Read Debra Burroughs - Paradise Valley 04.5 - The Color of Lies for Free Online

where a couple of hotel employees were checking in guests. “Hey, did you see a man and woman come out of the bar? She was attractive, long dark hair, short black dress. She was with a man—about six two, medium build, short brown hair.”
    “No, sorry,” the man behind the counter said, shaking his head.
    “Me either,” said the female employee.
    “You?” Colin asked frantically, grabbing the male guest’s arm. The man shook his head.
    “Code red, all officers, code red. Miranda and the subject have disappeared. Spencer, have the entire hotel searched.”
    “Got it, Andrews.”
    “Get an ambulance down here to stand by,” Colin ordered.
    “Roger that.”
    He turned and looked over the lobby, his gaze darting around, as a bellman came out of a dimly lit hallway by the elevators.
    “Colin,” a man said.
    Colin whirled around. It was the plain-clothes cop that had been stationed in the foyer.
    “Where did they go?” Colin shouted at the cop.
    “I was sitting there,” he pointed to a chair against the wall, “and I saw them come out and walk toward the elevator. Then this lady walked over and sat near me with her little Chihuahua and I sneezed a few times—I’m highly allergic to dogs, you see.”
    “You let them get away!” Colin yelled. “Why didn’t you say something?”
    “I assumed they got on the elevator.”
    “They didn’t,” Colin growled.
    The cop was trying to explain something to Colin about it being impossible to sneeze with your eyes open, that he was sorry, but Colin spied the bellman walking by. He put his hand out and stopped him. “Down that hall, did you see a man and woman, attractive brunette with a short black dress? She was with a man in a white shirt and dark pants.”
    “No, sorry,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, and he kept walking.
    Colin surveyed the lobby, he took in every nook and cranny that was visible.
    Where could they have gone?
    Maybe they weren’t somewhere visible, at least from the lobby.
    The stairs!
    “Hey!” Colin sprinted after the bellman and grabbed his arm again. “Where are the stairs?”
    He pointed back to a row of potted ficus trees, about twenty feet away. “Past the ficus trees, around the corner, halfway down the hallway.”
    Colin raced to the trees and flew around the corner, sprinting down the hallway. Gun drawn, he pushed through the door, climbing the stairs two at a time.
    “Stairway from first to second floor—clear!” he shouted into his mic, but kept going.
    As he was nearing the landing before the third floor, a woman’s legs were visible through the open steps and his heart tumbled into his stomach.
    “Miranda!” he screamed, racing the last few stairs to her.
    She was sprawled awkwardly on the landing, her head hanging forward, her back pressed against the concrete wall. Her throat had been cut, blood dripping down her neck and onto her chest.
    He turned away from her, bent over and retched. All the crime scenes, all the bloody bodies—none of it prepared him for finding his fiancée like this.
    He staggered over to her, he could see the stream of blood was pulsing out in a weak rhythm—her heart was still beating. “Oh, Miranda,” he groaned, tears blurring his vision. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close one last time, but he knew better than to move her. The only thing that had kept her from completely bleeding out already was the way her head dropped forward, slowing the flow of blood.
    “I found her!” Colin screeched into the mic. “Get that ambulance ready and send the paramedics—STAT! I’m in the stairwell just below the third floor. And someone catch that guy!”
    Colin crouched beside her, not wanting to see her like this, but unable to look away. Tears spilled out and he began to sob.
    He felt so powerless. He wanted to stop the bleeding, but moving her to get to the wound would only hasten the bleeding, so he stayed by her on the landing and held her hand, trembling, as