Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I’m halfway through my first cup when my encrypted phone rings. Crewe.
I answer immediately. "Talk to me."
"We got a hit," he says, voice tight. "One of Wyatt Rivers' credit cards was used last night. Old motel about six miles from your location. Cash transaction, but the card pinged when they ran it for incidentals. Place called The Pine Rest."
Six miles. Close enough to get there fast. "We’re on it."
"Be careful, Banks. If Rivers is there, he might not be alone. And if this connects back to Dad..."
"I know." I glance toward the hallway. "I’ll take Anniston with me. I’m not leaving her here alone."
Crewe is quiet for a beat. "You good with her?"
I rub the back of my neck. "Yeah. I am."
He doesn’t push. "Keep me updated. Colt and Mack are standing by if you need backup. Jace’s got Sadie somewhere secure."
I hang up and head down the hallway. Anniston is just waking up, stretching under the quilt with a sleepy smile when she sees me.
"Morning," she says softly.
"Morning." I sit on the edge of the bed. "Crewe called. Wyatt's credit card pinged at a motel a few miles from here. We’re going to check it out. Get dressed."
She sits up quickly, the sheet falling to her waist. For a second I’m distracted by the sight of her bare skin, but I force my focus back to the mission. She nods, already reaching for her clothes.
Fifteen minutes later we’re in the truck heading down the narrow mountain road. Anniston is quiet beside me, but her hand rests on my thigh like it belongs there. I don’t move it. I sort of like it. Okay, I love it.
The Pine Rest Motel is exactly what I expected: a rundown single-story building with faded green paint and a flickering neon sign. Only a few cars in the lot. I park at the far end where I have a clear view of the exits and kill the engine.
"Stay in the truck," I tell her. "Doors locked. If anything feels wrong, drive off and call Mack. Do not wait."
She nods, eyes serious. "Be safe."
I approach the office and ring the bell. An older guy with a beer gut and a faded baseball cap comes shuffling out.
"Need a room?" he asks.
"No. Looking for someone. Was a man here last night using the name Wyatt Rivers?"
The clerk scratches his chin. "Yeah. Checked in late. Left early this morning."
My pulse kicks up. "What did he look like?"
"Older guy. Early sixties maybe. Tall, still in decent shape. Graying hair. Had a pretty noticeable scar above his left eye. Kinda quiet. Paid and left without saying much."
A scar above his left eye. Can’t be.
“This scar? Was it shaped like a hook?”
The guy smiles. “Yeah, it kind of was.” He motions to his own eyebrow, tracing what the scar looked like. “He also had a birthmark on his hand.” He points to his own left hand and right above his middle finger points to a spot. “It looked kind of like a horseshoe.”
The floor feels like it tilts under me. That’s my father's scar. The one he got in a bar fight when I was seven. The one he used to joke about when we were kids. And the horseshoe birthmark. This can’t be fucking happening.
I keep my voice steady. "Anything else? What kind of car was he driving?"
"Old blue pickup. Beat up. Had some mud on the tires like he came off the back roads."
I thank him and head back to the truck, mind spinning. Anniston sees my face the second I open the door.
"What is it?" she asks.
I start the engine and pull out fast. "The man who used Wyatt's card matches my dad's description. Tall, early sixties, scar above the left eye. Horseshoe birthmark."
Anniston’s eyes go wide. "Your dad? Your dad was here? Using Wyatt Rivers' credit card?"
"Looks like it." I grip the wheel tighter. "Either Dad is using Wyatt's identity as an alias, or something happened to Wyatt and Dad took the card. Either way, he was here. Last night."
I pull over a mile down the road and call Crewe on speaker so Anniston can hear.
"Crewe, it’s me. The man at the motel matches Dad. Scar, birthmark, age, everything. He used Wyatt's card and left this morning in an old blue pickup."
Crewe swears. "You’re sure?"
"Positive. The clerk described him perfectly. We need to figure out if Dad is running under Wyatt's name or if Wyatt is dead and Dad took his identity to stay hidden. Either way, this proves he is alive. And he is close."
"What about Nash and Sin?" Crewe asks, voice tight.
"Still nothing. But if Dad is out here using a dead or missing man's card, he might be trying to draw attention away from them. Or he might be in deeper than we thought."
Anniston reaches over and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.