Max rode shotgun in Miley's car, reading off the directions on his smartphone while Miley kept driving east, moving from the regular part of town to the bad part of town, and creeping ever closer into what was definitely the worst part of town. Max had had no idea that such a place even existed. Miley's car glided past blocks of boarded-up buildings, liquor stores, pawnshops, and some kind of clinic where you could sell your blood.
"Remind me never to get a blood transfusion," he muttered. "The doors are locked, right?"
She toggled the power-lock button and gave him a quick nod.
"So you've never been to this neighborhood, either," Miley said. She looked cautiously through the windshield. "No wonder Amelia didn't want to come."
Max frowned, seriously pissed off at Amelia for talking Miley into doing this. He was really glad he'd come with her.
She slowed as a guy in a filthy coat started pushing a shopping cart bulging with trash bags across the street. Max cocked his head, listening. The man was rambling to himself, counting by twos.
"Don't stop. Just go around him," he cautioned.
She nodded and did as he asked. Max couldn't imagine being in this neighborhood after nightfall. He wondered where the homeless man went to sleep. Max definitely didn't picture him and Miley sleeping anywhere near here. So much for that dream.
"We're kids anyway," he thought. "No one would rent a room to us. Well, except maybe around here."
Miley glanced over at him. They had almost arrived at their location. He didn't want to think of Miley getting out of the car. They should turn around and get out of there.
"Miley, let's leave," he blurted.
She glanced over at him. "You're scared?"
"Yeah, aren't you?" he replied honestly.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. "This place is really terrible, Max. I want to leave. But if Leo's here, he might need help."
But not our help, he wanted to say. Sheriff Joe's help, maybe.
Almost as if she could read his mind, she said, "I promised Amelia I'd check the motel."
He heard the stubbornness in her tone of voice. It was obvious he wasn't going to be able to talk her out of going through with the plan. He thought about asking her to stay in the car, but the problem was, he didn't think she'd be any safer alone in the car than out on the street with him. Except, if he got too stressed and shifted, then she'd be in even greater danger.
"I can't let it happen," he thought. "I won't." He'd just have to keep reminding himself of that.
Miley's phone rang and Max nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked at the caller ID.
"It's Amelia," he said.
"Put her on speaker," Miley asked him.
"Hi, have you found anything?" Amelia's voice was distorted. Miley's cell phone reception was weak. Another strike against going to the motel.
"Just three dozen strip clubs and a place to pawn my birthday necklace," Miley said a little heatedly. "Oh, look, there's another liquor store. With iron bars across the windows. Tell me the truth, Amelia. Did you know just how bad it is around here?"
"I thought it would be gross but... how bad?" Amelia asked, sounding contrite.
"Way bad," Miley said. "I'm kind of wishing I had pepper spray or something."
"Me, too," Max thought.
"I'm sorry I asked you to go," Amelia admitted. "I've never actually been to the bad part of town." She fell silent, as if she were trying to decide what to say next. Max respected that silence. Amelia was clearly having a crisis of conscience. She wanted to find Leo, but she didn't want to put Miley in harm's way. Max liked her for that.
"Have you come up with anything?" Miley asked her.
"Well, I searched the Net for Hunter Butcher and nothing came up," Amelia replied.
"That's not good," Miley said, and Max nodded, agreeing. "Maybe it's an alias, for when he goes undercover or something."
"Or it's a big scam. But Leo never falls for things like that, and there've been a few people trying to shake money out of the Ruperts with all kinds of crazy schemes. Fake charities, supposed long-lost relatives. So he knows the drill. When you're part of a wealthy family, you get cynical."
So that's what it's called, Max thought.
"So... this detective--not a detective?" Miley asked.
"I don't know. Leo would be supercautious. He'd need proof." She sighed. "But he's been off his game lately. In more ways than one," she added languidly. "Maybe this has something to do with that."
"Well, we'll see what we can find out," Miley promised her.
Max groaned inwardly. It was time for them to hang a left, but he didn't tell Miley. He wanted them to just leave. Leo was so not worth it.
But Miley must have remembered his rundown of their route, because she put on her blinker and they turned the corner, facing a plain, two-story beige stucco building that said Thrifty Inn. It wasn't an inn by any stretch of the imagination, but it was at least five times nicer than Max had anticipated, given what they'd driven through to get to it.
Miley looked over at Max. "The motel's not that bad," she murmured. "We can just go in the lobby and ask. I have a picture of Leo on my phone."
Why is that? Max felt a little flare of jealousy, and he wanted to ask her about it. Then he calmed down a little, figuring Amelia had sent it to her specifically so they could show it to John Doe, Jane Smith, and Bambi von Boob Job.
"Okay," he said reluctantly.
"Okay, we're going..." Miley said, and then the phone dinged.
"Call failed," Max reported, frowning down at her phone. He pulled out his own and checked his reception. Five bars, looking good.
"Well, I guess we were done talking," Miley said.
"Park there," Max said, pointing to a streetlamp. Miley nodded and pulled to the curb. Max cocked his head and willed his enhanced vampire vision into action. He knew his eyes were glowing scarlet red as he swept his gaze around, seeing everything in infrared, looking for details he would miss as a human. He climbed out first and scanned the area carefully. He saw nothing that threatened danger.
And he didn't sense the presence of the Alpha.
He walked over to the driver's side and gave Miley a nod. She pushed open the door and flashed him a quick, uncertain smile in return. "Opening my door is very chivalrous of you, Max. But you know I'm not a girly girl."
"Me, neither," he said, "but the sooner we're out of here, the lower my voice will get."
She had the best dimples when she smiled. He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, marveling at how soft her skin was. She smelled great—like flowers, maybe roses—and the sun caught gold strands in her dark chestnut hair. He felt a little wistful as they walked together to the front door of the motel. He sure didn't want his first time with Miley—his first time with anybody—to be in a place like this. But it was still only early afternoon, and she had a stay-out-of-jail-free card: her parents' permission not to be home until tomorrow. So maybe . . .
. . . somewhere else.
Beside the door, there was a sign beside a turquoise metal square with a white doorbell button that read "Press for Entrance."
"Here goes nothing," he said, raising his hand.
Just as Max pushed the button, a woman started screaming.