Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 3

  This seemed to shake him a little and he sighed, nodding. “Yes, I agree. I apologize. It’s been somewhat of a strenuous day.” He paused, as if considering his next words, biting his lower lip in thought. “No, I don’t know what hotel he was staying at exactly. I wish I could be a better help to you, but I’m afraid I simply haven’t heard from or seen a single thing involving Mark Bell since he left our dinner appointment.”

  Deflated, I felt another of the threads I’d been desperately trying to hold on to unravel and fall away. Mark was gone and every lead I’d pursued had led to a dead end. My only options left now were shots in the dark, half-hearted attempts to locate a man who had vanished from a place where virtually no one would remember who he was or where he’d gone.

  “Well, thank you anyway,” I finally said, grinning tightly as I studied the professor’s eyes once more. “If anything, you’ve at least given me some more clues as to where I might look for him again.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t able to help more.” He shook his head once, leaning forward in his chair, reaching for what I assumed was the touch screen computer.

  “Have a nice day.”

  “You too.”

  The call cut off abruptly, the screen on my own computer filling with my own image as the connection was severed. Disappointment, worry, and exhaustion washed over my face as I leaned back, slouching in my wooden chair, a hand on my balding head. The discussion had left me with more questions than answers and the uneasy feeling that I’d been lied to. What would Professor Stevens gain from lying to me, though?

  Then, of course, there was Mark. Why would he go all the way to Arizona, meet up with his friend, and then run? Why would he take the vase with him? Had he discovered something about it that he thought no one else should know? Had he decided to keep it for himself after the Professor told him it was genuine, or perhaps even sold it to someone on the black market?

  No, Mark wouldn’t do something like that, not to me. The man studied pirates, but he wasn’t a villain himself. Something was very, very wrong. Every single nerve in my gut was screaming that he had been compromised somehow, that I needed to find him, to help him. The vase was important, yes, but Mark was more so. Any leads I had, however small, would have to be followed until I’d found him and made sure he was safe.

  I’d lost enough family members because of the Treasure Pit. There was no way in hell I was about to let it claim another.

  Rubbing a hand over my face roughly, I took a deep breath and closed the video chat app I’d been using. Opening a plain Internet search, I typed in the name of the restaurant Mark and Professor Stevens had eaten at. It was inside a hotel, on a street near the airport. There were several other places to stay around that area, as was to be expected with an international travel hub nearby.

  “Time to work,” I mumbled quietly, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. Picking a phone number at random, I jotted down the name of the hotel on my computer notepad as the phone rang.

  “Hotel San Carlos, this is Kim speaking. How can I help you today?”

  The cheery, female voice was rushed, but polite, her tone that of a low soprano.

  “Yes, my name is Scott. I was wondering if you had any record of a Mark Bell staying at your establishment about a month ago.”

  “Oh.” The question had caught her off guard and she fumbled, whatever stock answers she’d prepared in advance clearly not any help now. “Uh, I don’t think I’m allowed to release that kind of information, Mister . . . ?”

  “Williams,” I offered, having assumed as much before I called. “I didn’t know if you would be. He’s gone missing, though—my friend, Mark. All I know is that he was last staying in a hotel somewhere around you.” Keeping my own voice as even and professional as possible, I tried to be assertive but kind at the same time. “I’m trying to find someone who might know where he went next.”

  “Have you filed a missing person report with the police?”

  “I haven’t. I’ve only just realized that he might be truly missing, not off on some adventure of his own creation.” That much was true. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I should call the police. Mark was a grown man, more than capable of taking care of himself. Calling the police seemed like a last ditch effort, once I’d decided that he really was truly, missing and unable to be found.

  “Well, if you file a report with them, we should be able to help answer any questions in their investigation. I’m sorry, I can’t do more to help.”

  “It’s fine,” I assured her. “Thank you for your time. Have a wonderful day.”

  “You as well.”

  Hanging up, I typed a large “X” next to the name of the establishment and moved on to the next place on the list.

  Ringing, ringing, ringing. It seemed like that was all I heard lately. Sighing, I looked at the list of places I’d called over the past three days. Some of them had told me the same thing as the first, that they weren’t allowed to share information about guests staying in their rooms. Others, upon hearing that I was merely trying to find a missing person, obliged easily enough. Some of them connected me with managers, or put me on hold while they asked for permission to fulfill my request. Then, surprisingly, a few places told me right away, without any convincing at all, that Mark had never been there. The last hotel had been one such place and I marked a big “NO” next to it on the list, to remind myself never to book a room there.

  Finally, the automated phone system of the hotel I was now calling picked up, directing me to either enter a room number or request a different service. Pressing the option for the front desk, I waited a moment more before a low, male voice came over the line.

  “Wyndham Garden, how may I help you?” There were keys clicking in the background, like the man was typing away at something, and I stifled my reaction at having to deal with someone who was already preoccupied. In my experience, they always managed to be the rudest, even if they didn’t mean to.

