A pause came through the line.
Then the night desk said, “Sounds like she’s creative.”
“She is,” I said. “I’ll check in again at daylight.”
“Copy that. Keep her breathing and don’t let her steal anything.”
Crystal leaned toward the console. “That’s very judgmental for someone I’ve never met.”
I ended the call before she could collect an audience.
Her shoulder brushed the seat belt as she settled back. “Pine Shadow Motor Court. That sounds like a place people make poor decisions.”
“It’s a place with rooms.”
“You do have a way with romance.”
“This isn’t romance.”
“No,” she said, looking out the side window. “I guess men usually buy dinner before they ruin a woman’s life.”
The words cut, but they came out quieter than the rest.
I looked at her profile. In the last blue light, her face lost the dust and attitude. She looked exhausted. Not soft. Not sorry. Just worn to the bone and still sitting upright because lying down would mean trusting the ground.
“You hungry?” I asked.
Crystal turned back to me. “That depends. Are you offering a last meal?”
“I’m offering vending-machine crackers if Pine Shadow still has the same machine.”
“Wow. My standards are being courted so aggressively.”
“You want them or not?”
“I didn’t say no.”
That was as close as she seemed willing to come to accepting anything.
We drove another ten minutes without speaking. The road dropped out of the trees and ran along a low shoulder above the valley. Whispering Pines sat somewhere behind us, lights hidden by the dark folds of timber. Ahead, the highway glowed in dull strips where headlights passed between the trunks.
The Pine Shadow sign appeared after the next bend, green letters buzzing around two orange pine trees, the motel stretched behind it in a single low row of doors. The place looked exactly like it always had: cracked blacktop, old wood siding, window units, vending machines under a flickering awning, and enough privacy that no one asked too many questions unless the questions came with cash.
I pulled in slow and parked in front of the office.
Crystal looked up at the sign. “This is either a motel or the first scene of a slasher movie.”
“It’s clean enough.”
“That answer didn’t help.”
“You’re hard to reassure.”
“I’m handcuffed in a bounty hunter’s truck outside a motel named Pine Shadow. Reassurance has a steep climb.”
I shut off the engine, then turned toward her. “Listen to me. I’m going to walk you into that office and get a room. Your hands stay under the overshirt. You don’t yell. You don’t run. You don’t make this hard.”
Her brows lifted. “And if I do?”
