Kis stood up, stretching. “We’re here.”
“Found a guy,” Kis said, her voice a low rasp. “Works at a ranch. Needs help with horses. Room, board, cash under the table.” Kis stood up, stretching
The runaway was over. The living was about to begin. Needs help with horses
Kis was last. She turned her head, just enough for Meadows to see the hard set of her jaw. Then she dropped a single, folded piece of paper onto the wet pavement. It was a list of every violation, every skimmed dollar, every “accidental” lock-in of the basement. A copy was already in an envelope addressed to the state licensing board, sitting in a mailbox two blocks away. Kis was last
Alexis didn’t look back. She grabbed Veronique’s arm and pulled her up the steps.
Lindsey Meadows stood at the edge of the parking lot, her pink bathrobe flapping in the wind, her dyed-blonde hair a wet mop on her head. She looked less like a predator and more like a furious, wet cat. Behind her, Dwayne’s truck’s headlights blazed.
The rain was a thin, cold curtain over the Greyhound station. Alexis Love clutched the strap of her duffel bag, her knuckles white. Beside her, Veronique Vega adjusted the brim of her stolen baseball cap, scanning the flickering neon signs of the all-night diner across the street.