And she was right.
After a cheap fast-food burger dinner I take back to the room, I lie down on the bed.
Silas's words turn in circles in my head.
There's a small part of me, very small, that wants to contact Alex. Contacting him would, of course, be contacting Enzo. And I can't.
Maybe down the road, in a few days, or weeks, or decades, I might be confident I could talk to him without blowing up everything. Maybe I could finally be cool, calm, rational.
But right now, no.
Right now, I'm doing all I can do.
I feel bad for asking Lyndall to come with me because, looking back, I can see how wrong I was. No way would he hurt his sister.
"No," I whisper, "just me."
With a small growl, I get up and go to the bathroom, checking all the spaces I can for any kind of hidden camera.
No way has Enzo bugged this motel. He's good, but he can't read the future, and I really doubt he's got time to go and wire up every hotel and motel in the country.
But if he does it, maybe others do?
A wave of nausea passes through me.
When I'm satisfied, I grab my panties and the T-shirt I bought, and I hurry into the bathroom to take a lukewarm shower with the kind of water pressure that'd please a gnat.
I take the quickest shower possible, trying to wash the dirt of the day off me, and then I dry off and dress so fast I should win a medal.
With nothing more to do, I pack up my meager belongings and climb into bed.
Finally, I close my eyes and rest my head against the old orange and green geometric wallpaper that's faded in spots. Tension seeps out of me a little, and I no longer feel like I'm wound up tighter than some kind of jack-in-the-box.
Lyndall's okay. She's fine.
If anything had happened to that sweet, innocent girl with more guts than most grown men I know, I'd never have forgiven myself. Ever.
But she's good.
I'm good.
As for that albatross second burner? I tossed the phone when I got out of the truck, so it's almost like freedom is teasing me like a sweet treat on the wind.
I open my eyes, the lamp light adds a sort of softness to this horrible room. And if I squint, it could be downright homey.
But Penny was right. No questions at the front, the gum-snapping middle-aged woman there was more interested in watching TV and doing a find-a-word than asking me questions.
The room might be ugly and threadbare, but it's clean, and the place even boasts an ice machine and a vending machine.
There are a couple of trucks and a handful of travel-worn cars in the lot.
All I care about is that it's clean and cheap and there's a bed.
I probably should get up early in the morning and hit the road. Maybe move along on foot until I come to the turn.
I pull out the map, the bed squeaking as I do, and it both sags and bounces as I turn, which is quite a feat.
But I get the map and spread it out on the red bedspread with pink and blue paisley on it.