  “Yes, I’m looking for a missing person who may have stayed at your hotel about a month ago. Are you able to help me with that at all?”

  “Unfortunately, sir, we are unable to share personal information, such as the names and room numbers of our guests, how long they stayed, and so on. If you’re part of an ongoing police investigation, I can connect you to our corporate legal office and see if they can help you at all.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Shaking my head, I laughed despondently, feeling like I was running in circles. “You’d think it would be easy to find your friend if they went missing. I mean, I know where and when he went, where he had dinner, who he saw, and where he was supposed to be going after. But I don’t know any of the important stuff, like where he stayed, or why he didn’t go where he was supposed to. For all I know, Mark was abducted by aliens and all of his things, including the vase he was supposed to have checked out, are floating somewhere between here and Mars.”

  “Hang on, did you say vase?” The man’s tone had changed entirely, the clicking of keys halting in an instant. “Like, an old vase with Greek stuff on it?”

  “Yes!” Excitedly, I jumped from my chair, my heart practically stopping at his words.

  “I don’t know anything about a man named Mark,” he continued. “But I was just promoted from housekeeping about a month ago. We had someone leave all their stuff in the room, including an old vase. The room keys were there, too, so we just assumed whoever it was had checked out. That happens now and then. I mean, people forget stuff more often than not, but everything? I’ve only seen that once or twice. It all goes in the lost and found. After a month, the employees are allowed to buy it, if no one else has claimed it.”

  “Do you still have the vase?” I pressed, suddenly imagining some random individual taking the priceless piece of history and accidentally destroying it.

  “No,” he said, surprised. “We were robbed not long after that. Everything in the lost and found was taken.”

  “What did you say your name was?�
� Instantly feeling that whoever had broken in had done so to steal the vase specifically, I started forming a plan in my mind.

  “Marcus.”

  “Can I book a room through you, Marcus? I think I need to come see all of this for myself.”

  The dry heat of the Arizona desert washed over me in a wave of perspiration, the clear blue sky doing nothing to shield the people below from the merciless rays of an unforgiving sun. Wyndham Garden had a free airport shuttle that came through every thirty minutes and I found myself waiting for it in a group of shorts and flip flop clad people, chatting happily about their waterpark vacation they had embarked on. When the van arrived, a valet helped pile all our belongings into the back and we packed ourselves into the seats, like sardines. Visiting happily, the driver and valet asked everyone what had brought them to The Valley of the Sun—a very spot-on nickname, in my opinion—and how long they would be staying.

  After a short drive, in which I did mostly listening, we arrived at the hotel and were ushered inside to the waiting and welcoming air conditioner, free coffee and cookies, and a pair of front desk hosts who stood ready to check us all in.

  “Mister Williams,” the male host called, motioning me over to him from across the gray tiled and high ceiling space. He looked as if he belonged on a beach somewhere, his skin dark and tanned, black hair styled in a nice wave, and the company polo shirt he was wearing ironed to perfection. “I’m Marcus, Marcus Garcia,” he explained, shaking my hand over the counter as soon as I was close enough. “We spoke on the phone?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I replied, pleasantly surprised. “Nice to meet you in person.”

  “I asked to work front desk today, so I could be here when you arrived. I have some news for you, regarding your friend, Mark Bell.”

  “Oh?” That caught me off guard. Apparently, Marcus had been doing a little digging in the week since we’d spoken; I’d never shared Mark’s last name with him.

  “Here.” Laying a yellow file folder on the counter between us, he shrugged. “It’s not much, but I asked the manager about him after you called. She said the hotel had tried calling him to see if he wanted his belongings, but they could never get hold of him. Another man came in a few days later, asking for everything, but it wasn’t Mark, so they refused to hand it over to him. I put his picture from the security camera in the file, in case you recognize him. The manager also called the police because of the vase. She was worried that it was stolen or perhaps being passed off as an ancient artifact and didn’t want to be involved with it.”

  “Let me guess, it was stolen before the police arrived to collect it, wasn’t it?” Opening the file, I glanced over the first page. It had the details of Mark’s stay, which of his credit cards he’d used to pay for the room, a copy of his driver’s license, things like that. It was all typical information that a hotel collected when you checked in.

  “It was,” Marcus confirmed, watching as I looked everything over. “That’s all I could find. Like I said, it’s not much, but I thought it might be of some help to you. Maybe you can call the credit card company and see if he’s used the one he paid with anywhere else.”

  “Maybe.” Flipping the page, I froze, staring at the picture Marcus had printed off for me. It was grainy and obviously from a security camera somewhere behind the desk, but I recognized that teddy bear figure anywhere.

  Professor Stevens was wearing a brown sport coat and sweater vest, looking every bit the scholarly man he was. His face was scrunched up in anger, though, and he appeared to be having stern words with whomever he was speaking with. One finger was pointing menacingly toward the unknown host, his eyes giving a piercing glare.

