Killing Season Part 2 by Faye Kellerman

Author:Faye Kellerman [Kellerman, Faye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

TGIF. As usual, Griff refused to talk to her. They walked inside the house and he went straight to his room, making a point of slamming the door. Mom was on the couch crocheting and jumped at the sound. “What is wrong with him?”

Ro shrugged innocently. “I quit cheerleading.”

“You did?” Mom put her hook down. Her face registered shock. “Why?”

“Because it’s silly. Because I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Ro, what’s going on? Why is Griffen so moody?”

“Nothing’s going on. It’s the same old, same old. Life sucks.” Ro kissed her mother’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll all work out. And if it doesn’t, so what?” Her mother’s eyes were moist. “Mom, let’s wake up early and have breakfast together tomorrow. Just the two of us.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” She took her daughter’s hand. “If you need to say something to me, don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not pregnant. I just want to spend some time with you.” The woman was visibly relieved. God, even her mom thought her a skank. “Tomorrow morning, we’ve got a date. Mark it down.”

Ro went to her room and closed the door. She opened her laptop and began looking for any scientific conventions around the time of Ellen Vicksburg’s abduction, no matter where they were. After thirty minutes of finding basically nothing, she stopped trying.

She was now out of Vicks’s life. Which meant he was probably at his computer continuing where he had left off, mining the same fields that she was. Anyone could type in names and dates and occupations and try to find a link. This guy—this monster—was crafty. Vicks had called him a fly on the wall—a sneaky bastard who had gotten away with at least three murders, probably four.

If Ro was going to make any headway, she needed to do some divergent thinking.

Her dad worked for the government all his life. And he traveled a lot. He was a suit-and-tie guy, a prominent man, and his hotel of choice—or rather, what the government would pay for—was usually some kind of business establishment like a Marriott or Hilton.

If a scientist was traveling on the government’s dime, Ro figured that maybe his place would be a step below a Marriott. One of those Executive Inn–type chains, but even those varied from city to city.

She turned back to her laptop. Ten minutes later, she had printed out a list of motels and hotels in the area, opting for places with two and a half stars or better, with room service, and within ten miles of the labs.

Then she picked up her cell and began to punch in numbers. When someone at the desk answered, Ro said, “Hi, this is Wanda Crumb. I’m calling for Dr. Kesley’s lab in Berkeley, California. He’s coming to the area and he was wondering if you give a professional discount to scientists who work at Los Alamos . . . no? . . . thank you very much.”

Cross one off the list.

“Hi, this is Belinda Littlebee.

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