She scowled. “They did. Some mean old pit bull, and it wasn’t a small little thing, I’ll tell you that.”

“What time’d the truck leave?”

“Oh, right away. They got set up in their room, and then they drove that truck off again. It was gone in the morning, when I woke up.”

“And around what time was that?”

The woman shrugged. “Dawn or thereabouts, maybe a little after. You want to have a look at the room?”

The woman let them into unit four. Gave Harwood a key, and he had her step back, drew his pistol as Dale did the same. He slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open and stepped aside, ready for a gunshot.

But nothing happened. Dale crept closer to the threshold, peered inside. “It’s empty,” he told Harwood.

He was telling the truth. The bed was made perfect, didn’t even look slept in. The room might have been vacant last night, unused by anyone, if it hadn’t been for the garbage in the trash bins. Chocolate bars, energy drinks, a banana peel in the bin in the main room. Bloody tissues and bandage wrappers in the bathroom. The towels had been used, and piled in the bathtub. Some of them were bloody too.

“Shit,” Whitmer said, studying the mess. “Maybe Bryce actually got the son of a bitch.”

“He didn’t get him good enough,” Harwood replied. “Not if they were able to walk into that lobby and rent this room.”

“Yeah, but check out all this blood, though.”

“I’d rather be looking at a body, Dale, and I don’t see one.” Harwood turned and stalked past Whitmer and out through the empty room to the parking lot. Pulled out his phone and made a call. “Bryce.”

“No sign of them,” Whitmer’s brother reported. “I kept my eyes open, but I ain’t seen hide or hair of that Winslow bitch since last night.”

“Well, she isn’t here, either,” Harwood told him. “They got a motel room, but they didn’t stay long. They’re on the move again, and I need you stopping everyone who passes by your place.”

Whitmer snorted. “On whose authority? You never did bother to formally deputize me.”

“You have a gun, don’t you? Flag ’em down and search ’em, damn it.”

“Okay, boss. Whatever you say.”

“Find them, Bryce,” Harwood said. “Shit.”

He ended the call. Slid the phone into his pocket and turned back to the motel room. He’d have to head back inside and drag Dale out, get back on the road, search the rest of the town on the off chance Jess and Burke were still here. But then his cell buzzed in his pocket, played its electronic tune. Incoming call.

“You forget something, Bryce?” Harwood said, answering.