Free A Stranger's Touch by Roxy Boroughs Page B

here.”
    Maggie suppressed a shiver. Marshall. The name Stafford gave Owens at the police station.
    She shot him a look. She didn’t know what to expect. A man gloating, perhaps. Or surprised that his tip had paid off. That wasn’t what she got. His expression showed curiosity. Nothing more.
    She jotted down the name and license number the manager provided, her pen making jittery scratches. “Any other ID?”
    “There’s an address and phone number.”
    Maggie felt as if she’d won the lottery, given the way her heart bumped around in her chest. She had to remind herself to be cool, play the cop, collect the information and keep her reactions undercover.
    “Great,” she said, and helped the manager twist the screen around for a better view. She copied the information in her notebook then examined the rest of the page, her hopes wilting. “I don’t see any reference to a little boy.”
    “There wouldn’t be. Children under ten are free. We don’t record them.”
    Maggie felt like a boomerang, rebounding back with new faith. “Do you know what kind of vehicle the woman drove?”
    “It’s not in our records, which is odd. I’ll have to speak to Dan about that.”
    “He checked in Marshall?”
    “Yes. He’s on nightshift this week.”
    “Where can I find him?”
    Noreen’s lips twisted into a pink smirk. “Danny divides his time among several young ladies here in town. He’ll be in for his shift tonight, but I couldn’t tell you where he is at the moment.”
    I couldn’t tell you where my son is, either, Maggie wanted to scream. She reined in the urge, swallowedit, and buried it deep within herself. She had to keep her emotions in check. She wouldn’t get anywhere ranting like a lunatic. No matter how much she felt like one.
    “Which room did Ms. Marshall use?” It was the first question Stafford had asked the woman and brought Maggie back to reality.
    “Number sixteen. On the end,” Noreen purred. “It’s a two-bedroom suite, Detective.”
    Detective? Maggie was about to demote Stafford when he opened his wallet and flipped a credit card onto the counter. “I’d like to book that one, please.”
    The manager gave an apologetic smile. “I’m not sure if sixteen is clean yet, sir.”
    “Even better.” Stafford pressed his shoulder into Maggie’s. “If I could touch their used towels and sheets...hold them for a moment. A personal object, something solid, works best, but I’ll take what I can get.”
    Noreen shuffled papers, moving the same pile three times as she eyed Stafford from beneath her five-dollar lashes. In less than thirty seconds, he’d gone from being Sam Spade to just another creep with a new type of fetish.
    “But why stay?” Saying the word made Maggie flinch. Stay? Do nothing? She couldn’t. She had to keep moving. Or risk collapsing onto the floor and disintegrating into dust.
    “We’ve been driving all night. I don’t know about you, but I could use a break from the road,” he told her. “This is the first real lead we’ve had. Let’s get forty winks then hear what the night clerk has to say.”
    She couldn’t imagine sleeping. Dreams would only bring images of Davie. Visions of every possible atrocity a maniac could do to a little boy.
    She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the specters. Stafford was right. They needed a break. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Hadn’t been for the last twenty-four hours. A lifetime ago.
    “Okay. But I’ll pay for the room.”
    “Sure.” He pushed his plastic toward Noreen. “Next time.”
    The manager took the card and began the process of checking them in. Names, addresses, license plate number, the works. She handed each of them a key.
    Stafford scooped up his and headed for the door. A thin, dark-skinned woman pushed a cart across his path.
    “Don’t worry about cleaning sixteen, Lydia,” Noreen called out.
    The aboriginal woman shrugged. “Already done.”
    Stafford’s shoulders sank. He took a step closer to Lydia.