The landscape changes as the miles pass, towns giving way to open roads, then to stretches of nothing. When the traffic thins, I'm forced to stay back even further, but I manage to keep the SUV in view. They're not trying to shake a tail. They don't know they have one. I look like any other young woman just going about my normal, boring life.
Eventually, they signal and turn off toward a motel with a giant flashing palm tree on the sign outside. Staring at the wide-open space it's sat in, nowhere near the ocean, I frown. Maybe it's supposed to be ironic.
I drive past, pull a U-turn at the next intersection, and find a spot down the road where I can watch from a distance.
Beau's truck is already there, and he waits for the two men to exit their vehicles. When they approach, he pulls a key from his pocket and walks to a room on the ground floor. He unlocks it, and carelessly tosses his bag inside, then leads them to the next door and props it open, waiting while they step inside.
A few minutes later, the unloading begins. All bags, cases, and equipment, and there are lots of them, go into the second room, Beau and the big guy making return trips until it's all inside, while the other occasionally comes to the door and points.
Whatever this is, it's not a quick trip, and it's definitely not a social visit.
I settle in to wait, watching as afternoon bleeds into evening. At some point, one of the men leaves in the SUV and comes back twenty minutes later with takeout bags. Just the sight of it is enough to remind me I've eaten nothing more than a few crackers and an old granola bar I found in the bottom of my purse. My stomach growls loudly, finally demanding something more substantial.
Deciding they're probably settled in for the next half an hour anyway, I start my car and head for the town we passed a few miles back. I need real food and I need supplies.
As I drive through the town, I realise calling it that is being generous. There's one main street, a gas station, a diner that's seen better days, and a general store with a hand-painted sign. A hardware store with a faded sign may or may not still be in business, and a hairdresser that also offers pet grooming might be the most concerning thing I've seen so far.
I pull into the general store's parking lot and dig out my phone, scrolling to Morrison's number with great trepidation. He's the last person I want to ask a favour, or to figure out what I'm up to, but I have no choice.
He picks up on the fourth ring. "Harris. Thought you were taking apersonalday."
Even though he can't see me, I roll my eyes so hard, it hurts. Just mention a menstrual cycle to these men, and they run a mile. Normally, I don’t play the only woman in the station card, but sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do.
"Oh yeah, I am. Soooo bad." I climb out of the car, cradling the phone against my shoulder. Adding a pained groan for good measure, I push through the store's front door, cursing when a bell jingles overhead. "Just checking in while I'm down at the chemist buying tampons and a heat pack. Anything happening?"
I swear, I hear him gag. Or maybe, that's the sound of his balls sucking back up into his body.
"TMI Harris. I don't want to know about your flow."
Jesus. Did he get that from a bumper sticker?
I grab a basket and head for the clothing section, such as it is. A few racks of basics, mainly in camo or sickly-sweet pastel colours, and certainly not anything fancy. "You're telling on yourself, Morrison. You've never had a serious girlfriend, and it's showing."
He scoffs. "Well, you're calling me on your day off, so you must want me for something."
The urge to say something sarcastic is almost too much to avoid, but now isn’t the time to piss him off.
"Actually, I do. I'm looking for a quick favour."
I pull a pack of underwear off the rack, toss it in the basket without looking. It's the right size, so it'll do. Pyjamas next. Sensible cotton catches my eye, but so does something silkier. I grab both. "Listen, does anything ever happen out near..." I try to remember the name on the motel sign. "Out in Crow Valley. That area?"
Morrison snorts. "That shithole? Why?" He may be a dick, but when he wants to be, he's a good detective. I need to give him a little, but not a lot.
"Just curious. Got a girlfriend talking about following some dude out there." Jeans. A T-shirt. Hoody. I'm grabbing things at random now, not really paying attention, just filling the basket. "Nothing weird or wonderful?"
There's a pause. "There was that bare-knuckle boxing thing a while back. Illegal fights at some old warehouse. So, unless he's got a busted nose and fucked up hands, she's probably safe enough. She's going to be bored as hell though."
My sixth sense tingles, tickling the back of my mind. "An underground fight ring? They really must have been bored."
Morrison laughs at my lame joke as I toss a packet of facial wipes and a toothbrush in the bottom of my basket.
"Anyone step up to take over? Someone's usually waiting in the wings if there's money to be made."
Morrison laughs again. "Why? Do you think your friend's boyfriend is sketchy?"
I hesitate just enough for him to assume the worst, and that I'm asking to protect her.
"Not that I've heard." He sounds bored now, ready to end the conversation. "But I'd still tell her to give it a miss."