* * *
Two stars and a planet had appeared by the time he reached Main Street, and the chill that had been pleasant fifteen minutes ago had become uncomfortable, cutting through his thin oxford shirt, his sockless feet beginning to tingle with numbness.
Worse, the first sign of real hunger was manifesting itself as a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach and a dizziness behind his eyes.
He walked several blocks down to the Wayward Pines Hotel and climbed the stone steps to the entrance.
Through the panes of glass in the door, he saw lights on inside, and a young woman sitting behind the front desk.
Ethan entered the lobby into a welcome blast of warmth.
A grand piano occupied a corner across from the massive hearth, which presently housed a roaring fire.
He stopped for a moment and held his hands out to the heat. The boiling pine resin gave off the sweet smell of a candle. He could’ve stretched out on the couch and napped for days.
After a moment, he dragged himself away and walked over to the front desk.
The woman smiled at Ethan as he approached.
She struck him as midtwenties. Cute, though a little on the heavy side, her black hair pulled into a short ponytail. She wore a white dress shirt under a black vest, and her name tag identified her as LISA.
Ethan sidled up to the desk and rested his forearms on the high counter to steady his balance.
“Good evening,” Lisa said. “Welcome to the Wayward Pines Hotel. How may I help you tonight?”
Her greeting seemed off. Not the words, but the delivery. Like she was struggling through something she rarely had to say.
“Do you have any vacancies tonight?”
“We sure do.”
Lisa typed on a keyboard.
“Just tonight?” she asked.
“Yes. For now at least.”
Ethan glanced at the computer monitor—an ancient monstrosity. Like something from the late eighties. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a dinosaur.
“I have a nonsmoking, nonpet room on the second floor with a king bed.”
“That’ll be fine.”
She finished typing. “And would you like to put this on a credit card?”
Ethan smiled. “That’s an interesting question.”
“Really? How so?”
“I was involved in a car accident several days ago. A truck slammed into the side of my car. Just up the block from here actually. Maybe you saw it?”
“No, I sure didn’t.”
“Well, I was just released from the hospital, and the thing is...I haven’t been able to locate my wallet. None of my personal belongings, in fact.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He thought he saw Lisa’s smile lose just a touch of its initial enthusiasm.
“So how exactly will you be paying then, Mr....?”
“Burke. Ethan Burke. See, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I won’t be able to pay for the room until I get my wallet back tomorrow. I’m informed the sheriff is in possession of my things. Not sure why, but...” He shrugged. “Is what it is.”
“Hmm. See, I’m not really allowed to open a reservation without a cash advance or at least a credit card number. It’s hotel policy. In case—and of course I’m not saying that this would necessarily happen—but in case there was any damage to the room or charges incurred that—”
“I understand that. I’m well aware of the purpose of deposits. What I’m telling you is that I will be able to pay you tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t even have a driver’s license?”
“Everything’s in my wallet.”
Lisa bit her bottom lip, and he could see what was coming—a nice girl working herself up to be the bad guy.
“Sir—Mr. Burke—I’m afraid that without a credit card or cash or identification, I’m just not going to be able to give you a room tonight. I would love to. Really. But this is just hotel policy and...”
She stopped talking when Ethan leaned over the counter.
“Lisa, do you know why I’m wearing a black suit?”
“No.”
“I’m a special agent with the United States Secret Service.”
“You mean those guys who guard the president?”
“That’s only one of our duties. Our primary mission is to protect the integrity of our nation’s financial infrastructure.”
“And so you’re, like, on an investigation in Wayward Pines?”
“I am. I had just arrived in town when the accident happened.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“I can’t discuss any details.”
“You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”
“If I was, I’d be committing a federal crime.”
“You’re really a special agent?”
“Yes. And I’m tired and I’m asking you to give me a break. I need a room for the night. I promise you—I’m good for it.”
“And you’ll pay tomorrow? First thing?”
“First thing.”