Page 40 of Fire Fight
Definitely the latter. This person was clearly taunting me.
Wellfuck. That.
I would not be toyed with. One day, hopefully sooner ratherthan later, I would look this fucker in the eye as I brought them to justice.
Getting behind the wheel of Black Betty, the seat which was perfectly molded to my ass a much needed comfort in a day from hell, I put her in drive and shot the attendant a wave as I sped out of the lot, feeling a bit more like myself as I headed toward my first stop: the scene of the crime.
There was no explanation forwhyI wanted to go there. I supposed morbid curiosity made me want to gaze upon the place that nearly claimed my life. To remind myself that I’d made it out.
The sight took my breath away.
What once had likely been a tall, sturdy structure was now nothing more than a blackened husk, the broken walls shooting up toward the sky like jagged teeth. I closed my eyes as I sat there, parked on the curb out front, willing the missing fragments of my memories to return to me.
My eyes popped open when nothing happened, and suddenly, I was so damn exhausted. Nothing sounded better than heading back to my motel and sleeping for the next twenty-four hours.
I supposed that was another thing I had to grudgingly thank my mom for, despite the fact that she’d been lobbying hard for me to move home. She had made it possible for me to have a room to return to after my release.
Unfortunately, the universe—and the shitty ass clerk—had other plans.
“Miss McKay!” the desk clerk—the owner—shouted at me when I exited my car in the parking lot. “A word please.”
Grumbling internally, I dragged my feet to the reception desk.
He’d called me by my real name, which didn’t bode well.
But my eyes skipped right over the man seated there and landed on a pile of personal belongings stacked in the corner.
Mypersonal belongings.
“Why are my things out of my room?” I barked.
“I’m afraid we’re completely booked. Since you’ve been…gone,” he said, putting undue emphasis on the word; I hadn’t beengone, I’d been fuckingtakenagainst my will and nearly died, “we’ve had to empty out your room to accommodate paying customers.”
“I just spoke with you this morning!”
“Things have changed.”
My gaze narrowed, and a lightbulb illuminated in my brain.
The fucking sheriff.
Gritting my teeth, I attempted to quell the rage coursing through me.
“Can I at least go in and make sure you didn’t miss anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Sorry, there’s someone now renting that room.”
I cursed colorfully in his direction, glaring pointedly at the parking lot, empty save Black Betty and a piece of shit Nissan, which I assumed belonged to him.
Undeterred by my outburst, the rat’s smile was greasy as he said, “Would you like some help loading your things in your vehicle?”
Instead of a verbal response, I shot him the middle finger and moved around behind the counter, collecting all of my bags and carrying them to Black Betty in one trip.
My skin crawled to think that man had been through my stuff, had his fingers all over my personal effects and files.
Angrily, I threw myself behind the wheel, fuming in the quiet of the car. I was so pissed off, I didn’t even feel the pain in my side anymore. My tires squealed as I peeled out of the lot.
What a fuckingprick. Both the owner of this roach motel and the goddamn sheriff.
