Billy Choi noticed first.

“Carmen isn’t usually late,” he pointed out to Harrow, as they were loading the buses to go to the Pratt PD. “Matter of fact, she’s usually the one complaining I’m late.”

Shrugging, Harrow said, “Probably just running behind. Why don’t you go see if you can hurry her up?”

“Turnabout fair play and all that? Sure, boss.”

Choi took off for the motel entrance. He was a professional, as far as it went, but he’d read enough Penthouse letters to harbor the hope that the gorgeous Carmen might answer the door wearing only a towel.

He clipped through the lobby, then down a long hall that intersected with a cross hallway. He turned right and strode down toward the last door on the right, Carmen’s. He spent the entire walk letting a sheer nightie stand in for the towel in his developing fantasy.

At the door, Choi knocked.

Ten seconds, and nothing.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

He tried a third time, this effort harder than before, and waited…and still nothing. For the first time, Choi wondered if something might be wrong. Maybe Carmen was sick—Mexican food didn’t agree with everybody, after all, and that Tex-Mex fare had been rich.

This time, when he rapped on the door, any Penthouse fantasy long since flown, he shouted, “Carmen!”

Again, there was no answer.

Genuinely worried, Choi got out his cell phone and punched in Harrow’s number.

“Billy? Waiting for you two.”

“Something’s not right here, boss. I’ve knocked on the door till my knuckles are red, but I can’t get her to answer.”

“Be right there.”

As he waited, Choi kept knocking, and by now he would have settled for Carmen answering in a nun’s habit, which was definitely not a fantasy of his. Eventually, the guy across the way stuck his head out and complained.

Choi just snarled, “Go away,” at the portly man, who pulled his head back in his shell.

But more knocking only earned him further disappointment.

Finally, Harrow showed up, an assistant motel manager—a squat fortyish woman with brown hair, very red lipstick, and a white blouse over navy blue slacks—trailing him, having to work to keep up.

“She doesn’t answer,” Choi told them.

The manager stepped forward and knocked.

“Oh, yeah,” Choi said to her. “Knocking. I hadn’t thought to try that.”

“Billy,” Harrow cautioned.

She kept rapping, getting no answer of course, but she was also running a pass keycard through the lock.

The woman opened the door, but Harrow held up a hand.

“Remember,” he told the assistant manager. “This may be a police matter, and I need to check it first.”

“You bet, Mr. Harrow,” she said, obviously impressed with her guest.

So, Choi thought, J.C. had played the celebrity card. Good. Whatever it took….

Harrow looked around the motel room and the bathroom. Choi followed, while the manager remained silhouetted in the doorway.

The room was vacant, the night-table lamp on.

“Where’s the bedspread?” Choi asked.

“Gone,” Harrow said.

“Something to wrap somebody up in, maybe?”

Harrow’s silence was confirmation.

Checking the bathroom himself, Choi spotted her cell phone plugged into the electrical socket. “Cell’s here, boss.”

Harrow peeked in.

Choi said, “She’d never leave the room without that phone.”

“Not voluntarily,” Harrow agreed.

“Unless she stepped out for some ice or pop or something, and…ran into something.”

Or someone.

Neither man could say it out loud, but both thought it.

“What happened here?” Harrow said. He was calm, but it was a cop calm, edged with steel.

Choi had a thorough look-around, particularly on the floor, and noticed something near the door. On one knee, he bent as close to the carpet as he could and discerned a small spot.

Dark.

Nearly maroon, as it dried.

“Blood,” Choi said.

Harrow knelt beside him, and they both studied the drop, no bigger than the diameter of a good-sized sewing needle.

“Good catch,” Harrow said.

Always nice to get a compliment from the boss, but Choi didn’t feel like celebrating.

On his feet again, Harrow said to the assistant manager, “Call the police—tell them that J.C. Harrow’s group has a missing person here at the motel, and we think it’s an abduction.”

The woman’s eyes were big and her mouth hung open, but she remained motionless.

“Go,” Harrow said.

The woman swallowed, nodded, and trundled off down the hall like a reluctant tank moving into battle.

Harrow got out his cell and punched a speed-dial number.

“Laurene?” he asked.

Choi could not hear her response.

Harrow told her, “Carmen’s been taken. Bring your crime scene kit to her room, now.”

