It smelled of dust, and was bare from the hardwood floors to the country white ceiling. Not a single piece of furniture or scrap of cloth remained.
“That was my grandparents’ room.”
Rebecca jumped, banging her wrist on the antique brass doorknob.
“Goodness,” she said, clutching her chest. “You snuck up on me.” She smiled guiltily. “Sorry. I was snooping.”
“It’s okay.”
“You stripped it?”
Holden reached around her and closed the door. “I couldn’t look at their things.”
She’d seen similar behavior when children passed away unexpectedly and their bedrooms became shrines to their memories. This felt like another side of the same coin.
“Ready?” He carried a duffel on one shoulder and a black leather bag on the other.
“When you are.”
On the way down the stairs, Rebecca studied a descending row of framed family photos to her left. A much younger Holden astride a toy horse. A family of three posing at the beach. Two smiling women on a porch swing, flowers in their hair. But one picture in particular caught her eye, and she paused. It was a beautiful black-and-white photo of a middle-aged couple standing arm in arm under a Ferris wheel.
“Your grandparents?”
“Mmm.” Holden cut around her and escaped out the front door.
Becca stared at the happy couple. “He misses you,” she whispered. Then she followed him outside.
* * *
While Holden strolled up to the bullet proof glass registration window of the Bull Dog Inn and checked them in, Becca waited in the Jeep with Buster. There was no point going over and inquiring about upgrades or suites or extra services. There were none. The place had two floors and all the rooms’ doors faced the parking lot.
Holden returned, not looking nearly as apologetic as he should, and gave her a keycard.
“Take Buster, will you?” He grunted over their luggage.
Becca glanced at the giant dog, who stared at the motel building and panted, his pink tongue dangling out.
“Sure.” She clipped on his leash and made the same giddyup click with her tongue that Jonah, one of her more colorful clients, had taught her. He’d insisted she come by and ride horses with him before he’d sign a contract. The sound got Buster’s attention, and he jumped out of the Jeep, landing on his feet and circling her, twisting the leash in a tangle around her knees.
“You are something else, buddy.” Rebecca pulled a pirouette and untangled herself. Buster watched, doing his best imitation of a goofy smile. She couldn’t stay mad at him. He wasn’t jumping all over her, and that was marvelous progress.
Becca led Buster to room seven, unlocked the door, and released him. He explored the very small room that smelled faintly of dirty socks, sniffing the king-size bed and the bathroom floor.
Exhaustion rolled over her. She didn’t care that it was 1:00 p.m. She needed a nap. So she pulled back the comforter and flopped on the bed while Holden brought in her bag.
“Good night,” she mumbled, flopping on her side and punching the lumpy pillow.
“I’ll be back for your suspect list.” He whistled for Buster, and left her dozing to the hum of traffic.
* * *
Holden didn’t particularly like the Bull Dog Inn, either, but it was only for one night. Two, tops. He quietly closed the door to room seven and took Buster outside to use the lawn next to the pool. His little buddy relieved himself, practically sighing afterwards, and Holden hurried back to room eight. He threw his bag on the bed and unlocked his side of their connecting door.
Softly, he knocked. “Rebecca? Open up.”
No answer.
He knocked louder and gave the door a little push. “Rebecca!”
Nothing. Not a rustle, not a “be right there.” Nothing.
He’d screwed up the whole situation the second she left his sight. Like he screwed up everything.
Holden banged on the door.
“Fuck it.” He sucked in a breath and kicked the damned door down, rushing into her room and expecting the
“That was my grandparents’ room.”
Rebecca jumped, banging her wrist on the antique brass doorknob.
“Goodness,” she said, clutching her chest. “You snuck up on me.” She smiled guiltily. “Sorry. I was snooping.”
“It’s okay.”
“You stripped it?”
Holden reached around her and closed the door. “I couldn’t look at their things.”
She’d seen similar behavior when children passed away unexpectedly and their bedrooms became shrines to their memories. This felt like another side of the same coin.
“Ready?” He carried a duffel on one shoulder and a black leather bag on the other.
“When you are.”
On the way down the stairs, Rebecca studied a descending row of framed family photos to her left. A much younger Holden astride a toy horse. A family of three posing at the beach. Two smiling women on a porch swing, flowers in their hair. But one picture in particular caught her eye, and she paused. It was a beautiful black-and-white photo of a middle-aged couple standing arm in arm under a Ferris wheel.
“Your grandparents?”
“Mmm.” Holden cut around her and escaped out the front door.
Becca stared at the happy couple. “He misses you,” she whispered. Then she followed him outside.
* * *
While Holden strolled up to the bullet proof glass registration window of the Bull Dog Inn and checked them in, Becca waited in the Jeep with Buster. There was no point going over and inquiring about upgrades or suites or extra services. There were none. The place had two floors and all the rooms’ doors faced the parking lot.
Holden returned, not looking nearly as apologetic as he should, and gave her a keycard.
“Take Buster, will you?” He grunted over their luggage.
Becca glanced at the giant dog, who stared at the motel building and panted, his pink tongue dangling out.
“Sure.” She clipped on his leash and made the same giddyup click with her tongue that Jonah, one of her more colorful clients, had taught her. He’d insisted she come by and ride horses with him before he’d sign a contract. The sound got Buster’s attention, and he jumped out of the Jeep, landing on his feet and circling her, twisting the leash in a tangle around her knees.
“You are something else, buddy.” Rebecca pulled a pirouette and untangled herself. Buster watched, doing his best imitation of a goofy smile. She couldn’t stay mad at him. He wasn’t jumping all over her, and that was marvelous progress.
Becca led Buster to room seven, unlocked the door, and released him. He explored the very small room that smelled faintly of dirty socks, sniffing the king-size bed and the bathroom floor.
Exhaustion rolled over her. She didn’t care that it was 1:00 p.m. She needed a nap. So she pulled back the comforter and flopped on the bed while Holden brought in her bag.
“Good night,” she mumbled, flopping on her side and punching the lumpy pillow.
“I’ll be back for your suspect list.” He whistled for Buster, and left her dozing to the hum of traffic.
* * *
Holden didn’t particularly like the Bull Dog Inn, either, but it was only for one night. Two, tops. He quietly closed the door to room seven and took Buster outside to use the lawn next to the pool. His little buddy relieved himself, practically sighing afterwards, and Holden hurried back to room eight. He threw his bag on the bed and unlocked his side of their connecting door.
Softly, he knocked. “Rebecca? Open up.”
No answer.
He knocked louder and gave the door a little push. “Rebecca!”
Nothing. Not a rustle, not a “be right there.” Nothing.
He’d screwed up the whole situation the second she left his sight. Like he screwed up everything.
Holden banged on the door.
“Fuck it.” He sucked in a breath and kicked the damned door down, rushing into her room and expecting the
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