CHAPTER 3
He woke to a headache and sunlight streaming into his room through the gap in the blinds.
Rolled over, stared at the alarm clock.
“Shit.”
12:21.
He’d slept past noon.
Ethan crawled out of bed, and as he reached for his pants—balled up on the floor—he heard someone knocking on his door. Revise that—someone had been knocking on his door for quite awhile, and he was just realizing for the first time that the distant pounding wasn’t solely confined to his head.
“Mr. Burke! Mr. Burke!”
Lisa, the front desk clerk, shouting through his door.
“Just a sec!” he called out. He pulled his pants on and staggered over to the door. Undid the locks, the chain, tugged it open.
“Yes?” Ethan asked.
“Checkout is at eleven.”
“Sorry, I—”
“What happened to ‘first thing’?”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Have you been able to get your wallet yet?”
“No, I’m just now waking up. Is it really after twelve?”
She wouldn’t answer, just glared at him.
“I’m going to the sheriff’s office right now,” he said, “and as soon as I get—”
“I need your key back, and I need you to evacuate the room.”
“To what?”
“Evacuate the room. Get out. I don’t appreciate being taken advantage of, Mr. Burke.”
“No one’s taking advantage of you.”
“I’m waiting.”
Ethan took a hard look into her face, searching for something—softness, cracks in her resolve—but he didn’t find a shred of compassion.
“Just let me get dressed.” He started to close the door, but she put her foot across the threshold.
“Oh, you wanna watch me? Really?” He backed away into the room. “Fine. Enjoy the show.”
And she did. Stood in the doorway watching him lace up the shoes over his bare feet, button his stained, white oxford, and struggle for two agonizing minutes to knot his tie.
When he’d finally slid his arms into his black jacket, he grabbed the room key off his bedside table and dropped it into her open palm on the way out.
Said, “You’re gonna feel terrible about this in two hours,” as he walked down the corridor toward the stairs.