The smell of her perfume was stronger here. His throat tightened. On the landing he paused, feeling exposed, an open target. Back to the wall, heart pumping wildly, he shined the beam of his small light over the empty bedroom, then inched toward the closed door of the closet. He braced himself. Then flung the door open.

Empty.

What had he expected?

Sweating, swallowing back an unsettling fear, he zeroed in on the bath. One, two, three! He kicked the door open.

With a shriek and flap of frantic wings, an owl flew from his roost on an old towel bar and soared out the broken window.

Bentz’s knees nearly gave out. Jittery, he backed out of the room where feathers, dung, and pellets, the regurgitated undigested pieces of animals the owl coughed up, littered the floor.

Then he thought of the back stairs.

Damn!

Nerves tight, he backtracked to the upper hallway and heard the sounds of fast breathing and quick steps down on the first level.

Flinging himself over the rail, he half-stumbled down the stairs and cast his narrow light beam down the murky corridor.

Empty.

No one.

Dead or alive.

His leg on fire, he hitched his way to the nearest exit and found himself in what had been the lobby of the old inn, the main entrance to the small mission.

The air was stale and unused.

Except for the slight scent of Jennifer’s perfume.

For the love of God, what was this?

He knew before he tried the front doors that they would be locked. He also knew that he could wander around this old structure, search the chapel and wine cellars, the individual rooms and reception hall and he wouldn’t find her.

She was gone.

And he knew nothing more than he had when he’d left L.A. earlier today.

Perfect! I think with a smile. I peer through binoculars from a hiding spot in the upper story of an abandoned warehouse that reeks of must and oil. But the smells don’t bother me. Not today. I focus on Bentz, who is still limping his way around the inn checking doors and flashing his light into the dark corners.

Go ahead, Bentz.

You’ll find nothing.

It’s getting darker, the shadows lengthening, but I can still see him studying the crumbling exterior of the mission. From here I’m safe to imagine him puzzling out the mystery of his first wife.

Good!

“Keep looking,” I say in the barest of whispers, adrenaline pumping through my body. “But, uh-oh, be careful…who knows what you’ll find.”

I can feel my lips twist in satisfaction because I read him so perfectly. I know now that I can manipulate him however I want. And it feels good.

About time!

“Good boy, RJ,” I coo softly, as if to a collie who’s mastered a difficult trick. “Good, good boy.”

God, how I love to see him squirm!