“CLAY!” ONCE MORE, I woke with a start and with his name on my lips. Just like he had so often in my dreams, he’d tried to destroy me only to suffer the consequences of his choice.

Opening my eyes, I was reminded once again that there was a time when Clay would be beside me as I woke from my nightmares. He was always ready to ease my fear and help me back to sleep with whispered apologies and hushed declarations. Now my nightmares were worse and I had to wake alone in an empty bed with a broken heart. I rolled over in the darkness and tried to force myself back to sleep.

When the light of dawn broke, I tried to motivate myself to get out of bed early, but my mind rebelled. It wanted to sleep and to dream—to live in the places of wishful longing, where things were better. Places where a life with Clay was still a possibility. Morning had brought with it the bleak reality that our time together was long behind me.

Or is it? He did leave you an address.

The possibility that the letter was a trap had crossed my mind numerous times as I woke during the night, but something about that assumption just didn’t feel right. There were a thousand smaller, subtler traps that Clay could have set for me; ones I would have stumbled into long before realizing what they were. Even the cemetery would have been the perfect place to set such a sting.

But maybe that’s his plan.

It was possible that he’d designed the letter specially to lure me to him with a false sense of security. If so, it was likely that he thought I would unknowingly walk to my death.

If only there was some way I was able to get close enough to see him again without falling victim to any plan for revenge. Maybe then, I could use my intimate knowledge of him to work out his plan long before he could spring any trap. Keeping us both safe.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself up to a sitting position before scrubbing my face with my hands. After spending the last few months living in the past and making stupid choices, I needed to clear my mind and plan my next step. My sentimentality had opened up old wounds; the pain and danger were taking control of my choices. I needed to go back to being unfeeling and uncaring, but I couldn’t do that while my memories so firmly ensnared my mind.

Dragging myself from bed, I organized my day within my head. As I did, I resigned myself to the fact that my heart wasn’t going to cooperate with my plan to move on from the letter. In compromise, I threw myself into my familiar routines. After I’d finished packing, I wiped down every surface in the motel to ensure that I hadn’t left any traceable prints.

Keeping a careful lookout around me, I walked toward the front motel desk to check out. I paused when I noticed a patrol car parked under the awning near the office.

I wasn’t certain whether they were there for me or something completely unrelated, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t risk getting close to any law enforcement just in case they were savvy about the Rain. For any that were, the heat that rolled off my body alone would have raised suspicions, especially with my heart pounding fiercely against my ribcage. And even if they weren’t, there were enough strikes against my name that any officer would probably give his left arm to be the one to arrest me.

“Murderer.” The word had been associated with me for so long now that it was extremely possible I was high on multiple most wanted lists.

Backtracking hastily, I moved toward the room I’d rented and looked for other exits. Plans and backups formed in my mind with each step. Placing my hand underneath the hem of my shirt, I grabbed the motel key card with material covered fingers and wiped it off before dropping it where I stood. Trying to appear nonchalant, I walked toward the end of the building as speedily as I dared without drawing attention to myself.

“Hey, you!” A policewoman who’d just stepped out from the motel office called after me.

Without even risking a glance over my shoulder to judge how far away she was, I kept moving. I wasn’t sure what she wanted, she might have just been trying to tell me that I’d dropped my key, but I couldn’t take the chance. I increased my pace a little, not yet running because that would definitely draw suspicion. Instead, I followed the corridor until it made a small left turn. As soon as I was confident I was out of her direct line of sight, I broke into a run.

Racing down the hallways, I turned to follow the emergency exit signs for the back of the building. I found a fire door and pushed through it, not caring whether it set off an alarm. I hoped to be long gone before backup of any sort arrived.

Needing to put distance between myself and the policewoman, I raced around the pool toward the six-foot brick wall that surrounded the back of the motel. When I reached the towering concrete barrier, I scrambled over it with as much speed as I could gather. I landed on the footpath on the other side, right next to another patrol car. I didn’t even wait to get my balance before rushing off in the opposite direction. Cries of confusion followed me, but I didn’t dare risk a backward glance that would do nothing to ease my mind and would only slow me down.

With my blood pounding in my ears, I ran until my feet ached and my head throbbed in time with the rhythm of my heart. I didn’t stop until my stomach protested and I didn’t have an ounce of energy to take another step.

When I stopped, I glanced around me. I was on a wide stretch of road where the houses were larger and stood farther apart. I’d left Lexington behind me and, according to a sign ahead, was on my way to Winchester, Kentucky.

Forcing my body to keep moving despite the pain and protests, I examined each of the houses that I passed, looking for some place I could hide. The first three that I walked by all had fairly extensive security. The fourth one I came to was smaller than the rest—possibly belonging to someone who had lived out of the main city before it became trendy or else someone who wanted to look like they could afford a McMansion but didn’t quite have the means. Either way, with its unkempt gardens and ankle-high grass I figured it was exactly what I needed. Provided they had some sort of building in the backyard that I could stay in, it would be a perfect place for me to hide off the grid while I planned my next move.

Skirting along the fence, I remained on alert for guard dogs or security cameras as I crept to the back of the house. Almost instantly, I spotted a single garage-sized shed at the back of the garden. I listened carefully for any shouts or noises to indicate someone nearby had seen me. Once I was certain that all was clear, I jimmied the lock with my trusty switchblade and slipped inside.

Only a small shaft of muted sunlight was able to break through the grime on the solitary window of the shed. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. As soon as they had, I assessed my choice in accommodation.

A thick layer of dust that blanketed a majority of the contents of the building suggested that the owner didn’t often stray into the small space and that I’d made a good choice. I hoped it meant that I could stay for a few quiet days. It had everything I looked for in a suburban hideaway, somewhere I could secrete myself and feel at least marginally safe. After the heat had died down—if it wasn’t just my paranoia causing me to imagine the worst in the situation—I would move on and try to find somewhere to camp.

I decided that as long as I was smart about my comings and goings, I should be able to avoid prying eyes. It wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as a motel, but the lack of amenities wouldn’t kill me. After all, I’d spent weeks sleeping underneath bridges and even the open sky before, so I was able to make the best of any situation. At the very least, I had a roof over my head and some shelter from the elements.

I lifted up one corner of a tarp that covered a faded green riding lawnmower and fanned it out a little to make a temporary shelter just in case any prying eyes looked in through the filthy window. The space under the tarp had a faint scent of oil and mulch, which wasn’t entirely pleasant, but it would give me a view of both the roller door at the front of the shed and the side door I’d used to break in. In order to feel safest, I set up my mini-camp so that I could keep watch on the door but would also be able to easily slip farther back into the clutter if necessary.

Resting the back of my head against the lawnmower’s seat, I contemplated my next move. As much as I tried to push it out of my head and concentrate only on the future, Clay’s letter played on my mind. I wanted to figure out what it might mean—had he decided to forgive me and wanted me to meet him at that address? He’d never been so cryptic before.

People change.

I scoffed. “You’ve got that right.”

After all, he’d also cared for me once. A long time ago.

A scuttling sound near me made me jump. I wheeled around just in time to see the thick tail of a rat disappear into the clutter.

“Great, I’m going to be sharing quarters with vermin.”

For a brief moment, I contemplated going on a rat-hunt. Then I resigned myself to the fact that there probably wasn’t only one—especially given the length of the grass outside.

I’ve had worse roommates, I reminded myself. And it’s only for a day or two.