Blood Trails Read Online Free PDF

my cell in case I’m not in the house. I don’t want to miss you.”
    “Will do,” Holly said, and then rolled her suitcase to the curbside check-in as Bud got into the car.
    She turned around and watched until he was out of sight, then took her place in line and told herself it was the chill of the wind making her eyes water, not a fresh set of tears.
    Lambert—St. Louis International Airport
    The flight across country had been mostly monotonous. She’d tried to sleep, but she’d never been able to sleep sitting up. She’d read a few chapters in the book she’d brought with her but had no idea of what she’d read. The journal was in her bag. She could have read it again, but for some reason she didn’t want anyone watching her read it for fear she might cry. That was all she felt like doing. The closer she got to her destination, the more uneasy she became. When they landed, she was on the verge of tears with no explanation, but she blinked them away as they began to disembark.
    Out of nowhere, a shudder ran up Holly’s back as she stepped off the plane. A little startled, she looked up the walkway toward the terminal, fearing something ominous awaited her just beyond the doorway. Then she chalked up the moment to exhaustion and stress, and moved forward.
    But the feeling of uneasiness stayed with her all the way through the terminal, while she reclaimed her suitcase at baggage claim, even after she picked up her rental car. It felt as if every instinct she had was telling her to run, to go back where she’d come from, but Andrew hadn’t raised his girls to be quitters.
    Her budget rental car was minus GPS, so after a quick study of the city map provided by the rental company, it became apparent that the airport was farther outside the city than she’d expected. As she left the airport, she began watching for the access road that would take her onto Interstate 70, then got on it and headed southeast toward the city.
    Her hotel reservation was at the Jameson Regency near the Arch. According to her directions, the hotel was on Chestnut Street just off I-70 and across the highway from the banks of the Mississippi River, so she drove with a careful eye on the traffic, while still watching for landmarks and street signs. As she drove, she kept looking for something that felt familiar, but it didn’t happen.
    She had no trouble finding the hotel, but only because she knew where she was going from the map. She’d seen the Arch, St. Louis’s most famous landmark, from miles away. It, of course, did look familiar, but only because she’d seen it countless times in photos, not because it was something she remembered from childhood.
    When she reached the hotel she dropped her car off at valet parking, then let the bellman take her suitcase and followed him into the hotel. The vivid colors of the lobby furnishings and the white marble walkway leading up to the registration desk were a big change from the hardwood floors and wood paneling of the ranch house. She remembered reading about the hotel’s recent renovations online when she’d made her reservations. The place was beautiful, even elegant, but if she’d had to choose, she would have picked the warm wood and Native American art back home.
    Once she’d checked in, she followed another bellman to the bank of elevators, then up to the sixth floor.
    “Room 663,” he said, as he took her key card and ran it through the lock.
    Holly tipped him as he left, then locked herself in and moved to the windows overlooking the Mississippi. The current was slow, the water dark. At that point, another shiver ran through her.
    “What the hell is wrong with me?” she muttered. “Please, God, don’t let me get sick. That’s the last thing I need, okay?”
    She turned her back on the view and began unpacking. It was a constructive task that needed to be done, and she needed to stay busy to keep from thinking about what lay ahead.
    As soon as she finished, she grabbed her