Page 73 of Run Away With Me

I knew it. That bastard had followed us all the way here from Salt Lake City. He wasn’t an undercover cop, he wasn’t a private investigator … he was following us because he wanted us for something. Or, more likely, he wanted Brooke.

I slapped my hand down on the folder. I was right about him. I’d been right from the first time he’d given me one of his slimy smiles. I took a deep breath, letting my fury simmer down.

Was there another tracker on the car that we hadn’t found at the garage? Had one of the mechanics sold us out and told Chris where we were headed? Or maybe he’d just been close enough on our tail the whole time to follow us all the way here.

Either way, I knew who had taken Brooke.

Now I had to figure out how to get her back.

‘What are you doing down there?’

I looked up at the face of a confused receptionist.

‘Shit.’

The folder fell off my lap as I scrambled to my feet, the sick feeling of being caught curdling in my stomach.

‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to –’

I stopped talking before I incriminated myself any farther.

‘What?’ the receptionist asked.

‘Touch your stuff,’ I finished lamely.

‘Oh-kay,’ she said. ‘Do you want to tell me why you were touching my stuff, or should I call security?’

There was no security, I knew that, but I didn’t want to call her bluff. I quickly looked her up and down. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a button-down shirt with the motel’s logo embroidered in the top corner. She had a lip ring and dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked older than me, but not by a lot.

‘Can I trust you?’ I asked, letting a little desperation leach into my voice.

‘I mean, probably not.’ She raised an eyebrow at me when I didn’t respond.

‘My friend has been kidnapped,’ I said in a rush.

‘Your friend,’ she echoed slowly, ‘has been kidnapped.’ She didn’t say it like a question.

‘Yes. I’m trying to get her back.’

‘That doesn’t explain why you were under my desk.’

‘I …’

I waited until she pointedly rolled her eyes.

‘You can trust me,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m not going to call the police, unless you do something even weirder than looking through my parking lot folder.’

‘I can’t make any promises,’ I said, trying to make a joke, and she pressed her lips together to hide her smile. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Megan.’

She didn’t look like a Megan. ‘I’m Jenna.’

I wasn’t in the mood to trust a stranger with my real name tonight.

‘Okay, Jenna,’ she said. ‘Tell me about your kidnapped friend.’

I followed Megan back into the room behind the reception desk, which was a small office with no windows and a mini-fridge full of Diet Dr Pepper and Pepsi Max. Someone had terrible taste in soda. She gestured to the second chair, the one she’d had her feet up on earlier, and I sat down, letting my clasped hands fall between my knees.

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