Chapter EightDRAKE COMES BACK FROM QUESNEL
The rain pelted down on beasts in the fields and travelers caught in the open. It drenched a man on a motorcycle hundreds of miles away, a downpour over most of the inland area. The man, damp to his bones, was Drake, yellow slicker flapping from his shoulders, chrome glittering with every flicker of fire from heaven, Drake, on his way back to Edmonton from Quesnel. On his way back to Lori yet again.
Water dripped from the long curve of his nose and cascaded off his chin. “Here's a motel. We'll stop for the night,” he mumbled.
The red neon light glowed through the rain. The Sandpiper Inn. Drake had stayed here many times before, on his way down south from Quesnel. He snuffled and wiped his face with a gloved hand. The wind had increased and shee
