I was about to give up when the icons burst forth in glorious color.

Almost crying with relief, I tapped the little green phone symbol, then a number on my speed-dial list.

“Ryan.” Groggy but trying to sound alert.

“I’m in the pines behind the hotel,” I whispered.

“I can’t … you.”

“The woods behind the hotel.”

“… peat … you said.”

“Ruben’s been shot,” I hissed.

“… breaking up.”

“Come to the woods behind the Zen garden,” I hiss-whispered as loud as I dared.

“Hang up … back … else … the landline.”

“I’m not in my room. I need you to come—”

The connection went dead. I tried texting. No go.

I was on my own.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

Listened.

The woods were absolutely still.

Sudden thought.

Tank.

The little dog was on his own, too. Coyote bait. Or wolf. Or whatever the hell else was on the prowl.

Call out to him?

I couldn’t risk it. The shooter could be out there.

A soft yellow glow marked the spot where Annaliese lay. She was past help. But I felt driven to get responders to the scene. To get her body out of the rain.

To get my ass out of danger.

Would Ryan make sense of my garbled message?

How long to wait?

I gave it ten minutes.

Checked for landmarks.

Ruben was lying below a large pine with a gnarly growth five feet up its trunk. To its left was a smaller, asymmetrical pine on which every other branch looked dead.

Satisfied I could relocate the spot, I bolted.

Chapter 26

RYAN OPENED HIS DOOR WEARING JEANS. JUST JEANS. HIS HAIR was tousled, but he looked fully awake.

“No need to pound.” Ryan took in my wet hair and the pine needles clinging to my clothes. His grin vanished. “What the hell—”

“Ruben’s dead.” I was breathless from running. Shaking. Fighting back tears.

“What?”

“She’s not a monster, Ryan. She’s retarded. Oh, God. We’re not supposed to say ‘retarded.’ What? What do we say now? ‘Challenged’? What word do we use?”

The shock at finally coming face-to-face with Ruben. The terror at seeing her shot. The relief at being back in the hotel. I was babbling, couldn’t help myself.

“She probably never knew she was pregnant. Probably had no concept of pregnant. No concept of concept.”

Tears were running full-out. I made no effort to brush them away.

“I didn’t get a look at the shooter.”

“Slow down.” Ryan was not understanding. Or not hearing my words through the blubbering.

“Two shots. The one to the head probably killed her.” Loud. Too loud.

Ryan pulled me into his room. Closed the door. Dug a tiny bottle of Johnnie Walker from his minibar and handed it to me. “Drink this.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

He unscrewed the cap and thrust the Scotch at me. “Drink it.”

I drank.