Page 17 of Wanted
Where was she, and how was she moving? It was like she’d vanished into thin air. The used-car salesman said she’d just sold him her car and walked away.
“Smart,” he muttered. “Mix things up.”
Wearily, he sat down on the bed and tried to think. She’d checked in here, changed her appearance, and left to sell her car. What could she have done from there? Gone to another car lot? Hired a Lyft to take her to another town? He had no doubt that she was still on the move. Mobility had been the key to her survival.
“You’d better not be hitching, Danielle.”
The thought curdled his stomach. She was desperate, but she wouldn’t put herself in danger like that. Would she?
“A bus,” he said, the answer popping on in his head like a spotlight. It was so obvious. He should have figured it out before, but his brain was fried. He hadn’t slept much at all since he’d limped out of that strip bar.
The idea brought a bit of energy with it, and he dug into his pocket for his phone. Sure enough, Longmont was a stop on the Greyhound line. A quick scan of the available destinations, though, made his shoulders droop. She could be anywhere by now.
He got up to pace the room. Which way would she have gone?
He surveyed the map, thought about her habits, considered how she might change them up… It only made his head pound harder. He checked his texts and found nothing new. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath. He had to face it: he had nothing.
“Hell.” He didn’t want to go back into the office.
He rubbed his head. Speaking of the office, maybe something new had come in there. He checked his email just to see.
His entire body jerked when he saw a message waiting not from an analyst, but from Dani. He scrambled to open it, but the light feeling in his chest soon became a dead weight.
I hate you.
A knife turned in his stomach. He’d been out of his mind with worry, and she had the nerve to send him a message like that?It didn’t feel like hate when you were shoving your nipple into my mouth, he typed quickly.
He slammed the door to the motel room shut and stomped his way back to his car. He could have been knocked over by a feather when he heard the ping of a text. He hadn’t expected her to be online or even watching—and she’d switched from email to text to get to him faster.
I was just doing my job, her text said.You’re the one who crossed the line.
The accusation made him even angrier.When did lap dancing become your job?
The emojis she sent were full of angry red faces with horns.When did you become a voyeur?
He almost sent his phone flying across the parking lot.You were getting off, letting a strange man touch you.
It wasn’t a stranger. It was you!
But you didn’t know that, he fired back.
He waited, but the three dots didn’t appear on his phone. She wasn’t responding. He stared at the screen, waiting for her to type. The phone became heavy in his hand as he waited for her response. It was a long time in coming, and he felt some of his anger begin to fade.You didn’t know it was me, did you, Danielle?he asked.
No.
Something about her response made him stop. She hadn’t known who was sitting in the shadows; she couldn’t have. If she’d known he was in that room, she would have run in the other direction.
He was onto something, though; he could feel it. He took a deep breath and tried to remember details. She’d been timid when she first entered the room, but she’d gradually grown bolder as she got closer. And she hadn’t been shy at all when she climbed onto the chair, closed her eyes, and began rocking against him.
A jolt ran through him.She’d closed her eyes.
His heart started thudding in his chest.
Were you pretending it was me?He stared at the question for a long time before hitting the send key.
She didn’t respond.
At all.
