Sandra took a steadying breath, forcing the chaotic past from her mind.
She had to move forward—looking back now would destroy her.
"What about my job...?"
Only the bitter sting of exhaust fumes answered her.
The wind snarled through her threadbare coat as she hugged it tighter, deliberately avoiding the budget hotel down the street.
Broke didn't begin to cover it. That place might as well have been a five-star resort compared to the thirty-buck-a-night dive she'd been surviving in—dim corridors thick with mildew, rooms that reeked of neglect, doorframes clinging to their hinges for dear life.
If Mr. Champion saw her in this squalor, the humiliation would be worse than death.
But as she reached the motel's cracked entrance, a looming silhouette snapped her from her thoughts.
Welby.