He told Laurene to send the rest of the team ahead to the PD to keep working the serial killer case. This was likely the same unsub, and they needed to find him.

When Harrow got off the phone, Choi asked, “You really think it’s him? You think it’s our bull’s-eye guy?”

Harrow sighed. “We’re in a town with less than seven thousand people, and other than the police chief and a few other cops, we don’t know anybody here. Carmen didn’t know anybody. Yet it looks like someone got her to open the door, Tasered her, then abducted her.”

“Taser?” Choi asked.

“One drop of blood, and only one drop of blood—what do you think would cause a wound that wouldn’t bleed any more than that?”

Choi lifted an eyebrow. “Taser.”

Harrow made another call, this one to Chief Walker. He explained the situation, told the chief what they were doing, and clicked off.

“How’s the chief feel about us getting involved?” Choi asked. “I mean, this isn’t our crime scene….”

“He’s up for the help. He’d have to wait for the state crime lab to come down, do what we’re doing, and then maybe wait a month for the results. Right now, we’re Walker’s favorite visitors.”

Laurene came up to the open doorway at a trot.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, as she set down her big metal crime scene case in the hall, just outside.

Harrow pointed out the stain on the carpet and explained what they figured had happened.

Laurene’s upper lip curled nastily. “She just opened the door, and let this asshole take her? What does she think peepholes are for?”

“She’s not a police professional, Laurene. We’re all housed in this motel like a bunch of kids on their way to the big game. She thought it was one of us.”

“Gonna have to have a talk with the girl.”

Choi said, “Really think that’ll be necessary?”

Harrow said, “Cut the crap, boys and girls. You are our two crime scene analysts. Go over the scene fast. The cops are on their way.”

Laurene’s eyes widened. “And they’re fine with us taking over their crime scene?”

“I’ve cleared it with Chief Walker. Anyway, if there’s evidence, I want us to be the ones that find it.”

“That I get,” Laurene said.

As she went to work, Billy said to Harrow, “You don’t need two of us to process this small a scene.”

“Get the security video for the motel, and any business around here that has it. Then grab one of these cops who are about to show up, and have him drive you to the PD. Get the chief to set you up in a room and find something on that video we can use to track this son of a bitch.”

That didn’t require a reply, and Choi didn’t offer one, just tore down the corridor the moment Harrow was done. Choi found the dowdy assistant manager in the office off the check-in, hanging up the phone.

“Police are on their way,” she said.

“Good. How many security cameras do you have?”

The woman had to think about that, then she ticked them off on her fingers. “Parking lot out front, lot on the side, lobby…then there’s three where the two main halls intersect. Six altogether.”

“Tape or disc?” Choi asked.

“Disc,” the manager said.

“May I have them?”

“Shouldn’t I save them for the police?”

“We’re working with Chief Walker’s blessing, ma’am, and every second counts.”

The woman fetched the discs and soon was handing them to Choi.

“Was there a night manager last night?”

“Yes—Ann Ford.”

“She wouldn’t be here now, would she?”

The manager shook her head. “Went home when I came on.”

“Did she mention seeing anything or anyone unusual?”

Another head shake.

“A male, who wasn’t a guest, who may have asked after Ms. Garcia?”

“No, but that girl Ann spends most of her time with her nose buried in some romance book or other. You know, those Harlequin things, where a strong man drags off a willing woman?”

Choi didn’t bother with a reply—he just took the discs as three cops strode into the lobby like a small army, Chief Walker out in front.

When he saw Choi, the chief asked, “Where’s your boss?

“Harrow’s at Carmen Garcia’s room—one forty. I’ve got the security video.” Choi had a question he’d saved up for the chief: “What other businesses around here would have security cameras?”

Walker needed only a second or two to think. “Convenience store across the street. Bank two blocks down, on the left—ATM camera and the parking lots.”

“All right,” Choi said. “I’m going to want to gather any other video, and then’ll want space at your facility to go over them. Somebody to assist, and clear the way for me, would be great.”

Turning to an officer, Walker said, “Jake, go with Mr. Choi here. Make sure the convenience store and the bank cooperate. If they want warrants, have them call me.”

The blond patrolman stood six-two and looked like he had just stepped out of a recruiting poster for the Aryan Nation. “Yes, sir. I saw Mr. Choi on TV, sir.”

“Good for you,” the chief said patiently.

Choi shut his eyes momentarily, and managed to suppress any remark.