Page 70 of The Lost Bones
They were like mannequins.
“Who else do you see? I’m writing down the names.”
“Rathbone’s chief of staff, Judge Romano, Rafael Jennings, that lobbyist who was in the news last year, ADA Tonheim, Debbie’s boss—I forgot his name—and others I don’t recognize.”
“Shit. Okay, get out of there.”
“Yeah.” She was turning to leave when she saw there was another staircase behind her. “Wait. I’ll check out upstairs.”
“Mack! Get out! That place is crawling with people who can ruin your life if they catch you.”
“I’ll be careful. Don’t distract me.”
She managed to pad her way up undetected. Reaching the landing, she was faced with a hallway with rows of doors on either side. Her palms were coated in sweat; she knew she was pushing her luck. The hallway was dark, though. If anyone came out of one of the rooms, they’d only see a silhouette and assume she was one of the women from downstairs. It gave her some relief.
Walking past the doors, she could hear men moaning and bedsprings squeaking. She’d almost reached the other end when she noticed that one of the doors wasn’t entirely shut. Her heart thundered inside her chest. Licking her lips, she twisted slightly to get a glimpse inside.
Through the sliver, she saw a woman lying on the bed, straight as an arrow, staring at the ceiling. Hamilton was kneeling on the floor. He lifted the corner of the purple carpet to reveal a latch, then opened a secret compartment and placed a gun into it. Putting the carpet back, he proceeded to remove his jacket and unbutton his pants.
“Mack, you okay?” Nick checked again.
She made a humming sound, afraid someone might hear her.
With bile rising in her throat, she was about to leave when something caught her eye. The woman had raised her legs in the air as Hamilton settled between her thighs. Around her ankle was a barcode inked into her skin.
Mackenzie’s brain turned off and restarted again like a faulty engine. She jogged back down the staircase and peeked into the room again. This time she paid attention to the women’s ankles.
Every woman had that tattoo.
A barcode around their ankle.
Exactly like Jane Doe.
THIRTY-SIX
APRIL 21
Beams of light burned through Mackenzie’s eyelids. As awareness slowly trickled in, she realized that her cheek was resting on leather. She rose with a jolt and registered her surroundings. The wood-paneled walls, the leather furniture, the dartboard, the perpetual whiff of wood and spice and whiskey.
“Ah!” she squeaked, seeing Nick standing over her holding a glass of green liquid.
“Good morning.” He shoved the glass into her hands.
She wiped her eyes, still groggy. “What? Why am I here?”
Nick had just returned from the gym, with sweat matting his skin and his red T-shirt. He lifted the bottom of the shirt to wipe his forehead, and Mackenzie quickly averted her eyes.
“We came here to discuss the case in my lair.” He jutted his thumb at the closed door: his office, where a bulletin board running the length of the room was covered in pictures and printouts of reports. “And then you fell asleep.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I tried. You didn’t budge.” He grinned. “I even tried moving you to the guest room, but you kicked me in the shin.”
Mackenzie had no memory of kicking him, but she recalled sitting on the couch for a glass of wine before dozing off. “I thought you had protein shakes, not green smoothies.” She swallowed it within seconds, relishing the freshness.
“I made it for you,” he said. “I’m heading to the shower. I’ll be out in a second.”
“Have you seen my wallet?” She fished around her pockets.
