How I would love to make a swing by the motel to make certain that stupid kid sees the package. But I restrain myself. No reason to take any unnecessary chances.

I only wish I could be a fly on the wall when Bentz opens the envelope. Oh, dear God, his expression will be priceless!

CHAPTER 35

Bentz was on the road when he got the call. Caller ID flashed the number and name of the So-Cal Inn. “Bentz.”

“Hi, this is Rebecca, the manager of the So-Cal. You asked me to call you if anything odd happened?”

Bentz’s free hand gripped the wheel. “Yeah.”

“We found a package with your name on it at the front door.”

“A package?” he repeated.

“Well, an envelope. You know one of those manila things. Around eight by eleven. I thought you might have dropped it when you left.”

“No.” He thought about the last manila envelope he’d received with pictures of Jennifer and a marred death certificate. He didn’t doubt for a second that whatever was in this one, too, had come from the same source. “Hold on to it. Don’t open it and I’ll be right there. Ten minutes, fifteen tops.” He searched for an exit, switched lanes, and sped to the next off-ramp, barely slowing as he left the freeway until he hit the red light at the cross street.

Another set of pictures? More documents? Oh, Jesus…please let this be about Jennifer, not Olivia.

His guts were grinding, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel.

What now? Just what the hell now?

As soon as it turned green, he made a quick left turn under the freeway, swinging around to the southbound entrance of the 405. The light was with him and he gunned it.

He knew he hadn’t dropped an envelope or anything else at the motel.

So someone had left him a surprise, this time without mailing it. “Son of a bitch.”

Whoever was behind all this madness was getting bolder.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this time the packet had something to do with Olivia. A ransom request? Or worse? His heart nosedived and he wasn’t able to drive fast enough to eat up the miles to the Culver City exit. Time seemed to stand still and dread burned a hole in his stomach but ten minutes after taking the call, he pulled into the familiar, pockmarked parking lot, cut the engine, and strode into the office.

Rebecca was waiting.

The envelope in question sat on the registration desk. Across the yellowish face was his name written in the same block letters that had addressed the envelope containing Jennifer’s death certificate and pictures.

“I found it when I walked in. I was out checking a room where the key wasn’t working and Tony was at the desk. He didn’t see who left it.”