“You’ve already used that answer once today.” “I know,” she said brightly, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re one frustrating person to deal with?” “All the time.” Tracie parked the car in front of an office that looked like it had been designed by the architect who built the Bates Motel. An old-fashioned MOTEL sign hung in the front window, the glass tube letters filled with red neon gas. The “L” had burned out, leaving MOTE flickering weakly in the darkness. Above it, unlit, another sign said NEW HAVEN ARMS. Shane looked at the “MOTE” with distaste. “I hope that’s not a warning of what’s waiting for us in the rooms.” “Ah, come on, how bad could it be? Where’s your sense of adventure?” she said, stepping out of the car and stretching her legs. Shane reached for the door handle to join her and then stopped, admiring the view through the windshield as she reached for the sky. The night was mild and she hadn’t bothered to pull on her jacket, and her blouse lifted as she stretched, revealing a taut belly.
