I turn into the gravel lot beside the station and park. Inside, the lights hum softly, the familiar smell of old coffee and paper grounding me. I set my hat on the counter and lean my palms against the edge, staring down at the scuffed surface.
I'm not supposed to get personally invested.
I know that. I've done this job long enough to understand the line. But there's a difference between professionalism and ignoring your gut.
My gut tells me she's not dangerous.
It also tells me she's not safe.
I pour myself a cup of coffee I don't really want and take a sip anyway. It tastes burnt. I barely notice. My mind keeps replaying the way her voice shook when she said she was just passing through.
I check the clock. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and she'll reach the motel if she keeps going. The place is barely more than a row of doors and a flickering sign, but it's lit, staffed, and within patrol range.
That should be enough.
I tell myself that as I step back outside and get into the cruiser again.
The drive toward town is short, the same route I patrol three times a shift. I tell myself I'm not looking for her car as I approach the motel, but when I spot it parked beneath the glow of a light pole, something in my chest loosens.Smart girl, parking in the light.
I continue on, telling myself that's the end of it.
Two hours later, my radio crackles to life.
"Unit Twelve, can you swing by the motel? Clerk's nervous about a sketchy guy that was asking about a guest."
I don't ask which guest. I’m pretty sure I already know.
"I'm nearby," I say. "On my way."
By the time I pull back into the lot, Ashley's car is still there. Through the glass door, I can see her standing near the front desk, arms folded, posture guarded. The clerk spots me and waves me in, looking relieved.
Ashley turns at the sound of the door opening, surprise flashing across her face, followed by something else. Relief, maybe.
"Officer Kavanaugh," she says, her voice tight.
"Ms. Clark." I look between her and the clerk. "What's going on?"
The clerk jumps in. "Had a guy come in about twenty minutes ago asking which room she's in. Wouldn't give his name. Got real pushy when I wouldn't tell him."
My jaw tightens. "What did he look like?"
"Ball cap pulled low, sunglasses even though it's dark out. Ms. Clark showed me a photo of her ex-boyfriend." He glances at Ashley. "Could've been him. Hard to say for sure."
I nod once and thank the clerk. “If he comes back, call the station immediately, please.”
"Yes, sir."
Ashley watches me as I step aside with her, keeping my voice low. "Is the ex-boyfriend dangerous?"
She wraps her arms around herself, and I notice her hands are shaking again, just like they were during the traffic stop. "I don't know. Maybe. He has a temper, and he—" Her voice cracks. "He wasn't happy that I left. He told me I'd regret it."
"Lock your door. If anything feels off, call me immediately."
"Thank you," she says.
I hold her look for a second longer than I should. "I'll be nearby."
As I head back to the cruiser, I know one thing for certain.
