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He cut across the lot, headed for the little fishing village nearby. “You can buy another pair when you get home.”
They needed to regroup. He needed to call Jake and figure out what the hell was going on, and Lauren needed to rest. Okay, so she hadn’t yet cracked, but she would. All women did sooner or later.
“Not those shoes,” she said, softly. “They were ten years old.”
“They’re just shoes.”
“Those weren’t just shoes. They had sentimental value. Not something I’d ever expect you to understand.”
There was enough hurt in her voice to tell him she was serious. Though why someone like her would hang on to a pair of outdated heels when she could buy a new pair any day she wanted was anyone’s guess.
They moved in silence across the street, staying in the shadows. The sidewalk was cracked and overgrown with weeds. At this hour there was barely a soul around, with most of the businesses shut down for the night. Half a mile ahead, Finn spotted what he hoped was a motel, its flashing neon sign burned out in two places. He headed in that direction.
He dropped Lauren to her feet outside the door of the two-story structure. “Stay close to me.”
She didn’t answer, but at least now she was following directions. As he pushed the lobby door open, she stepped in after him and stayed by his side while he headed for the chipped tile counter and rang the bell.
Not the Ritz. The lobby held a couple of cracked plastic chairs, a fake plant and a TV in the corner of the room that flickered with a late-night Spanish soap opera. A chair scraped the floor in the back room. Then a middle-aged man with black hair and dark skin rounded the corner and approached with wary eyes.
“Sí, Señor. En que puedo servirle?”
“Um . . .” Finn held up one finger, ran through his crappy Spanish. “¿Un cuarto?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “¿Tu hablas español?”
“Not very well,” Finn muttered.
“What you need?” the man asked in English, his voice heavily accented.
Finn reached for his wallet. “Just a room for the night.”
The man looked over the counter at Lauren, glanced at her bare feet. His curious gaze slid back to Finn. “Thirty dollars. U.S.”
Finn pulled cash from his wallet, slapped it on the counter. “We’d like a first-floor room if you’ve got it.” He added another twenty, hesitating before handing the bill directly to the man. “We don’t want to be disturbed. By anyone. If you know what I mean.”
The man glanced at Lauren again, nodded in a knowing way, then turned, grabbed a key from a hook and pointed toward the door. “Last room. Numero eleven. No disturbance.”
“One more thing,” Finn said as Lauren turned for the door.
“¿Sí?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where we could rent a car, would you?”
The man’s eyes lit up. He stepped back from the counter, motioned with his hand. “Come, come. You see.”
Finn sized the man up, didn’t sense any danger. He turned to Lauren. “Stay put.”
He followed the man around the corner into a small office. The man moved to the window on the far side of the room, pulled the curtain back and pointed through the glass.
Finn stepped closed and peered out. What seemed to be a blue, beat-up seventies Chevy pickup sat parked behind the office. “You want to rent me that?”
“You buy,” the man said. “I make you good deal.”
Like Finn had never heard that before. “Does it even run?”
“Sí, sí. Runs good.” The man reached for a key on the desk, held it up. “You buy.”
It looked pretty old, but the condition of the tires, the fresh bugs on the grille and the dust outlining only the edge of the windshield all indicated it had recently been driven. Finn wasn’t above roughing it. And they did need wheels. Ones that weren’t stolen. He just didn’t have time to take it for a test drive. “How much?”
