CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rylie woke up to the smell of something even worse than the normal wet, moldy smell of the room. It smelled a little like hot garbage.
She sat up in bed to find Michael, fully dressed in his suit and tie, pulling food out of a rumpled white paper bag. Two Styrofoam cups of coffee were set out at the table, too.
She blinked. She’d been having that same recurring dream, from the night of the murders. Hiding in that cramped spot in the back of the RV, listening to the sound of the rain and thunder overhead. This time, though, she’d dreamt that she was outside, the rain falling on her as she watched Maren get pulled away by two men in head-to-toe black. She was screaming, for Rylie.
She swallowed around the nausea that bubbled in her throat from the mere memory of the dream
