Chapter 11: The Doorway

Neither of us moved.

Across the road, Lydia unlocked the last door in the row and held it open.

Dillon ducked under her arm and went in first.

She looked back once over her shoulder, at the empty road, the gas station, and the dark windshield of my car.

Then she followed him in, and the door closed.

The room light came on behind the curtain.

"Don't," I said quietly.

Rafe had his hand on the door handle. He was breathing through his nose, hard.

"I'm going to knock on that door," he said.

"I know."

"I'm going to stand in the rain and knock until she opens it."

"And then what?"

"Then she sees me."

"And then she says you followed her," I said. "And Dillon says you're a stalker. And all you have is a closed door."

He looked at me.

I held up my phone. The screen was lit with five photographs, each one clear in the glow of the motel sign.

The white car. The cream coat. Dillon's hand on her back. The door.

"I took them while you were deciding whether to break a window," I said.

"I had decided."

"I know. I was faster."

A short breath of laughter escaped him. His hand came off the handle.

"This isn't enough," I said. "I want it public. I want Dillon's mother in the front row. I want them looking right at us when it comes down."

"So do I."

"Then we wait."

Rafe's phone buzzed on his knee.

We both looked down.

Miss you. Stuck at a client thing in Cleveland. Home Sunday. Don't forget to eat!!

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