“Good night, Selena.”
The bell clacked again as she stepped outside.
Evening had deepened while she was in reception.The motel lot sat under the glow of two wall lamps that made small islands of light beneath them.Moths tapped against the glass covers.Beyond the rooms, the road carried an occasional vehicle past town, headlights sliding over the motel front and moving on.
Room five waited three doors down.
The key turned with the same stiff complaint she remembered.Selena pushed the door open and reached inside for the lamp switch.
Yellow light filled the room.
Nothing had changed.
Same bedspread with its faded pattern.Same wooden dresser with a scratch near the handle.Same small table by the window.Same framed print of a lake that looked too blue to be real.The curtains hung a little unevenly, and the air conditioner beneath the window rattled when she turned it on.
The room had become a marker without asking permission.Last time, she had slept here as a stranger returning under protest, carrying an FBI file and a decade and a half of avoidance.Now she stood in the same doorway months later, back in Harlan County for another murder.
Selena set her bag on the bed.
The room received her without judgment, which was more than she could say for people.
A quick inspection showed clean sheets, two towels in the bathroom, and a soap bar wrapped in paper by the sink.Good enough.More than good enough for what the night required.
She removed her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair.Her phone came out next.No messages from Meg.No messages from Connor about the murder of Warren Holt.
The absence irritated her, then embarrassed her.
Connor had done this properly.He had called Meg.He had not turned a homicide into a personal summons.That was exactly what he should have done.
Selena sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped in the same tired way as before.
Tomorrow, she would see him.
The thought arrived plain, impossible to dress up as professional concern.Connor in his office.Connor at a crime scene.Connor looking at her with that measured restraint he used when too much history stood between them and there were other people in the room.
Unease came first.
Then something warmer followed close behind.
That was the part she needed to watch.
Excitement had no place near a murder investigation.Neither did old longing, wounded pride, unfinished love, or whatever shape Connor Chase still occupied in her life.Cases punished distraction.
Outside, a car passed on the road, its sound rising and fading.
Selena looked toward the window, where the curtains hid the town beyond.
Back again.
The words formed without sound.
Back for Warren Holt.Back for her father.Back for Diane, if she could find the courage to knock on that door properly.Back for Connor, though she would not have admitted that to anyone.
Not yet.
The motel room hummed around her, small and familiar and temporary.
