He didn’t have to finish. Queen stepped out of his way. “I’m coming.”

“Me, too,” Knight said.

King turned to Pierce as he took his clothes to the bathroom. He motioned to Fiona and then to Bishop. “Keep an eye on them.”

Thirty seconds later, King was dressed, leaving the hospital and a string of stunned doctors and nurses behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Knight pulled his car into the parking lot of the hotel in which King’s parents had been hidden away. He pulled into a space and turned off the car. “They’re in two-twenty.”

Knight and Queen took out their sidearms and chambered rounds. “Have an extra?” King asked.

“Glove compartment.”

King opened it and found a Sig Sauer.

They exited the car and vaulted up the stairs to the second floor. King quickly led the way to room two-twenty. He paused outside the door, letting Knight and Queen take positions on the other side, just in case.

King knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again. Harder. Followed by, “Mom. Dad. It’s Jack.”

He tried the doorknob and found it locked.

“I’ll do it,” Queen whispered. She stood across from the door and slammed it with her foot. Wood shattered from the powerful blow and the door swung inward.

King moved in. Weapon raised. Prepared for anything.

Except what he found.

There were two queen-sized beds in the room. On each lay a blood-soaked human body.

King launched forward and flipped over the nearest body, dead for days. But the man was not one of his parents. Nor was the other body. Both men held weapons. And both had been shot through the head. King remembered the story his mother had told him, about shooting the man who had come for them. It now seemed all the more believable.

But the fact that these men were dead didn’t supply any hope. There was no way to know how many assailants there had been. And his parents were gone, perhaps dead, dying, or on the run.

King and Queen checked the bodies for identification, Knight searched the bathroom.

As Queen rifled through the dead man’s pockets, she spotted a necklace poking out from under one of the beds. She picked it up and looked if over—a silver chain and cross. The cross design was simple and held a small black stone in the middle.

King saw it dangling. His eyes widened as he reached out for the necklace.

She handed it to him. “Recognize it?”

“Yeah,” King said. “It was Julie’s.”

As he looked the necklace over, memories of it around his sister’s neck came back to him. It had been a gift from their father. After she died in the plane crash, his mother wore it. Every day. He’d never seen her take it off. But here it was, on the floor.