I shrank back into the shadow of the bathroom doorframe.

A shadow passed the window, blocking the headlight glare for a second.

Then, the door to the room next to mine opened and closed with a loud click.

A man’s muffled voice muttered a complaint about the cold.

I let out a long, shuddering breath.

It was not Julian.

Not yet.

I slipped out of the side door of the motel, keeping low.

My old Volvo sat under the dying branches of an oak tree in the dark corner of the lot.

I buckled Harrison into his car seat, my fingers cold and clumsy against the straps.

He didn’t wake up, only whimpering once and sucking his thumb.

I got behind the wheel and started the engine.

I did not turn on the headlights until I rolled down the gravel driveway and onto the empty highway.

My hands shook on the steering wheel.

Lydia was right; Julian’s business managers would trace the pending authorization within minutes.

He would know exactly where I had been.

I needed to stop running and start planning.