J. Gonzalez - Survivor

"Good. John's one of the best. Plus, you're in one of the biggest, busiest hotels in Las Vegas. Nothing's going to happen to you there. You're in, like, a fort in the middle of the desert."

Brad felt a little better. He sat down on the toilet, cradling the phone. Hearing that made him feel more secure. Billy was right. John was a big man, easily over six feet, and his partner, Titan, was even bigger. Both men came from public and private law-enforcement backgrounds, held black belts in various martial arts. Plus, they were in charge of the entire security force at the Luxor. Nobody was going to fuck with them. "What's the latest?"

"I'm leaving in ten minutes for an appearance at the San Bernardino Sheriff's Station," Billy said. The DAs in court now on the search warrant issue, and I expect to hear something on my way up. I'm hoping we get the search warrant so I won't have to drive all the way the fuck back."

"Do you think they'll overturn it?"

"No doubt of that. DAs got probable cause, which is all they need. The Golgotha people don't have a leg to stand on, legally."

"So what happens next?"

"We search the place and take it from there," Billy said. "If we find anything-and I mean anything-that points to foul play in that place, arrest warrants are going out to all the guys on Golgotha's board of directors. If they want to avoid going to prison, they'll talk."

Brad's mind was racing, tracking back to the story Lisa had told him. "Do you think these guys had anything to do with this?"

"I don't know. They might, but I just don't know. There's always the possibility they could have been renting it out to this Tim Murray guy and they had no idea what Tim was using it for. On the other hand, if they know something, we're going to make them talk."

"Call me first thing you find out," Brad said.

"You bet."

They hung up and Brad walked back into the room and put the phone back on the nightstand. Lisa was asleep again, curled up on her left side.

Brad watched her sleep for a moment, noting the drawn look on her sleeping countenance, the way the skin on her forehead was furrowed in worry lines. The room was dark, slivers of light escaping through the blinds that were dosed against the heat of the day. Brad checked his watch. It was only ten-thirty, with the rest of the day to follow.

Brad climbed onto the bed, sat up against the headboard. He turned the television on and thumbed the volume down. He spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon channel surfing, his mind on autopilot, most of his energy going toward taking care of his wife as she slept and tried to keep the demons at bay.

William Grecko was present at the Golgotha cabin as the search commenced.

He had received the news halfway up the mountain. One of the DAs, Bruce Davis, had made the call. Billy had given a small shout of victory at the news. The court order is being sent to San Bernardino now, so meet me at the cabin," Bruce had said.

William drove straight to the cabin, where he met four deputies and a homicide unit search team. A Golgotha representative was also present, and he didn't look too happy. He'd remained sullen as he followed the search team through the cabin; making it well-known that he wasn't pleased. Billy smirked as he caught the man glancing at him. Fucking weasel, he thought. These church people are all a bunch of fucking weasels.

There were four homicide detectives present. They made a quick inspection of the interior of the cabin. William had waited outside with one of the deputies, making small talk as the search went on. The forensics team showed up a few minutes into the search, and a trio of white haz-mat-suited figures entered the cabin. Billy turned to the deputy. 'They surely didn't waste time in bringing these guys in, did they?"

"Don't get your hopes up," the deputy replied, staring at the cabin. The deputy was in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and eyes and a slim build. "We don't have much to go on in there. One of the rooms has just been repainted. If there's anything to be found, it'll be in that room, and these guys'll be the ones that find it."

Billy nodded; he had figured that the minute he saw the techs walk in with their equipment. Lisa had said the place had been barren of furniture, that Tim and that Al guy had covered the floors and walls with plastic sheets before they started torturing Debbie Martinez. They would be lucky if they found a single drop of blood in the place. And they surely weren't going to waste immediate time in digging up the grounds around the house. No telling where the bodies might have been taken. They were looking for the smallest amount of evidence they could find. Anything would do. A drop of blood, a smudge of a fingerprint, a hair. They would find it.

William was sure of it.

Six-thirty PM.

Lisa had been up for the last two hours, staring morosely at the TV as talk shows rolled on. Oprah was conversing with the author of a new political thriller. Brad had brought Lisa a glass of water and had encouraged her to eat a couple of crackers, which she'd nibbled on. She had to get some nutrition in her, but he knew that she couldn't handle food right now She was still in that state of nausea, and he didn't want to induce another round of vomiting. Slow and easy was the ticket.

At least she had allowed him to open the blinds a little. The early-evening sun spilled streaks of gold through the window, bringing in some heat. Brad had the air conditioner set at a comfortable level. He had spent the last few hours watching TV and reading the newspaper, which had been left outside their door this morning, courtesy of the hotel. Lisa's parents had called around noon, and Lisa had risen long enough to talk with them and assure them she was okay. Brad told them he would call as soon as he heard from Billy Grecko, which should be any minute. Both sets of parents were in a state of panic, and Brad could only imagine the anguish they were going through. It had been Billy's idea to keep the lines of communication between their parents open, including telling them the truth of Lisa's kidnapping. The best thing Brad could think of to keep their fears at bay was to talk to them every six hours or so, assure them they were fine and that they were holding up well under the circumstances.

At the same time, Brad knew that Lisa needed to get some serious professional help. She had spent most of the morning and early afternoon in a deep sleep, and now that she was awake she had been sitting in a vegetative state in front of the TV, talking only when he asked her something. The blows she had rent upon herself earlier that morning had left bruises along the right side of her face. Brad had fidgeted, torn between wanting to call somebody to help her-maybe get his parents or one of their friends back home to summon a good shrink over to Vegas to get Lisa into therapy or something-but he couldn't. They were trapped in one of the most popular luxury hotels in Las Vegas, under the watchful eye of the security experts Billy Grecko was connected to, until the people responsible for Lisa's abduction and near murder were apprehended. Until then, he felt powerless.

Then the phone rang.

Brad picked it up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Billy here." Brad could detect the strain in Billy's voice. His stomach plunged down an elevator shaft.

"Yeah, Billy." Brad tried to keep his voice calm.

"We didn't find anything." At the confirmation, Brad's spirits sagged. He glanced at Lisa, who didn't appear aware that Brad was on the phone. "We tore that place apart. Looked through the house from top to bottom. The forensic guys went over every square inch of the room Lisa described and took some samples, but they didn't look too happy. They don't think they've found anything. Motherfuckers painted the goddamn room!"