I stand so I can look down at him, so I can feel like I’m in control and not like I want to hide under the bed again. “Paid by who?”
“Emily Abbott.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Your mom does.”
“Where is my mom?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.”
I start to hyperventilate on the inside; outside, I lower to a squat in front of him. Up close, his face looks even worse. “I don’t believe you.”
“Join the club. Why do you think my face looks like this?”
It looks like he gave the wrong answers. Repeatedly. “Who are you?”
“I told you. Mal—”
“No. Whoareyou? Why were you in that trunk? Why were you searching for me? And who did you tell when you found me?” I lean closer. “Who are you, and who was that guy?”
He drops his head back against the bed. “It’s a long story.”
I stand up and retrieve the two snapped ends of the door chain, then drop them in his lap. “Tell it quickly.”
Not just because we’re on borrowed time, but also because my bravado is nearly exhausted. I won’t be able to keep up this act much longer.
He eyes the broken chain like it could just as easily have been his body, and looking at his face, I’m inclined to agree. He’s every bit as scared as I am. But none of that matters until he tells me what I need to know.
“That guy is a bounty hunter who thought he’d let me do the hard work of finding your mom, then swoop in and get me to lead him to her and claim the reward.”
Cold sweat slicks over my skin. “Keep talking.”
“Can we maybe get out of here first? I’ll tell you every—” We both turn our heads to the motel door. A light flickers through one of the missing chunks near the lock. It flickers again, and I realize it’s from a person moving back and forth just outside.
And then we hear them.
“Get away from there,” a woman says.
“I think somebody kicked it down,” a man replies, much closer, and the light stabbing into the room shifts again. “Look. See the boot scuff?”
“Yes, I do, which is why you need to get away from it.”
“You think somebody is still in there?”
“I think I don’t care,” she says, her voice growing louder as she draws nearer. “Now are we getting a room or not?”
“Somebody could be hurt or dead inside….”
“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “You can either spend your night screwing around with whoever’s in that room, or…”
There is no missing her implication.
“Fine, but I’m telling the manager. Maybe he’ll give us a discount.”
“What do you meanus?” The clack of heels speeds up as she presumably hurries after him.
I turn back to Malcolm, and it’s like he’s read my mind. “You’ll have to explain a lot more than a broken door if they find me like this.” He shifts his shoulders to reveal his bound wrists.
