“Thank you,” she said again, before scurrying off, grateful to be able to put distance between herself and them.

She ascended the stairs, her feet clanging against the metal steps. It was a jolting, glaring sound against the silence. The freeway was near, so during the day it was probably loud. But now only an occasional car went by. The motel lights flickered. No one was outside upstairs, and Whitney’s heart sank.

There were at least a dozen rooms. How would she figure out which one Lauren was in?

Maybe it was time to call the police, to fill them in on what she knew. It was something she only contemplated a moment before realizing how dumb it was. She’d have to admit how she knew. How she’d broken into that house.

And that wasn’t all she’d have to confess to. If Lauren was who she thought, she’d have to finally come clean about everything she’d done. She wasn’t ready for that yet. First, she had to find Amelia, and then she’d deal with the consequences. Once she knew Amelia was safe, she’d confess to all her past sins. She’d accept any punishment she needed to.

A cool breeze whisked over her. Shuddering, she hugged herself. Glancing at each door as she passed it, she wondered if Amelia was on the other side. So close, and yet still impossibly far. She wanted to scream out Amelia’s name, but knew that would be stupid. The need to do something drastic clawed at her insides like a trapped cat.

She was exhausted.

All she wanted was to find Amelia and go home. Put this whole thing behind them. But she knew it wouldn’t go down like that. Even once Amelia was found, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And that made Whitney even more exhausted. She could feel the tiredness seep into her bones as she continued past all the upstairs motel rooms. When she’d reached the last one, a woman stepped out. She wore flannel pajama bottoms, a ripped T-shirt. Her copper hair was pulled up into a messy bun and in her hand she held a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

At the sight of Whitney, her eyes widened.

“What?” she snapped in a defensive tone. She drew a cigarette out of the pack and stuck it between her dry lips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Whitney said, in her most apologetic voice. “It’s just...my daughter is missing.” The lady’s expression softened then, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Relief flowed through Whitney’s chest. “I’m so worried. I think she might be staying here. And um...” She held out her phone. “I wonder if maybe you’ve seen her?”