Power Play. Beverly Long

      “My sister.” He showed him Kellie’s picture.

      “Right.” The kid looked smug. “She is pretty hot, I admit, and it probably takes some talent to have two guys running after her.”

      Trey’s brain scrambled to catch up. “Two?” he said.

      “Yeah. Fifteen minutes after you were in earlier, another guy came in. He talked to two other agents before he got to me. His also had a picture, although a different one, and his story was a little different, too. He said she was his wife, that they’d quarreled and he wanted to apologize. Even had a dozen roses with him.”

      Kellie McGarry wasn’t married, he was confident of that. Somebody else was spinning stories and looking for her. A cold chill ran up the length of Trey’s spine.

      “You get this man’s name?”

      “Nope.”

      “Got a description?”

      The kid shrugged. “Thirty or forty, I guess. Brown hair. Maybe. I can’t really remember.”

      “Tall or short?” Trey asked.

      “About your height. Maybe your weight. You know, I got to get going. My ride is waiting.”

      Trey wanted to press him for details but knew it was likely fruitless. Firsthand witnesses were notoriously bad at remembering pertinent details. “What did you tell him?” he asked.

      “The same thing I told you. Nothing. Because I don’t know nothing. Good luck, man, whatever the truth is.” He walked around Trey and left through a door marked Employees Only.

      There was little doubt in Trey’s mind that the man searching for Kellie was somehow connected to the damage at her apartment. Trey had known to come here because Hagney had told him. Who the hell else had he told?

      He went back to his car and dialed the man’s cell. It rang four times before going to voice mail. “Hagney, this is Trey Riker. I really need to talk with you again. It’s important. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”

      The man was no doubt busy with his bartending duties. His cell might not even be on him. Trey knew there were places that made their employees keep their cell phones out of customer areas.

      Still, he tried twice more before deciding that he had no choice but to go back to Lavender. He was frustrated as he drove to the bar, weaving in and out of traffic, honking when other drivers didn’t get out of his way. He parked in a no-parking zone and ran up the stairs. Hagney was waiting on another customer and Trey barely controlled himself. Finally, he got the bartender’s attention.

      “Who else did you tell that you dropped Kellie off at the bus station?” he asked, not willing to spend any time on pleasantries.

      Hagney shook his head. “Nobody.”

      Was he lying? Trey didn’t think so. But of all the places to look for Kellie, what was the likelihood they would just happen to go to the bus station. Almost none. “You’re sure?”

      “Yes.”

      “Could anyone have overheard our phone conversation?”

      “I don’t think so,” he said. “I was back in the kitchen when I called. I guess it’s possible but I didn’t see anybody.” Two new customers came and sat down. Hagney made eye contact with them, letting them know he’d seen them. “Look, I have to go. Is Kellie okay?”

      “I don’t know. Listen, if anybody comes around asking about her, please don’t tell them anything. Try to get their names. Then call me.”

      He left Lavender as quickly as he’d entered. His truck had thankfully not yet been towed. He got in, pulled away and tried to think about everything he knew about Anthony and Kellie McGarry, tried to find some thread to unravel that would tell him what direction to go.

      His cell phone buzzed minutes later. It was Rico.

      “What do you have for me?” Trey asked.

      For the next ten minutes, Rico spewed out information. Hospital where she’d been born. Grade school, middle school and high school that she’d attended. College scholarships received. Score on her SAT. Allergies noted in her medical record. Names of her college roommates. Airline flights she’d taken in the last five years. Trey sat up straighter in his seat. “What was that?” he asked.

      “She flew from Las Vegas to Los Angeles four months ago, stayed at the Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills in a block of rooms labeled Howell/Thompson Wedding Party.”

      “Before that, you said Amanda Howell was her college roommate.”

      “For four years.”

      “Where does Amanda live now?” Trey asked.

      He could hear keys clicking in the background. “Amanda Howell-Thompson and her husband have a home in Palm Springs, California.”

      She could have taken a bus from Vegas to Los Angeles and then another from there to Palm Springs. “Text me the address,” he said. “And thank you.”

      “Good luck,” Rico said.

      He was going to need it. Somebody else was looking for Kellie and Trey needed to find her first.