“Very true.”
A half-hour passed, each lost in his own thoughts. They got off the highway and cruised slowly down the dark and quiet exit ramp and along a feeder road. There was not another car on the road. They turned at an intersection, empty except for a hanging streetlight that blinked red in all four directions. The area was deserted this late in the tourist season. The road ahead was winding, two lane blacktop. Moss drove along between dense stands of forest. Cruz wasn’t sure what he was looking for – he figured he’d know it when he saw it.
And see it he did.
“There,” he said. “Stop in there.”
A sign said: COUNTRY HOME MOTEL amp; COTTAGES – Open Through Thanksgiving.
A long winding driveway led up from the road to the motel compound.
“Let’s go up there and see if it’s quiet.”
