Dutch watched them go, then locked the door and flipped the “Back in 10 Minutes” sign.
“What the hell is going on in this town?” His eyes were sharp, suspicious. “Because I just saw Casey Ruper—who tried to steal my truck last month—talking like he’s in some kind of trance. And they’re not the only ones. Half the customers today have been off.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. But Beth Morris was the same way this morning. Perfect clothes, perfect hair. Speaking like...”
“A damn robot,” Dutch finished, peering out the window at Gus, still standing motionless across the street. “Something’s happening. Started yesterday, I think. Subtle at first.”
The stranger at the motel.
This couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I need to check something,” I said, decision made. “Can you cover for me during lunch? There’s someone I need to talk to.”
The Stop Over Motelsat at the edge of town, at the intersection with the state highway, where the only stoplight blinked yellow most of the time. Its faded red sign was missing three letters so that it read “STO VER MO EL.” I’d been inside exactly once, six months ago, when Trent had checked us in for a single night before finding the rental house. Back then, Carol Ruper had talked my ear off while cooing over Sophia, offering unsolicited advice about everything from local schools to the best laundry detergent for well water.
Now, I stood across the street, watching the office through the bare branches of a half-dead elm tree. I had to confirm that the mysterious “John Smith” was nobody to fear. That six months in hiding had simply made me paranoid.
But what if it isn’t paranoia? What if he’s found us?
I’d spent two years with Langston, learning his patterns, his methods. He would send someone ahead to scout—someone trained, careful, armed. Someone who would ask about local law enforcement and use an obviously fake name. Who would watch and wait before Langston himself arrived to reclaim what he considered his property: me and Sophia.
Or maybe it wasn’t Langston at all. Maybe it was something to do with whatever was happening to the townspeople.
Either way, I needed answers.
I crossed the street, pulse hammering in my throat. The gravel parking lot crunched under my boots too loudly, announcing my approach to anyone listening. The office door was propped open with a brick, its little bell tinkling in the breeze. Carol sat behind the counter, staring at her ancient computer screen.
“Hi, Carol,” I said, forcing a smile. “How are you today?”
She turned to face me, and my heart sank. The woman who usually erupted in a fountain of words at the slightest provocation now stared blankly, her normally expressive face completely still.
“Hello, Evie. I am well. How may I assist you today?” Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore—of course—a blue top with khaki pants.
My mouth was suddenly so dry, it took several tries to speak. “I-I was wondering about that guest you mentioned yesterday. What room is he in? I think he might be someone I used to know.”
Carol didn’t blink. Didn’t tilt her head curiously or lean forward for gossip. “Mr. John Smith is in room seven. He was gone all night and came back at 7:04 AM.”
So specific. So precise. So unlike Carol, who typically rounded times to the nearest hour and embellished every detail.
“Oh.” I shifted position, trying to see past her to the registration book. “Did he say where he was last night?”
“Mr. Smith did not disclose his nightly activities, and I did not ask.”
My skin crawled. Whatever was happening to Beth, to the teens, to Gus and Riss and Florence—it had happened to Carol, too.
“Well, thank you for your help.” I backed toward the door. “I should get back to work.”
“Punctuality is important,” Carol agreed, turning back to her computer with the same blank expression.
Instead of leaving, I circled behind the office, keeping to the shadows between buildings. My heart thundered against my ribs as I crept along the backside of the motel. I reached room seven from the rear and peeked in the windows. The blackout curtains were pulled tight across the glass.
Dammit.
I sucked in a fortifying breath and edged around the corner of the building. Fear clawed up my throat, but beneath it rose anger. I was tired of running, tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of wondering when Langston would find us. If this was his scout, his advance man, I wanted to see him face to face. Know what we were dealing with.
And if it was something to do with the town's strange behavior? Well, I needed answers before I picked up Sophia from school.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I marched directly to the door of room seven and knocked three times.
