When they walked into the hotel, she was conscious of him at her side, his rough strength and size. When he handed her driver’s license to the clerk, she felt the tension humming through him, the change that came every day before he and Frank went off to work. When he walked away from her, out to the parking lot and the waiting truck, she watched the sway of his broad shoulders in the flannel shirt, his narrow hips in the faded jeans.

Then he was gone and she was alone again. Killing time until the next morning when he came to pick her up.

It didn’t help that Frank still wouldn’t talk to her. When it was his turn to drive, he turned the heater off, then plugged in his phone and played one audiobook after another. Not the kind of mystery stories her mom had gotten from the library, but weird stuff about real criminals and the police who chased them. The latest was a book about someone called the Golden State Killer.

Between Bend and Klamath Falls, she kept sneaking looks at him, still shirtless, his skin pale, not an ounce of fat on his whole body. His irritation at her presence came off him like the stink of spilled diesel, harsh and insistent.

Without the heat, it was cold in the truck. She pulled the green coat over her like a blanket and gathered her courage. Finally, she said, “Frank, why don’t you like me?”

“Don’t interrupt when I’m listening to a book.” He shook his head. “I wish to hell you’d gotten in somebody else’s truck.”

“I’m sorry.” She turned to look out the window. She wasn’t going to cry, she just wasn’t.

He shifted in his seat. After a moment, he sighed. His finger stabbed at the radio and the truck went silent. “It’s not you, all right? The work we do, it’s difficult and complicated. Roy never should have offered you a ride. You’re in the way.” He glanced at her, then away. “Anyone would be in the way.”

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for saying that.” They drove a silent mile. Then she asked, “Frank? What can I do to help?”

He glanced into the back, where Roy was sprawled, snoring, then looked at her and dropped his voice. “The next time he checks you into a hotel? Don’t spend the night. Don’t meet us in the morning. Just find the bus station and take the first ride out of town.”

She lowered her voice to match his. “I don’t understand. Is that what Roy wants?”

“No.” Frank had that sour look on his face again. “You’re not the first girl he’s picked up, you know. But he thinks you’re different, somehow special. Some kind of good-luck charm.”

“Really?” She gave Frank her sunniest smile. “Well, maybe I am.”

He shook his head again. “You’re not.”

She’d gotten Frank talking, so she figured she might as well make the most of it. “What kind of work do you guys do, anyway?”