Before Mr. Jones left the motel room, Dylan asked him if there was anywhere close by where he could get some decent clothes.
“There’s a thrift shop one street over. They stay open until nine. If you’re hungry, the diner next door to it has edible food, if you’re not picky.”
“Right now, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t eat,” Dylan replied with a low laugh.
“Just don’t forget to arm the security when you leave,” Mr. Jones said. “That way we know when you’re here.”
“In case of emergencies?”
Mr. Jones shrugged. “You could say that. Set it when I leave.”
Dylan nodded, then when the man left, set the alarm and began exploring the room. He had a strong feeling it was probably bugged—not that he’d know one if he saw it. When he finished, he stripped and took a long shower. By the ti
