She insisted on seeing the room for herself, so they reluctantly gave her a key. On the fourteenth floor, she opened the door slowly and let it swing open. She inhaled, expecting to encounter the odor of whiskey.

It was gone. But the strong smell of disinfectant and cleansers filled the room. She walked in and looked to the left where the man had lain on the carpet, covered in blood. He was gone. The carpet was clean.

She wandered through the room, eyeing the upholstery and carpet. No stains. Her gaze shifted to the wall. No blood splatter. She moved closer. Either she was off her rocker, or someone had done a phenomenal cleaning job.

He had said he would clean it up.

She touched the wall. It looked so fresh. Had they repainted it? Too bad she couldn't get a CSI team in here. There was no way Captain O'Brian would okay that, not when hotel management insisted the room had been empty.

She strode into the bedroom. The satin comforter was spotless. How had Jack managed that? She peered into the bathroom. No sex doll. She scanned the mosaic floor and white marble vanity for any sign of blood. The twenty-four-carat-gold faucets gleamed. The towels were neatly folded. No one would ever believe this room had been occupied.

She strode toward the door to let herself out. Somehow, Jack had tampered with the memories of all the hotel staff. Had he bothered with the guests?

She knocked on the next door down the hall. A droopy-eyed, yawning couple told her that everything had been quiet the night before, then slammed the door in her face. If it had been quiet, why were they so sleepy?

Well, that was easy. They could have been up all night making love. Lara sighed. Just because she was going without didn't mean other people were.