The Getaway Motel was a popular spot for hookups and illicit affairs. Desk clerks never checked IDs. Rooms were often paid in cash. A yellow sign illuminated the motel’s parking lot, advertising their extensive selection of p**n channels. Shea wondered why Wendy’d gotten a room at a dump like the Getaway.
Shea parked her bike, climbed the outdoor stairs, and knocked on the door to room 213. Wendy opened it a moment later, her eyes swollen and lifeless. She let Shea into the dim room without a word and sat down on a queen-sized bed covered with a stained polyester bedspread. The room stank of mildew and s*x. The only light came from a small lamp on the nightstand. Shea opted to remain standing for fear of catching something.
“I don’t know what I can do to help. The cops are already lookin
