It should have taken him three hours to get to Desert Center, but DeShawn made it in a little under two. It wasn’t difficult to find the hotel Patton referred to, or Patton’s truck. DeShawn said a quick prayer of gratitude for that—his phone completely lost signal and he didn’t want to make Patton wait for a single unnecessary second.
The door flew open as soon as DeShawn knocked, as if Patton had been waiting with his hand on the knob. He looked sick, all of his color gone, sweat dotting his face and sticking his hair to his scalp. The only mark of color was a deep, vibrant red—blood smeared across his lips. DeShawn quickly looked him over until he found the source on the back of Patton’s hand. It looked like a bite mark. A deep one.
“What happened?” DeShawn asked, pushing his way insid
