Riona and I slide into one of the vinyl booths. She wrinkles her nose at the laminated menu and the wobbly Formica table.

“Coffee with cream, please,” she tells the waitress.

“Same. Also pancakes, bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, and hash browns, please,” I say.

Riona shakes her head at me. “Nothing can dampen your appetite, huh?”

“I think that whole experience made me hungrier,” I say. “I probably burned a lot of calories, running and climbing. Plus driving all night. Probably should have ordered an omelet, too.”

Riona snorts.

Despite all that, when the food comes out—greasy and crispy, and smelling delicious—I can see her eyeing my bacon. I shove the plate toward her.

“Go ahead,” I say. “There’s plenty.”

Riona picks up a fork tentatively and takes a bite of the hash browns. The potatoes are nicely browned, covered in salt and pepper.

“See? Pretty good, huh?” I say.

I know she’s hungry. I know she wants more.

“Not terrible,” she admits.

“Have as much as you want.”

She eats half the plate in the next two minutes. Much as she doesn’t like to admit it, the craziness of the night had its effect on us both. She’s starving, too.

“So where is Silver Run, anyway?” Riona asks me.

“Right on the foothills of the Smoky Mountains,” I tell her. “Close to Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Not far from Gatlinburg or Knoxville.”

Riona stares at me like I’m speaking Mandarin.

“Never heard of any of that?” I tease her.

“I know the Smoky Mountains, obviously,” Riona says defensively. “And Knoxville.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about Knoxville?”

“Well . . . ” she blushes. “That it’s in Tennessee.”

I laugh. “Don’t get out of Chicago much, huh?”

“I’ve been places,” Riona says stiffly. “New York. Paris. London. I’ve traveled.”

“Not down to the heartland, though.”

“No. I never had a reason to.”

“Well, you’re gonna love it.” I grin.

* * *

13

Riona

I could not feel more out of place if Raylan were taking me to Morocco.

I’ve never had a pair of cowboy boots on my feet in my life. I’ve never eaten at a diner. And I’ve sure as hell never ridden a horse, let alone visited a ranch.

I almost think he’s taking me here just to torture me. There’s a lot of other places we could go that are less . . . foreign.

On the other hand, I definitely feel a million miles away from Chicago. And that does make me feel safe, in a strange way.

Before we leave the motel, Raylan calls Dante and lets him know where we’re going. My phone and laptop burned up with everything else in my apartment, so I don’t have any way of contacting anybody.

“It’s better that way,” Raylan tells me seriously. “Dante will tell Cal. But I don’t think anybody else should know. The whole point of taking you here is to keep you completely off-grid. Hopefully your brother and Dante can figure out what the fuck is going on, sooner than later. But in the meantime, I don’t want to risk this guy being able to track you.”