offer her.
Remembering that moment of leaning against Nick, of feeling his strong arm around her, she realized that was what she’d like at the moment—a strong arm around her and somebody comforting her.
She straightened and drew a deep, fortifying breath. She hadn’t needed a strong shoulder to lean on when she’d been ten years old and their father had walked out on them, never to be heard from again. She hadn’t needed anyone when she was eighteen and her mother had died, leaving an eleven-year-old Wendy to raise.
She’d never needed anyone, and she didn’t now. All she wanted was dinner, a little work at her computer and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was another day, and she would continue to walk the streets and talk to strangers in an effort to gain answers to who had murdered her sister and why.
Finally, she dug the motel room key from her purse and got out of her car. She was just about to unlock her door when she noticed a folded piece of paper shoved in a crack between the door and the doorjamb.
She grabbed the paper, unlocked her door and went inside. She immediately turned on lights to ward off the darkness of deep twilight that had fallen. Then she set her purse on the table and opened the paper.
Printed in bold, black letters with a felt-tipped marker were the words, “BE CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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