I freeze.

I’m not sure what else to do. I want to go back to my room and lock and deadbolt the door, but I’m afraid to move. I knew the police were going to come looking for me, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. Or at least, I was hoping it wouldn’t happen this quickly.

“This is your motel, Mr. Baxter?” a deep male voice is asking. I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s not Scott. If it were Scott, I might come out. Of course, he would arrest me anyway, but he’d be kind about it. He wouldn’t make the handcuffs too tight.

“Right, it’s my motel.” Nick’s voice. “I own it. Me and my wife.”

“Does anyone else work here?” “No. It’s just me.”

“I see. Mr. Baxter, we’re looking for a woman named Quinn Alexander, who we think may have stopped at your establishment in the last twenty-four hours. Does this photo look familiar to you?”

I hold my breath. There’s a long silence coming from downstairs. Oh God. What am I going to do? Can I jump out the window? How badly would I be hurt?

This is my own fault. I should have left while I had a chance. But where can I go? The plows still haven’t come. I would be just as much of a sitting duck in my car as I am here. Although it’s possible they might not see the car behind the diner.

It’s all over. The police are going to take me away. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison.

“Uh, no,” Nick is saying. “Doesn’t look familiar to me, sorry.”

My breath catches in my throat.

The officer’s voice again: “Are you sure? She may have changed her hair. It might be shorter than in the photo.”

“Yeah, no, I haven’t seen her. Honestly, we haven’t had any new guests here in the last several days at all.”

My shoulders sag. I can’t believe it—Nick is covering for me. He’s lying to the police on my behalf. He’s risking everything to help me, even though he doesn’t even know who I am.

“Okay then,” the officer says. “You mentioned your wife also works here. Could we talk to her as well? Maybe she saw Mrs. Alexander.”

“Unfortunately,” Nick says, “my wife has been very sick recently. She’s been in bed the last week. I think it’s the flu. You probably don’t want to go near her.”

The officer chuckles. “I don’t suppose I do. All right then.

You’ll let us know if she shows up?” “Oh, absolutely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Appreciate it.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” He pauses. “I hope you find her.”

“Oh, we will. It’s just a matter of time.”

I lean against the wall, my heart pounding. I can’t believe that just happened. The police showed up here, just as I feared they would, but somehow I’m not being carried off in handcuffs. Nick covered for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m home free.

I wait until I hear the door to the motel slam shut, then I run back to my room. I look out the window—it’s very dark out now, but I can make out the police officer getting into his vehicle. I watch as he starts up his car and drives off. And there’s one other thing I see.

The plow is here. It’s plowing away a path to freedom. That must be how the police car got here. In about fifteen minutes, I may be able to finally leave.

And then I hear a knock at the door. “It’s Nick.”

I walk over to the door and crack it open. Nick is standing there, wringing his hands together. I have the irrepressible urge to reach out and hug him.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I step aside and he enters my room, closing the door behind him. The fleeting thought occurs to me that maybe this wasn’t entirely altruistic on his part. Maybe he’s here to ask me for money. Give me five hundred bucks or else I’m going to the police. Except I don’t really think that. He doesn’t seem like the type. After all, he didn’t even ask for money for the meals he made me.

“You heard that, right?” he says. “The police? Looking for you.”

I nod slowly. “Yes, I… thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

He smiles crookedly. “I bet the guy had it coming.” I drop my eyes. “He did. I promise you, he did.”

“Yeah, I, uh… I saw those bruises on your neck. Anyway, I just…”

“I’ll be okay. Really.”

“Okay then.” He glances out the window. “The plow arrived just before the police came. So in another fifteen minutes or so, you should be good to go.”

I nod again. I don’t think I can talk, because I’m going to start crying.

Nick wrings his hands together. “I don’t know where you’re going. It’s better if I don’t know. But… is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “No… thank you.”

He looks over at the fur-lined boots I wore earlier today. It almost feels like a million years ago. “You should keep the boots. Really.”

Well, that did it. Now I’m sobbing. I sink down onto the bed, my shoulders shaking as the tears pour down my cheeks. Nick looks a little panicked, but he sits down next to me and rubs my back.

“Hey,” he says, “it’s okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay. I won’t tell anyone. Greta won’t either.”

“I know.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I just… It’s hard to leave everything behind. And you’re so… kind to me.”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says softly.

“I know, but…” I take a shaky breath. “When you’ve lived with somebody for so long who spends every waking moment plotting how to be cruel to you…”

He frowns. “I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

He’s calling me by my real name now, which he knows because of the police. The unfairness of it all hits me. Why couldn’t I have married a good guy like Nick? Why did I have to vow to spend my life with a narcissistic sociopath?

I look up into his brown eyes with my red, swollen ones. The kindness and concern in his eyes almost floors me. And before I entirely know what I’m doing, I lean forward and I press my lips against his.