Strangely, I felt much better when I woke up the next morning. Maybe it was only that I could tell the day was a bright and sunny one out past the wooden blinds that darkened the room, or maybe it was the realization that I’d gotten a solid eight hours of sleep with no interruptions, no federal agents breaking in, no storms brought to life by uneasy dreams.
From downstairs came a faint clank as Jake put a kettle on the stove or performed some other early morning task in the kitchen. The thought of coffee was appealing, but I really wanted a shower first. The day before, I hadn’t washed my hair, since we’d been focused on getting out of Las Vegas as quickly as we could, and it was time to get myself really clean.
Like the kitchen, the upstairs guest bath had been fully modernized, and had
