34
Ninety minutes later, hundreds of miles away, Danny’s hands shook as he entered his own motel room. He slammed the door behind him, then slumped against it. What the hell was he thinking? They’d find the body by morning. Okay, so there was nothing to connect him to the guy, and his motel room was sixty miles away. It was still stupid. Now he’d have to leave. He pulled off his jacket and threw it on the bed. He hadn’t seen any blood, but he’d probably have to get a new coat just to be safe. f**k. No, wait—there was blood on the sleeves, but it didn’t look wet.
He done it enough times that his cleanup ought to be on autopilot, but he struggled to make himself move, to figure out the next step. That’s okay, he told himself, when you’re on autopilot is when you screw things up.
Danny wed
