Without a Trace Read Online Free Page B

found it.” She didn’t add that she’d fought hysteria the entire time or that at one point she’d beaten against the panel and shouted, prepared to give herself up rather than stay in the suffocating dark. “When I got out, he was dead. If I’d been quicker, I might have been able to help him … I’ll never be sure.”
    “The ISS said stroke.”
    “It was diagnosed as one. Such things can be brought on by a simple injection. In any case, they caused the stroke, and they caused it while looking for me. I have to live with that.” Trace had dropped his grip, and she’d grabbed his shirtfront without realizing it, her fingers curled tight. “And so do you. If you won’t help me for compassion or for money, maybe you’ll do it for revenge.”
    He turned away from her again. He’d accepted Charlie’s death once. A stroke, a little time bomb in the brain set to go off at a certain time. Fate had said: Charlie, you’ve got sixty-three years, five months, on Earth. Make the best of it. That he’d accepted.
    Now he was being told it wasn’t fate; it was three men. Fate was something he was Irish enough to live with. But it was possible to hate men, to pay men back. It was something to think about. Trace decided to get a pot of black coffee and do just that.
    “I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
    “But—”
    “We’ll get some coffee, and you can tell me everything Charlie said, everything you know. Then I’ll tell you if I’ll help you.”
    If it was all he’d give, she’d take it. “I checked into the same hotel as you. It seemed practical.”
    “Fine.” Trace took her arm and began to walk with her. She wasn’t steady, he noted. Whatever fire had pushed her this far was fading fast. She swayed once, and he tightened his grip. “When’s the last time you ate?”
    “Yesterday.”
    He gave a snort that might have been a laugh. “What kind of a doctor are you?”
    “Physicist.”
    “Even a physicist should know something about nutrition. It goes like this. You eat, you stay alive. You don’t eat, you fall down.” He released her arm and slipped his around her waist. She would have protested if she’d had the energy.
    “You smell like a horse.”
    “Thanks. I spent most of the day bumping around the jungle. Great entertainment. What part of Ireland?”
    Fatigue was spreading from her legs to her brain. His arm felt so strong, so comforting. Without realizing it, she leaned against him. “What?”
    “What part of Ireland are you from?”
    “Cork.”
    “Small world.” He steered her into the lobby. “So’s my father. What room?”
    “Two twenty-one.”
    “Right next door to mine.”
    “I gave the desk clerk a thousand pesos.”
    Because the elevators were small and heated like ovens, he took the stairs. “You’re an enterprising woman, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”
    “Most women are. It’s still a man’s world.”
    He had his doubts about that, but he didn’t argue the point. “Key?”
    She dug into her pocket, fighting off the weakness. She wouldn’t faint. That she promised herself. Trace took the key from her palm and stuck it in the lock. When he opened the door, he shoved her against the wall in the hallway.
    “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. She swallowed the rest when she saw him draw a hunting knife out of his pocket.
    It was all he had. He hadn’t considered it necessary to strap on a gun while on vacation. His eyes werenarrow as he stepped into the room and kicked aside some of the debris.
    “Oh, God.” Gillian braced herself in the doorway and looked. They’d done a thorough job. Even someone inexperienced in such matters could see that nothing had been overlooked.
    Her suitcase had been cut apart, and the clothes she hadn’t unpacked were strewn everywhere. The mattress and the cushions from the single chair had been slit, and hunks of white stuffing littered the floor. The drawers of the bureau had been pulled out and overturned.
    Trace checked the bath and