You’ll need to be on the lookout for any unusual activity.”
She was. Only that unusual activity wasn’t happening outside the windows of the mobile unit. It was happening deep inside her body. And there was a sense of panic that said the unthinkable could very well be reality.
But it couldn’t. It was—while not impossible, it was highly unlikely.
Except hadn’t she read recently about a spate of condom tamperings across the country? A fad where kids dared each other to go into stores unnoticed and stab pinholes in packages? It had caused an uptick in unwanted pregnancies. And STDs.
Deus. STDs. An even stronger spurt of alarm went through her.
Surely she was safe. The condoms had been provided by the motel. There were quality control checks. There had to be.
At a motel?
Those establishments were gorgeous on the outside with their high walls, beautiful signs and manicured landscapes. But the elegant facade hid what really went on behind the entry gate. Sex. Lots of it. Mostly between people who weren’t married—or who were, but not to each other.
It’s okay. You’re overreacting. It’s an easy thing to check.
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