Page 26 of Trust No One

Chapter Eleven

Raine

Saturday, October 17, 2026, 5:30 p.m.

I ended the call with Edith and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. Shadows clustered around the oaks. A thin crescent moon dangled near winking stars. I’d forgotten how vivid the night sky could be.

Grabbing my purse, I got back in my car.

The motel was twenty minutes east. Service trucks and older cars crowded the lot.

Thick curtains smothered most of the large windows, but a few leaked the glow of lamps or TVs.

No sign of Gabe’s truck in the front lot. I drove around back. I passed a rusted SUV, then spotted it—a magnetic sign reading Durant Landscaping arching over a silhouetted oak tree. It was parked in front of Room #19. The curtains weren’t fully closed. The lights were on.

I parked and walked to the window. Gabe lay on his bed, one hand tucked behind his head, the other gripping a TV remote.

Judson would trace Gabe’s half-assed hideout soon. I pounded my fist on the door.

Gabe jerked upright, stiffened as if stillness and silence would hide him.

“I know you’re in there, Gabe. I can see you.” I didn’t identify myself. Let him figure it out. “Open the damn door!”

The door snapped open. Gabe’s hair stood in spiky strands. His tee stretched over his rounded belly and wide, muscled shoulders. Deeply tanned skin had gone sallow under the room’s gray light. The once-bad-boy vibe looked sad and careworn.

“What are you doing here?” He glanced left and then right. “How did you find me?”

“Not hard, pal. Small town. And we’ve got history.”

“I needed a break. I freaked out after I saw Maria.”

“So you came here? Are you wondering how your wife is doing?” Despair and anger soured my mouth.

Fingers threaded through his thick hair. “I’ve been afraid to ask. I can’t face it if she’s dead.”

“How did her crisis become about you?”

“She is my wife! Of course I’m affected.”

“She’s in critical condition. Not you.”

Relief flickered. “She’s alive?”

“Still in a coma. She needs her husband. And the cops have questions for you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Your vanishing act says otherwise. A forensic tech is at your house. They’re swabbing and searching for dangerous chemicals.”

Eyebrows raised. “Like drugs?”

Fatigue stoked kindled frustrations. “Like poison.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Get your stuff, Gabe. We’re going to the hospital.”

“Okay.” He grabbed his wallet and slipped on his shoes. He closed the door behind him. “I’ll follow you.”