The puppy took a step and licked his fingers. It was the best thing ever. Matty patted the soft fur. “How’d you get out here?”

He scooted backward while the puppy snuffled cereal from his hand, a little at a time, until he and the puppy were all the way inside the motel room. Carefully, he turned to block the doorway so it couldn’t get out, and he sat cross-legged on the carpet. He cuddled the puppy’s neck. The cold was blowing in, but he hardly noticed. He could see the dog was a boy.

“Are you lost, boy? Huh?”

He felt more than saw the movement behind him. He turned. The man who strode into view and stood in the doorway looking at him wore a fancy pair of boots. He carried a shotgun against his shoulder and had a black zipped bag in one hand. A scar zigzagged across his cheek. His eyes looked calm, untroubled.

“Hello, Matty,” he said.

Matty’s blood started to pump. He straightened.

“I’m not supposed to open the door,” he said.

The man cocked his head and gazed at him. “Wise advice. But the door is open.”

The puppy gnarled gently and shrank behind Matty’s legs.

“I saw … I saw this dog,” Matty said.

The man didn’t answer. He just stood there, holding the bag. The shotgun. Then he came in. He closed the door slowly. Slid the bolt.

Matty looked at the Tracfone on the bed and at the man again. “I need to call my brother.”

“No. You don’t.”

Spill of light from the bathroom. Matty backed toward it. He could go in there and lock the door. Above the tub was a window.

The man nodded toward the bed. “Sit.”

The dog whined. Sad eyes.

Matty sat, and the man pulled the chair to the bed and sat opposite him, the shotgun across his lap. “If you shout, I’ll hurt the dog.”

Matty trembled.

“Your brother has been bad,” the man said.

Oh, how that hurt Matty’s stomach.

The man slouched casually. “Open your hand.”

Matty looked at the window. Dark, snow. He hoped Jack was far away. Ava.

“You need to open your hand,” the man said.

Matty put out his hand. The man set the little green Ferrari in his palm. “There. See? It’s a car.”

Matty gripped his fingers around the rough surface of the wheels. The metal. He was ready to run—would run for the door in a second or two, once he could think correctly—

“Look at it.”

He glanced down.

“Is that yours?”

Matty nodded.

“I want to hear you answer.”

“Yes.”