Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

appears in the distance. A few of the letters in the VACANCY sign are dead, but SPA ROOM AVAILABLE! is all lit up. There’s a truck parking bay out front, empty. It’s the kind of place travellers stay if they’re using their own money instead of staying on the company’s dime.

The van slows down.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

‘This is it,’ Donnie says.

‘This motel right here?’

‘Yup.’

The unease is like eels in my belly. I thought we were picking up someone connected to Lux. But he didn’t live on this side of Houston. Whoever it is, could they be staying at the motel I used to work at? That would be a hell of a coincidence if so. The odds are incalculable.

The alternative is that Fred, or maybe Donnie, has worked out who I really am. But if so, why am I not dead already?

Maybe they’re not sure, one way or the other. They’re trying to rattle me. See if I recognise this place. My heart is pounding, but I take care to keep my expression even.

‘Are we clear on the plan?’ Donnie asks.

‘Yeah,’ Kyle says.

‘No,’ I say at the same moment.

‘According to the reservation database, our target is in room nine.’ Donnie shifts into a lower gear. ‘Probably alone—it’s a single room. She may be armed but won’t be expecting us, so we’ll be fine if we’re quick.’

Room nine is where I found the suicide in the bathtub. The room the police later inspected, finding only a note. This can’t be a coincidence.

Maybe they know everything. Not just who I am, but what I’ve done. This could be a ritual. Perhaps the Guards make the condemned face their crimes before they take them prisoner. See the Cannibal captured in the very hotel room from which he once stole a corpse. Download the video now.

‘You got the card?’ Kyle asks.

‘Yup.’ Donnie keeps his eyes on the road as he produces a key card from his pocket. ‘But remember, we shouldn’t need it. Plan A is we knock on the door and pretend to be room service. If she opens the door, we grab her. If she refuses, we pretend to go away. I guarantee you she’ll get curious and open the door within a minute, then we grab her.’

‘Maybe we should wait until we’re better prepared,’ I say. ‘Talk it over tonight. I mean, this motel can’t be completely empty. What if someone hears her yelling?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Donnie says. ‘One hand over the mouth, knife against the throat—I’ve done it plenty of times. I’ll put her in the van, then we’re gone. The motel has no recorded CCTV and only two other guests on the register.’

‘What did she do?’ Kyle asks. ‘I mean, why are we taking her?’

‘A few reasons,’ Donnie says, glancing at me. ‘But mostly because she killed a baby.’

‘Shit,’ Kyle says. ‘That’ll be popular on the site.’

I keep my eyes on the building as we approach. ‘Who is she?’

‘You’ll see.’ Donnie drives into the motel parking lot. It’s a two-level place, safety rails around the concrete walkway on the second floor. The van has no windows, but I get a glimpse of room nine through the windshield. It’s on level one. The grey curtains are drawn. No cars parked directly out front.

‘Okay.’ Donnie opens his door. ‘Let’s do this.’

We all get out of the van. The tarmac is littered with cigarette butts. We’re close enough to the highway to smell the diesel from the passing trucks. No other cars in the lot.

Kyle gasps. ‘I thought you said no CCTV.’

I don’t turn my head. There were no cameras when I worked here. If they’ve been added since, I don’t want my face on the feed.

‘I said no recorded CCTV,’ Donnie says. ‘There are no videos in the motel’s network, no screenshots, nothing. So either it’s a live feed only, or the cameras are fake.’

I sneak a glance. The camera is fake—the cables go directly into the concrete wall, whereas a security company installer would have put them through via the brickwork to one side, and wrapped a steel tube around them to protect them from the elements.

The fact that Kyle spotted the camera at all is impressive, though. It’s right up the other end of the motel. He’s good at noticing things. Like me.

Donnie gets the meal tray off the passenger seat of the van. Even though I know there’s nothing under the lid, the sight of the tray still makes me hungry.

‘Come on.’ Donnie walks up to the door to room nine, holds the tray up so it’s visible through the peephole, and knocks. Shave and-a-hair cut. ‘Room service.’

Kyle and I press our backs against the walls on either side of the door, so we’re not visible from the peephole or through the window.

I was supposed to have a chance to escape, but it’s already too late. Now I need to go along with this, whatever it turns out to be.

No one answers the door.

Donnie knocks again. ‘Room service. Compliments of the Comfort Inn.’

Silence. If this is a ruse to get me into the room, it’s very elaborate.

Donnie places the tray on the ground with a loud thunk, and then crouches down, waiting for someone to open the door.

No one does.

After a minute, Donnie stands up. ‘Guess she’s not in.’

‘Makes sense,’ Kyle says. ‘No vehicles in the lot except ours.’

‘Guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow.’ I try to sound disappointed. ‘Or the day after.’

But Donnie is already tapping the key card against the electronic lock. It beeps, a green light flashes, and he pushes the door open.

The motel room has a rattling fridge, a narrow closet and muffin crumbs trapped between the desk and the wall. A ceiling-mounted TV looms over the single bed