Page 113 of False Evidence

No. Not her Brent. He loved her. He’d told her after the party, when they went back to the apartment, shell-shocked over the way the evening had ended.

Brent had taken her hand, held it to his lips, then whispered,“I love you, Kendall. I was planning to say it tonight. I wanted it to be perfect. I have candles and flower petals in the trunk of my car. I was going to do it right. I don’t understand how this could happen. Talon must have set Russ up. There’s no way this could be real.”

Then they’d made love. They hadn’t taken the X. The idea of taking it had turned her stomach.

But now the vial was gone.

Where was it?

The front door clicked closed. It wasn’t like Alex to leave without saying goodbye, but she was beyond angry at Kendall.

Had Brent and Russ really been here when she got home?

Kendell left her bedroom and checked to be certain she was alone. Alex was gone.

She picked up the handset from the dock and pressed and held 3—which was Brent’s shortcut. He answered immediately.

“What the hell, Brent? You werehere?”

“Who told you that? You can’t believe anything Alex told you.”

“Why the fuck not? I’ve known her a helluva lot longer than you.”

“She’s fucking Talon. That’s where she was last night, while Russ spent yet another night in the county jail.”

“What?”

“She was gone last night, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did she give you a number where she was?”

“Yes.”

“Look it up. Use the reverse white pages.”

Kendall tucked the phone into the crook of her neck and reached for the message book that made carbonless copies of everything written down. The original was torn away when the message was received; the copy stayed in the book. A permanent record that contained every number they had ever needed. Because the message had been for her, she’d left the original in the spiral-bound book.

Now she ripped out the sheet and went to the old desktop computer she and Alex were desperate to replace before they had a catastrophic crash. She typed the number into a reverse telephone directory.

She stared at the screen, not sure if she was surprised or not.

“Where was she?” Brent asked.

“She called me from the Mayflower.”

“Did she give a room number?”

“Yes.”

“Call the hotel. Ask to be connected to that room. It’ll be Talon’s. He’s behindeverything.”

She did as Brent said—there was no reason not to—and a man answered the phone on the third ring. “Mr. Talon?” she said, thankful that caller ID wasn’t available in hotel rooms.

“Yes?”

“Oh. Um. Will you be needing maid service today?”