Chapter 12: Second Half

Rafe was across the room before I finished breathing in.

He pulled up his jeans with one hand and took a pistol from the back of the nightstand drawer with the other.

I hadn't known it was there.

"Get dressed," he said. "Stay low."

I grabbed my jeans from the floor.

My hands wouldn't work the zipper.

Someone knocked once on the door, three short raps.

"It's me," Otis said, through the wood. "Open up."

Rafe opened the door a crack.

Otis slid in sideways, his bad knee dragging, and shut it behind him.

"White SUV, two men," he said. "They had a long lens on the window."

"Where are they now?"

"Our boys boxed them against the ice machine. Three bikes across the lot, and one in front of the bumper."

"And?"

"They looked at six patches and a lot of tire irons," Otis said, "and they remembered an appointment."

My shoulders came down.

"They know where we are," Rafe said.

"They always did. This is the first place you'd go with a heiress and no sense."

"Thanks."

"We move at first light. A different motel. Mabel's cousin runs one in Powell."

"I'll tell her to pack," Rafe said, and Otis went out.

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands.

Rafe knelt in front of me.

He took my hands away from my face, one at a time.

"They're gone," he said.

"They'll be back."

"Then we'll be ready."

"I'm tired of being ready."

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