Page 12 of Hidden Truths

Nils was the head of the MFAA, a federal organization that tracked the sale of stolen antiquities used to fund terrorist groups. Because of the MFAA, Nils had been involved in Mara Philippi’s arrest. He’d also been romantically involved with Kellen, and despite the fact Max had won that battle and married her, Nils cared about her, maybe in a kindly way. Maybe in a lustful way.

Max didn’t care how Nils cared about her; Max hated this bastard.

“I haven’t seen her.” Max headed for his car.

“You’ve been there ten hours. What do you mean you haven’t seen her?”

“How do you know how long I’ve been here?” Max unlocked the trunk.

“How do you think you got permission to visit so easily?”

Max hadn’t thought it was easy at all, but sure. It had probably taken pulling all the strings. “No sighting yet. They’re playing games.”

Nils’s voice sharpened. “Who’s playing games?”

“Not sure.” Max picked up his backpack, then hesitated, his gaze on the tire iron. “The warden. The assistant warden. Today I’ve been in the prison twice. I’ve been obstructed twice.”

“What happened?”

“The first time they tried to show me a supposed live video.”

Nils snorted.

“Maybe it was live, but it was too far away and too fuzzy to identify her. The second time—”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight—she was behind a thick glass. I couldn’t make an identification like that.” Telling Nils this stuff made Max more aware, more certain of the inherent wrongness of this place and these people.

“I’ll bet that didn’t go well for them.”

“No.” Max stowed the tire iron in his bag, hoisted it on his shoulder and shut the trunk. He made sure the car was locked, too, but now he was also sure a lock would make no difference. This place lived on the edge of a cesspool.

“Sounds like they’re hiding something,” Nils said.

“Doesn’t it?” Max headed into his room. “Tomorrow I’m going back to see her, face-to-face, in a cell.”

“What time?”

“Ten a.m.” Before Max stepped through the door, he looked around the parking lot. He felt as if he was being watched.

“Let me see what I can do to help.”

“You do that.” Max shut the door behind him and locked it. He shoved the desk chair under the handle, then stared at the old, never-used second door in the back wall, figured there was no such thing as too much caution and moved the cheap desk to block it,. He hefted the tire iron in his hand and hoped it was enough.

INTHEMIDDLEof the night, Max woke with a start.

He’d heard something at the back door; a clawing at the wood.

Quietly he pulled his tire iron from under the bed and pushed the blankets back, prepared for action.

In the alley, a man shouted a drunken raucous obscenity.

Someone else slammed the side of the building hard enough to make the cheap pictures shudder.

Maybe the Aloha Motel was merely living down to its reputation.

Max stayed on the bed. But he didn’t release the tire iron, and he didn’t go back to sleep until the first glimmers of dawn lit the sky.

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