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Ken's brow arched. "And what if we refuse to pay for one room and decide to find a different motel?"
The lady laughed. "You can stay out there all night for all I care." She pulled out the pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket and lit another one, sucking in a deep breath.
Nicky glanced over at Ken and sighed. She didn’t want to share a room either, but this was her job and she needed to be professional. It wasn’t like they’d have to sleep in the same bed—Nicky could crash on the floor if she had to.
"We'll take it," Nicky said. "We'll just share."
Ken's brow arched. "Really?"
"We'll just be sleeping," Nicky said, "I promise I won't kill you in your sleep. There has to be a couch or something."
"I think it's got a futon," the lady grumbled.
Nicky and Ken exchanged a look, then they stepped aside and waited for the lady to pull out their room key.
"Room 214," she said, sliding the key across the counter. "I hope you two enjoy yourselves." She winked. "And don't forget to bring me back a souvenir."
The key was just a plain old piece of plastic with a number on it. Nicky and Ken then grabbed their bags and headed for the stairs, which led to the second floor. Nicky felt a chill as she walked up the stairs, staring at the threadbare carpeting that stuck to her feet.
"A futon?" Ken asked as they walked into the room. It was just as shabby as the lobby, if not worse, with lace curtains that hung from the window, a chipping laminate countertop, and a stained carpet.
"Well," Nicky said, "it'll save us a bit of money."
Ken placed his bag on the bed, which was just a mattress laid on the floor, and leaned against the wall. "It's safer this way," he said. "If anything happens, we'll know. You take the bed."
Nicky looked at Ken slyly. "You're a gentleman, Agent Walker, but really, I can take the couch. You're an old man, after all."
He grunted. "I'm thirty-five. And my mother would kill me if she found out I let a woman sleep on the couch."
Nicky smiled. "Who knew you had a gentlemanly side, Agent Walker?”
He just grunted again, saying nothing. Nicky laughed, then began unpacking her belongings in the bathroom. It was a moment of levity that she needed.
This case was too much for her. She knew that even considering it would be a bad idea. And yet she'd gone ahead and gotten pulled into it anyway. This was her chance to redeem herself and show her colleagues that she was still a strong FBI agent and that she wasn't just washed-up and incapable of saving anyone.
She was desperate. She wanted to save those girls. But she was also uneasy. She couldn't deny that she was afraid--afraid that this case would be unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Afraid that she'd fail, like she'd failed Masie.
Like she'd failed Rosie.
Nicky brushed that thought away. She didn't want to get emotional, not in front of Ken. She didn't want to be perceived as weak.
She changed into pajamas and went back into the main room. Ken was already on the futon, his back facing her. Saying nothing, Nicky crawled into the bed. It was stiff and smelled moldy. Nasty. But it would have to do.
Accepting her fate, she lay on the pillow, shut her eyes, and let herself drift away.
***
When Nicky awoke, she was sixteen again.
The van grumbled beneath her. She looked around, startled, before her surroundings set in. The smell of mildew. The coffee stain on the seat beside her. The hula girl on the dashboard...
And Rosie beside her in the back.
The man, driving in the front, the sunset filtering through the windshield.
Nicky didn't know it then. But she knew it now, as an outsider looking back in.
He was taking them to the lake house.
