She looked at the next photo. And the next. All of them were shots of Jessica or the Silverado.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Connor said nothing for a long moment. Then he nodded. “I know you’re Alicia Lavelle. I’ve known all along.”

27 AMY

27

AMY

The terry cloth bathrobe felt rough against her skin, like the motel used cheap detergent in the laundry room and didn’t bother with any softener.

The sheets she’d lain on were the same. Frank’s bulk pressing her into the rough, scratchy fabric as he’d moved clumsily on top of her. Drunk and sweating, fueled by whiskey and lust. Thankfully it had been over quickly, like it always was.

Amy found her panties on the floor, twisted into a tiny black ball. She pulled them on, wrapped the bathrobe tighter around her body, and sat on the bed. She watched Frank silently as he dressed. He swayed precariously as he bent over to tie his shoelaces.

“You sure I can’t drop you off on campus?” he asked.

“My own car is parked near the bar. I want to take a shower before I leave anyway. Freshen up.”

She’d had no more than a sip of the whiskey he’d poured for her, Frank happily finishing off her drink before taking care of the rest of the bottle on his own. He pitched sideways now while picking up his belt from the floor. She had no intention of getting into a car with him in his inebriated state. In any case, Amy couldn’t stand the thought of spending a single second more in his company than she had to.

He leaned over her. Kissed her wetly on the lips. Slipped a meaty hand inside her bathrobe and caressed her breast.

“I’ll be in touch soon, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing, Frank.”

Amy followed him to the door, locked it behind him, and slid the security chain in place. She bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry. She knew it wouldn’t be forever. Couldn’t be forever after what had happened.

She looked at her clothing, folded neatly on an easy chair, and considered ditching the shower. Getting the hell out of this dump as quickly as possible. She shook her head. The smell of Frank on her was making her nauseous.

Amy was about to head for the bathroom when a knock on the door startled her.

“Shit,” she muttered, looking around the room. She couldn’t see anything Frank might have left behind. He had never requested sex more than once on the same night before, but maybe he wanted an encore tonight. The thought made Amy’s stomach lurch.

She pressed her eye against the peephole.

It wasn’t Frank.

It was a stranger.