“So what’d we miss while we were gone?” Charlie asked.

Molly and John looked at each other. She smiled, loving that they could communicate without saying a word, just like they were an old married couple. She settled in more comfortably against him. Telling the whole tale was going to take a while.

Epilogue

Cara tried to act casual as she walked along the cracked, weedy sidewalk in front of the motel, but she knew she looked exactly like what she was: a kindergarten teacher—well, almost—who was scared out of her mind. For the thousandth time, she mentally chided herself for her pick of bail jumpers, especially since she was solo on this job. If she told her sisters who she was tracking, they’d yank her home and tie her to a chair to keep her safe. Now that their home and business were threatened, however, she needed to do more to help. As the nape of her neck prickled with the feeling of being stalked, she decided it would’ve been smarter to choose a jaywalker or someone who cut tags off their mattresses for her first skip.

Of all the cases to take, why did she have to pick a killer?

Even as she asked herself that question, she knew why. Henry Kavenski had the highest bond. The dangerous ones always did.

Stopping at Room 87, the green door with a suspicious dark-red substance splattered over it, she took a quick glance around before pulling her lock-pick kit out of her pocket. Her fingers trembled, making her fumble the picks.

“Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re good at this. You even beat Charlie’s best time by eight whole seconds on lock-picking test day. Quit being a chicken.”

This was her chance. She’d watched Kavenski get on the one-ten bus, but she wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. She needed to plant the tracker in his things before he returned. The thought of him walking in on her while she was still inside his hotel room made her shake even harder. Finally, though, the dead bolt released with a click, and she exhaled hard, relief and a fresh surge of nerves coursing through her. She’d done it. Now she just had to go inside and plant the tracker.

She reached for the door handle, the metal cold and slightly greasy to the touch. It gave under her hand, and the door swung open. Her heart thumping in her ears, she peered into the dim space, the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke tickling her nose.

A hard hand clamped down over her shoulder and shoved her into the room before she could even suck in a breath to scream.

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A hard hand clamped down over her shoulder and shoved her into the room before she could even suck in a breath to scream.