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“S’fine by me.”
By the time we’re done, all that remains, at least to the casual eye, is a scatter of leaves with a touch of damp from where they were disturbed. An hour or two of sunshine will settle that.
Katya, red and sweating, swipes her forehead, leans on her spade handle. “Do you think they’re deep enough?”
“They’re going to have to be. I’m not digging them up again. But I don’t see any sign that anyone comes through here regularly, driving or walking.”
She snorts. “No doubt the reason he brought us here.”
“No doubt.” I scoop into a pocket. “These are yours.”
She stares at my glittering handful. “Don’t you want them?”
“They’re yours. Not mine. Besides, if you don’t want them, they’ll make a nice down-payment toward your future life.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Another motel, cheap and unremarkable, off the main highway.
At the desk, the receptionist, bored, chewing gum, barely gives us a glance.
“One night. Two adults.”
Two ordinary people. A couple. Nothing special. Nothing to get excited about.
She shoves a register to me. Shoves a ballpoint at me. “Name and signature. Cash or card?”
“Cash.”
Carefully, I fill out the names and sign. Mr and Mrs Williams.
In the dark of the night, I rouse. The space beside me is empty. The sheets cold.
Crap…
Disappointment gnaws…
But as I reach for the sidelight, I see her, silhouetted against the window, sitting in the armchair, staring out into the night.
“Katya?”
A rustle in the darkness. “I’m fine, Hickman.”
“But…”
“I’m just thinking. Don’t worry. Get back to sleep.”
For a while, sleep escapes me. I watch her, but she doesn’t move. Eventually…
When I wake again, pale light slants across the bed, and Katya’s beside me again, warm and fragrant, still sleeping.
Silently, I rise, collect my clothes and pad through to the kitchen. Five minutes later, dressed, and armed with coffee and toast, I return to find her sitting up, her hair a glorious tumble, wiping sleep from her eyes. She’s pulled up the sheet to cover her breasts, but her smile as I enter flashes morning sunshine.
I pass her a mug. “Sleep well in the end?”
“I did, yes.”
As she cradles her mug, sipping, I rest a hip on the side of the bed.