  Fury coursed through me, a sharp breath getting caught in my chest as I stared down at the lying brute of a man. Fingers trembling, I forced them to lay flat on top of the photograph, somewhat surprised at how upset the revelation that Mark’s friend was not to be trusted had affected me.

  Hadn’t I felt that he was hiding something when we spoke? My gut had been telling me that something was wrong with the man from the start, but I had ignored it. Now, the proof of my suspicions was laid out before me. All I could think was how stupid I had been to trust the statement of a man I barely knew. I’d cast Professor Stevens to the side as no longer useful in my search. It was clear now that he was right at the center of it, though.

  He might even know where Mark was right at this very second.

  The thought of Mark flushed my face with guilt for a moment. I had given him the vase that brought him here. It was my fault that he’d been dragged into this mess. Was he alive? Dead? Only God knew at this point.

  God, and possibly Professor Stevens.

  Clearing my throat, I tapped my finger on the picture, regaining some of my composure.

  “Do you know him?” Marcus asked, seemingly just as curious as I was to find out what had happened.

  “I do,” I stated slowly, closing the folder and peering up at him. The expression on my face must have alerted him to the fact that I was not happy with what I saw because he frowned apologetically and shrugged.

  “I’ll get you checked in so you can do what you need to. Sorry I couldn’t help more.” Turning to his computer, he started typing in various codes and getting keys ready.

  “You’ve done more than you know.” Still slightly fuming, I provided him with my identification and signed the papers he printed for me. Thanking him for his help, I turned to the elevator, ready to go to my room and think things through. My mind was spinning, anger at being lied to boiling inside me, and all I wanted to do was sit down and sort things out for a moment.

  Entering the lift, I squeezed myself into a corner, making room for the other guests joining me, and pressed the button for floor number three. When the doors opened, it was to an open walkway, the entrances to the different rooms facing me. Behind me, a court yard housed the pool and hot tub, as well as palm trees and other greenery.

  Leaving the empty elevator behind, I slowly walked down the corridor to the right, finding my room on the very end, next to a staircase leading down to the ground. The room was simple and somewhat small, but it had its own sitting room apart from the bedroom. There was a tiny refrigerator tucked away under the counter in the right-hand corner, a microwave displaying the time from just overhead. A standard coffee maker and plastic wrapped mugs sat next to the silver sink. On the left-hand side of the room, a fold out couch and small dining table sat, a large, flat screen television across the room from them. I found the bathroom in the short hall in the middle of the space, the bedroom beyond housing a large bed, dresser, and television of its own.

  Sighing, I set my bag on the bed and rubbed my face. I hadn’t known exactly what I was going to do once I got here, but knowing that Stevens was still involved made it seem all the more complicated.

  Was he the one that broke in and stole the vase? Most likely not. The staff would have recognized him on the security footage, if not the police. No, he must have been working with someone else. One of his students, perhaps? Another professor? Had they immediately recognized the value of what Mark had and decided they had to do whatever possible to get it?

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I grumbled, walking back into the sitting room and resting at the table.

  Mark was going to give Stevens the vase. There would have been no need for them to kidnap him or steal it. Why act maliciously when you already have what you want?

  Mark had disappeared. Why? Was it something Stevens said to him at dinner? Had he been kidnapped, or did he run? If he had left of his own accord, why leave his belongings and the vase behind?

  None of it made sense to me. There was something I was missing, something huge, and I didn’t know how to figure it out.

  The phone, sitting on the other side of the couch, let out a shrill ring and I jumped, torn from my frustrated musings. Rising, I picked the handset up.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Mister Williams,” M
arcus apologized. “There’s an officer down here to see you. His name is Detective Guster—he’s been assigned to our robbery case.”

  “And he wants to talk to me?” I asked, surprised.

  “I told him you knew the man who brought the vase here in the first place.”

  My gut was telling me something was wrong again, an uncomfortable feeling settling around my shoulders. “I’ll come down there,” I stated firmly. “If he doesn’t mind waiting a moment.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Putting the phone down, I looked around the room again. It seemed suspicious that a police officer had arrived so soon after myself. He was a member of law enforcement, though. Shouldn’t I be relieved that he was here to help? He might have more information that I needed, more leads that I could help pursue.

  Heading downstairs, I decided to save my judgments and suspicions for the detective until after I’d met and spoken with him. Stevens betrayal had put me on edge, but I didn’t need to broadcast that onto anyone else.

  Upon entering the lobby, I immediately saw the officer, standing in a gray suit, his badge proudly displayed on a chain around his neck. He wore aviator sunglasses, his brown, buzzcut hair making him look like a member of the army more than a local police force.

  “Mister Williams,” he said, stepping forward and holding his hand out. “I’m detective Guster, Phoenix Robbery Unit.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Shaking his offered hand, I smiled, feeling the presence of authority that the man exuded.

  “I understand you have a missing person you’re trying to find?”

  “Yes. Mark Bell. His items were among those stolen from the hotel here.”