The Rendezvous Motel sounded pleasant enough. The parking lot exhibited a half-dozen snowcapped cars. A pickle-green neon sign glowed in the morning twilight, trimmed as the entire motel was, in multicolored Christmas lights: big, fat, old-fashioned bulbs—the kind Vera remembered from childhood. A plastic Santa sleigh, complete with reindeer, including Rudolph, warped in the wind but didn’t dash away, cable-tied to the roof. Clean and presentable.
Homey and seemingly normal.
Like Adam here.
She stretched her arms, swinging her open palm close to him. He ducked.
“I wasn’t going to hit you,” she said.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Yes, you did.” She resisted the urge to rub his scruff like he was her cat. Sleep deprivation made her this way; impulsive, horny, and slightly dangerous.
“Thanks for the lift,” Adam said.
“There’s somebody you can call? Gas your ride?” She smiled at him and ran a finger around the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I’m set. This is practically my home.”
Vera peered into the vacant motel office. Wipers off. Snow caked to the windshield. She killed the motor.
“I was wondering if you could do something for me.”
“I’m not sure what a guy with wet pants and no gas can do. But I’ll try.”
Vera twisted. Her short skirt rode up; her thighs flexed under her red woolen tights. She gave his knee a firm squeeze. “Go in there and get me a key.”
His eyebrow kinked, amused.
“You’ve got a suspicious mind,” she said. “I like that. Shows you’re thinking. Men don’t do that enough. Driving all night made me temporarily stupid.” She dug into her purse. “Of course I’m paying for the room.” She handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “Is that enough?”
He turned the bill over.
“Mr. Suspicious, I need a single for one night.” She shooed him away.
He nodded. But he didn’t go.
“I appreciate you doing this,” she said. “The state I’m in . . . I don’t feel like meeting new people.”
Adam opened his door.
Climbed out.
He reached back inside, looking straight at her, his puzzlement evident. He snatched up the red can from the floor.
“Be back in a minute,” he said.
He lingered. Searching for something telling in her face. A clue. He was trying to decide what she was up to.
Vera worried he might run. Steal all the money she had. He didn’t seem the running type. Damn, she couldn’t risk it.
“Know something? I don’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve. That’s too depressing. Come visit me. We’ll party. You like tequila? Let’s hang out tonight and see who comes down the chimney ... if you’re not busy . . .”
What she wanted most was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
She’d hit the pillow, shut her eyes, drift. She’d never fall asleep though. She could sense that now. Her tension ratcheted off the
charts. Muscles twitched involuntarily under her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, the police lights were meandering over the grounds of the Totem Lodge. The night wasn’t something she wanted to face.
Adam hadn’t moved from the Camaro’s bumper.
“Sounds interesting,” he said.
“I thought so.”
“Good people work here.” He motioned to the office.
She still couldn’t see anyone, anywhere.
“They’ll treat you right,” he added.
“I could use some right treatment.”
“I’ll get your key.”
“I appreciate it, Adam.”
“Always good to know,” he said.
When he pushed off, she felt the Camaro rock. He walked through the sifting flakes. She watched ice crystals sugar his wavy hair. He looked good going away, even if he was too clean-cut for her taste. The red can brushed his leg with each step he took. Her last green bill flapped angrily in the wind. He’d look better coming back with a room key and her change. She leaned against the headrest, closed her eyes, and yawned. Sometimes the good boys turned out better than the bad ones. They surprised you, but the surprises didn’t make you want to shoot them.
Or run away.
Movement—a growing blur at the edge of her vision. Someone approached the car. This stranger—had he been crouched behind the building when she pulled in? Her heart spiked. Who was it?
A man wearing a yellow hooded parka walking his dog—
It wasn’t them.
Her body shuddered.
Not the Pitch.
She relaxed in tiny increments. Her hands trembled. She told herself it was the caffeine. It wasn’t.
How would she know the Pitch if they came after her?
What did they look like?
The man spotted the Camaro. Saw her at the wheel. His hood turned toward the trunk. He stopped.
No, no, she thought. It wouldn’t be an old man walking a dog. Though the way he stared didn’t soothe her nerves. As if he could see through steel.
And if he could, what would he know of her cargo?