Page 24 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
But was it only foolish hope to think that he could change?
He pulled onto the street where the motel was situated, and his foot slipped off the gas. He gaped at the number of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles blocking the street in front of Zeyla’s place. Not just her, but all the people on the street that had now been displaced.
He parked where he could, tucking his car between two work trucks on the side of the street, and barely got the door shut. Jogging over without even his phone, let alone his keys. Who cared? He had to know if she was alive.
The middle of the motel had caved in, precisely where her room was located. By the look of it, a huge explosion had tornapart the center of the building. The two sides were about to collapse in the middle, currently being shored up by the fire department. There were first responders everywhere in an ocean of red-and-blue flashing lights. Floodlights had also been set up, trying to illuminate the wreckage in the darkness.
An ambulance pulled away behind him, lights and sirens going.
Ramon fought his way to the front of the crowd and found a uniformed police officer, probably barely out of the police academy. “What happened?”
The guy looked exhausted and practically rolled his eyes. “What does it look like? It imploded.”
“Maybe don’t let them put you on the stand when they catch the guy, yeah?” Ramon shot the officer a look. “Where do I go to find out what happened to my friend?” He pointed at the empty space where Zeyla’s room had been. “That was my friend’s room.”
The officer pointed down the street. “Find the sergeant. He’s working the survivors list.”
Ramon jogged away, toward where the officer had pointed. Between a couple of black-and-white patrol cars, one of which apparently had a K-9 in the back, given all the barking, he threaded toward a pop-up awning. Hopefully, what the officer had meant was that his sergeant had a master list of everyone who may have been inside the building at the time of the explosion and was correlating that with the patients who had been taken to the hospital or had lost their lives here.
His breath caught in his throat. He had to cough it out while approaching an older man with thick chevrons on his short uniform sleeves. The man reached up and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing ash on his clammy skin. He spotted Ramon coming and lifted his chin. “What’s the name of your friend or loved one?”
Ramon stumbled to a stop. He frowned, his mouth open.
What name had she given the desk clerk when she signed in?
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “Or are you some kind of reporter, fishing for the exclusive? We won’t know the final death toll for at least a day. Got it?”
“My friend was in one of those rooms. I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock.” Ramon ran his hands through his hair, his elbows splayed. He turned around and looked at the motel, but that didn’t help him remember what name she had used when she checked in.
Right. Kenna had sent him a rundown of all the information.
He wandered away a few steps, pulled up his email, and found the information Kenna and Maizie had dug up when they were figuring out where Zeyla had gone. “Rachel Sanders.” He turned back to the sergeant. “Can you look up Rachel Sanders, please?”
The guy looked at his clipboard, flipping one piece of paper over the clip at the top. “Hasn’t been found. She’s marked as still unaccounted for, which means she might not even have been here when the explosion happened.”
There was that, at least. And it was enough that the squeeze in Ramon’s chest eased, and he could take a breath. “Do you have any idea what happened? Was it some kind of accident?”
“If you want to know what happened,” the sergeant said. “Watch local news tomorrow like everyone else.” He handed over a business card. “You can call this number for updates on if we find your friend.”
He wanted to believe that she hadn’t even been here and that was why she had called him four times. But why hadn’t she answered the phone when he called her back?
Zeyla could very well be in the wreckage somewhere, fighting for her life. Or already dead.
Ramon took the card and headed away from the sergeant, past two uniformed officers in some kind of intense conversation, their heads close together. He instinctively slowed so he could try and catch some of the conversation.
When he heard a low voice say, “…the Count,” he almost stumbled again.
He slowed even further, acting as if he was so overwhelmed by the sight of this wreckage that used to be a building that he wasn’t able to continue on.
“You know that’s just a myth. It isn’t like there’s some rich guy in a cape and a mask who goes around snatching people. Like he’s blowing up buildings just to cover his tracks.” The officer scoffed. “This could have been a gas leak, for all you know.”
“He probably doesn’t wear a cape.” The man paused for a second. “I’m just saying. This is something he’d do.”
“Some guy who doesn’t exist? Unlikely. Unless you know something about him that I don’t,” the guy said. “The Count of Shadows is just a dumb story told in elementary school to get kids to be safe. It’s not actually a real thing.”
Ramon heard them wander off, and they passed him. Striding over to a fire truck.
He needed to try Zeyla’s number again, so he went back to the car and climbed in the front seat. A text message on his cell phone had him fishing the keys off the rug between his feet and starting the car.
