“I keep people alive. Different skill set.”
That shuts her up.
For about three seconds.
“Fine,” she says. “But if this turns into a murder motel situation, I’m haunting you first.”
“You planning to die loud too?”
“I plan to be inconvenient in every possible state of existence.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
I jerk my chin toward the front office. “Stay close.”
“I thought you said this place was temporary, not safe.”
“Close to me is safer than away from me.”
Her lips part.
For once, nothing comes out.
I like that too much.
We cross the lot to the office with my body angled slightly behind hers, blocking her from the road. She notices. I know because her shoulders tighten, but she doesn’t comment.
Inside, the clerk barely looks up from a little TV playing some late-night game show. Thin man. Gray hair. Cigarette tucked behind one ear despite the NO SMOKING sign taped to the counter.
“One room,” I say.
Talia makes a strangled sound beside me.
The clerk finally looks up.
I slide cash across the counter before she can start. “Back row. No ID.”
The clerk eyes the money.
Then me.
Then the cut.
His gaze moves away fast. “Room twelve.”
He hands over a key with a plastic tag.
Talia waits until we’re outside again before hissing, “No ID?”
“You want your name in a motel system tonight?”
“No.”
“Then no ID.”
“You do this a lot?”
