25
The abrupt cessation of motion yanked Adam from a doze and his head from its resting position. He’d pulled his shirt collar up to shield his face, but his upper cheek was cold and damp from the window.
“Sorry about that,” Harlan said. “The clutch on Jim’s truck could use a little work. Or I could use a little sleep, one or the other.”
Adam could hear traffic in the distance, but it was irregular, waves rather than a constant roar. “Where are we?”
“Far enough away to feel safe to stop. I’ll get us a room.”
The pickup sat in the poorly lit parking lot of a crappy, one-story motel, its details thankfully lost in the dark. Harlan hadn’t parked by the office, but rather in front of a section of rooms that appeared unoccupied. There were no cars parked nearby, and no lights shone through
