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I swung my cramped legs out and stood, feeling my whole body creak. “What?” I said in alarm as his words sunk in. “Where’s your room?”
“Next door,” he said, opening the back seat and getting my suitcase.
“No way,” I said. “I’m staying with you.”
Cavan sighed and looked at me. We were standing in the parking lot, the sun heating the sky overhead. Behind us, the road was silent, not a car in sight. “You get your own room,” he said.
“No,” I said again. I was still wearing my heels, because I had no other shoes, and the hot wind lifted my hair. “I’m not staying by myself. No way. I’m staying with you.”
“Dani.” His voice was soft. “We’ve been over this.”
My throat was closing. I stared at the open motel room door. This didn’t have to do with sex; it was panic, and nothing else. “I’ll just sleep,” I said. “That’s all. But not without you.”
“You don’t want some privacy?”
“No, I don’t want any privacy!” It came out half a shout, my voice laced with fear. I didn’t even know why I was upset; I just knew that I wasn’t ready for him to leave yet, wasn’t ready to just lie there alone. “I can’t do it,” I said. “I can’t. No way.”
He sighed again and glanced around, probably seeing that I was immovable—and, as he’d said, distinctive—in this parking lot. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll share a room. Just move.”
I did, reluctantly. He ushered me into the motel room, then grabbed the bags and dropped them inside. Both of our bags. I started to breathe again.
It was a small room, like a million other motel rooms. Dresser, mirror, bathroom, bed. One bed. And not even a very big one, at that. “Take the shower first,” he said. “And don’t get your bandage wet. I’m going for supplies.”
He was leaving? But no, I’d had my crazy tantrum for the day. “What supplies?” I asked.
“Food,” he said. “Lock the door. Give me your phone.”
I did, and he powered it on, then typed his number in. “Leave this on until I come back, in case you need me,” he said. Then he turned and left the room.
I felt a beat of panic again. This was stupid; I barely knew the man, but already I didn’t want to be separated from him. He was right, I shouldn’t leave one man just to depend on another. I was tired and scared, that was all.
I triple-checked that the door was locked, then stripped and took a shower. I washed all of the fear-sweat off of me, along with the old smoke and booze and smeared makeup. I kept my bandage as dry as I could, but it still got damp. Then I wrapped myself in a towel and lay on top of the bedspread.
There was still nothing on my phone.
McMurphy would find out any minute now. My time was almost up.
I blinked at the ceiling, a thought crossing my mind. I’d told Cavan that I didn’t want any privacy. But I’d never asked him if he wanted any. If he’d wanted privacy, he’d just given it up. For me.
I was still thinking about it when I dropped over the edge into the dark oblivion of sleep.
Eight
Cavan
I had withdrawn eight hundred dollars from my bank account. It had drained me dry, because I didn’t live on much, but it would get me by. The motel clerk had taken cash, and now I went into town and bought food at the local grocery store so we wouldn’t be seen in any of the local diners.
When I was finished I went into a hole-in-the-wall corner store and bought a burner phone, again for cash. No names, no addresses, no credit cards. I configured it, and now I had a number that no one could trace.
Which meant I could call my brother.
Devon Wilder, the billionaire.
I didn’t have his number, but I knew I could get it. The best way to find it was probably to look up Max Reilly, the friend Devon and I had grown up with in L.A. Max wasn’t a billionaire, he was just a guy—which probably meant his info was searchable somewhere on the internet.
I actually sat in my car in the baking late-morning Arizona heat and felt cold sweat on the back of my neck at the thought. Ten years. It had been ten years since I’d seen either Devon or Max. I had left them both behind without looking back, and I had reasons for it. Reasons that, a decade later, I still didn’t want to explore.
Man the fuck up, Wilder.
