The second set—three quick taps delivered a bit harder than the first set—blended into his half-awake, half-asleep dream. The third set of three shook the door casing and rattled the framed room-rate chart on the wall. “Go away,” Mark said, at the same time pulling the pillow tight against his head. He heard the door open, heard the disgusted sigh, and flinched when the door swung shut with a bang. “Did you get it?” Mark asked, his words muffled by the sweat-soaked pillow. “Yeah, I got it,” Robin said, throwing the plastic bag onto his bed. He listened as she plopped down on the room’s matching twin bed, the headboard rapping against the wall. “That’s what that was,” Mark said, moving the pillow off his head. He was sprawled, face down, on the small bed, his feet hanging off the end. His shirt was balled up on the dresser but he still had on the khakis he had worn to meet Shawn at the Bay View Hotel.
