tops.
He stepped into the shower, unlatched the window, and slid the pane as far to the left as he could. A screen, brown after years cooking in the sun, covered the opening. The only thing holding it together was a memory of what it had once been, so it put up little defense against the single punch that ripped through it.
Logan tore at the hole, widening it, then anchored himself against the wall and swung his legs up, kicking his feet through the opening. Just as his ankles passed outside, he heard the front door open.
He shimmied backward until only his shoulders and head were left inside. He could hear the men talking, but couldn’t understand what they were saying, nor did he much care at the moment.
His only goal was getting out. Fast.
His plan was to slide out the window, then hang on to the frame with one hand while closing the open pane with the other to remove any signs of his presence. The idea had sounded good in his head, but it failed in practice. His fingers barely paused on the lip of the frame before he was headed straight for the ground.
His army training kicking in, he rolled as he hit the dirt, popped to his feet, and began running along the rear of the motel.
“Hey! You! Stop!” It was the first man’s voice, clear and unhindered. Logan had no doubt the guy was sticking his head out the bathroom window, but he wasn’t about to look back and check. “Hey! I said stop!”
If the man was really expecting his words to work, he was sadly disappointed. Logan picked up his pace and sprinted the rest of the way to the corner.
Right would take him toward the front of the motel and Center Street, but it was also the direction from where the others would be coming. So Logan went left into a low-rent neighborhood of rundown homes. There were fewer FOR SALE signs than he’d seen elsewhere in town, but the amount of vacancies seemed to be the same.
At the first intersection he came to, he went right. Ahead, on the other side of the street, several men were gathered around a truck with its hood up. Whatever conversation they’d been having stopped when they saw Logan, and they stared at him as he ran by.
“Where you going so fast?” one of them called out, eliciting laughter from his friends.
As he neared the next intersection, Logan heard feet pounding the pavement somewhere behind him. This time he did look. A man-thin, late twenties, good shape, decked out in nice pants and a white, long-sleeved button shirt-had his eyes glued on Logan, so there was little doubt he was one of the men from the motel.
Logan turned right again, figuring he could risk heading for Center Street now. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing away a layer of sweat. Though it was after five p.m., it was still hotter than hell, and running wasn’t helping.
His phone began vibrating. Without slowing, he worked it out, and checked the screen. DEV.
“I just pulled up to the motel. Are you still in the room?”
“I’m…a couple blocks…east,” Logan said between breaths. “Running. Got company behind…me.”
“On my way. Don’t hang up.”
Logan looked back. The other guy hadn’t turned the corner yet, so, with any luck, Logan would reach the main road before his pursuer came into view. Seconds later, that plan fizzled.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
Another man had just come around the corner from the Center Street end. He was also dressed in nice pants and long-sleeved shirt. Even discounting the similar clothes, the growing sneer on the guy’s face was enough to convince Logan the two men were together.
Skidding to a halt, he said into the phone, “I don’t have a lot of time here,” then slid it into his pocket without disconnecting.
He couldn’t go forward, and couldn’t go back, leaving only the homes lining either side of the street. He took a quick look left and right. While the house on the right appeared occupied, the one on the left seemed to be another of the abandoned variety.
Logan went left, racing across the dead grass in the front yard, and hopping over the rotting wooden fence that surrounded the back.
“What the hell?”
It turned out the house on the left wasn’t empty after all. A fat guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee and balding head was sitting next to a barbecue, drinking beer and cooking a steak.
“Get out of my yard!” the man said. “This is private property!”
He made a movement like he was going to get out of his chair, but he never quite pushed himself all the way up.
“Sorry,” Logan said, not breaking stride.
“Where do you think you’re going? I said get the hell out of here!”
Logan leaped just before he reached the back fence, grabbed the top with his hands, and vaulted himself into the neighboring yard.
Though no one was outside this time, there was a dog. It was small, a Yorkie or Maltese or something like that. Whatever it was, it didn’t look happy that someone had intruded into its kingdom. Rapid-fire yaps spewed from its mouth as it ran toward Logan, halting just far enough away so that it could make a mad dash if Logan turned aggressive.
“Dude! This isn’t a freeway!” It was the man from the other yard again, not yelling at Logan this time, but at someone else who’d dared enter his domain.
Logan reached the front fence next to the house, found the gate, and popped it open. As he passed through, the yappy dog almost got out, but he forced it back and closed the gate tight. A few seconds later, he was on the new road, running once more toward Center Street.
He retrieved his phone. “Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“Coming up on Center Street. I’m about three blocks from the motel.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Logan didn’t slow until he turned onto the sidewalk that lined the main drag. On the corner was a shoe store, and next to it an ice cream shop. He went a half-dozen feet past the shop, stopped, doubled back, and went inside. A handful of customers were waiting in line. Logan positioned himself against the wall, and acted like he was reading the menu above the counter.
He raised his phone and whispered, “Ice cream place near the corner. I’m inside.”
“I see it,” Dev said. “Stay there.”
Less than ten seconds later, the El Camino pulled to the curb and parked. Logan disconnected the call, but just as he was about to step outside, Dev held up a hand and stopped him.
Two seconds later, one of the men chasing him raced by without pausing to look inside.
Dev follow the man with his eyes, then looked back at Logan and nodded. Logan bolted out the door and climbed quickly into the El Camino. As soon as he was inside, he ducked below the dash so the others wouldn’t spot him. Dev pulled leisurely out into Center Street’s sparse traffic.
“Anything?” Logan asked.
Dev took a moment before he answered. “No.”
“Drive around. Let’s make sure we didn’t pick up a tail.”
After several minutes, and multiple changes in direction, Dev said, “We’re clean.”
“Let’s go back to the motel,” Logan said. “I’ve got a call to make.”
“Everything okay?” Callie asked.
“We seem to have stirred something up,” Logan said. He was alone in his room, pacing between the bed and the window. Dev had returned to the other motel to keep an eye on things there.
“What?”
“That’s a great question.”
He brought her up to speed. When he finally finished, she said nothing for a moment.
“Your friend, Mr. Pepper. He’s going to be all right?”
“No permanent damage.”
She paused again. “I…I didn’t expect anyone to get hurt.”
