She wore a black rain jacket, dark jeans, and hiking boots. A baseball cap, her hair in a ponytail. Her movements were cautious, hesitant, though Mason couldn’t be sure if it was Harwood she was afraid of or him.

“Hi,” she said.

“You scared me half to death,” he replied, and it was true; his heart was still pounding, body in fight-or-flight mode. “How long’ve you been waiting here?”

“A while,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d skipped town.”

Mason looked past her, surveyed the parking lot and the highway beyond. He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s better if nobody sees us.”

She followed him into the room, waited as he turned on the ceiling light and the lamp by the bed, as he pulled out a chair for her from beside the plywood desk. She demurred when he offered to hang up her jacket, and he shrugged and hung his slicker up all the same. Then he sat down on the end of the bed, looked her over.

“How’d you find me?” he said.

“There’s only one motel in town,” she replied. “And Hank Moss is a friend of mine. He gave you up pretty easy. Though if you weren’t bunking here, I was out of ideas.”

She was scanning the room, her eyes never resting in one place for long, and Mason noticed she’d backed her chair against the wall.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

He laughed a little. Touched his lip. “Turns out my presence isn’t appreciated in this town. So much so that Deputy Sweeney was willing to pay out of pocket for a bus ticket home.”

“Cole ran you out?”

“Yup. Put a gun to my head and swore he’d be fine with just shooting me, but I guess he had a change of heart.”

Jess stared across at him, studied his face, and Mason wondered just how bad he looked. He’d caught glimpses of his reflection in the window on the bus, but he hadn’t seen a mirror yet, wasn’t sure he wanted to.

She pursed her lips, seemed to be considering something. Mason waited. Listened to a car pass on the highway outside, the hush of the tires on the pavement. Finally Jess came to her decision.

“Dale Whitmer’s brother keeps dogs on his property,” she said. “He has a farm a couple miles west of town.”

Mason said nothing.

“You asked if I had any idea where they’re keeping Lucy,” she continued. “I gave it some thought, and I think that’s the likeliest story. I’ve been watching the deputies’ houses, and I don’t think they have her, but Bryce Whitmer has the space, and a kennel to keep her.”

And other dogs, Mason thought. And guns. “You been out there yet?”