Jess and Burke found the room, and Jess brought in the shotgun from the Chevy and some extra shells, and an old blanket from the back seat for Lucy to sleep on. Burke brought in his duffel bag full of gear and laid it on a chair, and then he slipped out again with the keys to the truck, said he’d hide it somewhere far from the motel, somewhere Harwood and his boys wouldn’t find it right away.

“You keep that door locked and chained,” he told her, standing at the threshold. “Don’t open up unless you’re sure it’s me. The secret password is ‘pineapple.’”

“Pineapple?” she said, frowning.

He smiled a little bit. “Because when in the world is Kirby Harwood ever going to have reason to say the word ‘pineapple’?”

Then he was gone. Jess waited until the door was closed, and then she crossed the room and locked both locks. Turned on all the lights, and drew the curtains tight, and spread the blanket over the bed for Lucy.

It was your standard motel room: a bed and some worn-out furniture, a bathroom in the back with a little window, frosted glass, looking out to the rear of the property. Nothing special. What struck Jess was the lack of a suitable exit besides the front door or maybe the picture window looking out onto the parking lot. If Harwood and his deputies found their way in, she would die in this room unless she could squeeze out through the bathroom.

Jess took the shotgun out of its case, sat on the bed with her back up against the headboard, the gun in her lap and Lucy by her side. The dog had sniffed around the room when they first came in, checked it thoroughly for new smells and fresh threats, and now, satisfied, she’d turned her attention back to Jess, regarding her with those big, concerned eyes, like she remembered the episode in the truck and was afraid it might happen again.

“I’m okay, you big suck,” Jess said, pulling Lucy closer to her, into a pile on her lap. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

Lucy looked thinner, though she wasn’t cut or injured anywhere that Jess could tell. She knew Bryce Whitmer had probably been mean to her, kicked her around some, but safe in this motel room, Lucy didn’t seem to care. She seemed entirely concerned about Jess’s well-being and not at all about her own.

And maybe that was the worst part about owning a dog, wasn’t it, the most wrenching thing.

“I’m okay, baby,” Jess said again, and she reached down to scratch between Lucy’s ears, watched the dog’s eyes close in contentment, and she wished that peace and security came that easy for humans, too.