the hospice center.
“I always try to keep my distance, emotionally,” Betty said. “You have to in this line of work.” Betty’s hazel eyes clouded with tears. “I couldn’t do it with your mom. She was so easy to talk to. So genuine.”
Cali’s chest tightened. “She appreciated you so much.”
Betty smiled. “Your mother had a way with people. I told her things about myself that I haven’t told my therapist.”