He noticed a gold fish bowl next to a fancy espresso machine. There was no fish in the bowl.

He’d only spent a few hours with Laurel and knew nothing about her. This was his starting point.

From what he could see, she had the same workaholic personality as everyone else Roth hired. She lived for the job.

Handlers were required to go through a similar onboarding process to the one assets went through, cutting their relationships with anyone who knew who they were and adopting a new legal identity. From what he could see, Laurel had made sure every clue of her prior life had been completely erased. There were no photos in the apartment, no personal documents, there wasn’t even any dirty laundry in the hamper in the closet.

Laurel lived like a ghost. He opened the refrigerator and it was almost empty. There was an unopened stick of unsalted butter, a few bottles of sparkling water, and a pint of strawberries that was beginning to turn.

The only thing in the freezer was a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, two thirds full.

There were a few cans of vacuum packed Italian coffee next to the espresso machine and a box containing packets of sweetener.

She wasn’t one for cooking, that was clear.

He clicked the TV remote and the news came on. He clicked it back off.

He sat at the counter and thought about the one thing he knew for certain. If the man who’d attacked had put Laurel in his car, that meant she was alive. He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of taking someone who was about to die, and if he was the kind of man who could take out two trained agents, he was the kind of man who knew the difference.

She was alive.

And he was going to find her.

He got up and went to the sofa. There were copies of a few major news magazines on the coffee table. There was a laptop charger, plugged in, but no laptop. Next to where the laptop would have been was a notepad.

On the top page was written the address of the EconoLodge hotel in Deweyville and the words “Two Rooms” underlined.

Looking at it made him feel guilty. She’d come, and he’d turned her away.

There was a wastepaper basket next to the table but it was empty.

He went to the bedroom. The bed was a solid oak antique. It looked expensive. The bedding was Egyptian cotton. The bed was placed halfway between two huge windows that looked out onto the street. Light came in through lace curtains and fell on the bed, making the white sheets glow.

Apart from the espresso machine, the bed was the only sign of luxury in the apartment. That said something about her.

Lance ran his hand over the sheets. He lifted a pillow and smelled it, freshly laundered with a hint of lavender.