Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(21)

A few hours after leaving the rest stop, Farren is shaking me awake.

“What?” I jump, jerking forward. The seat belt snaps me back, and I utter a pained, “Ow.”

Farren leans over and digs for the seat belt release so I won’t be snapped back a second time.

“Where are we?” I ask. My voice is thick with sleep. “Indianapolis?”

“Just outside of,” Farren replies. “We’re in a town called Avon. We’ll be stopping here for the night.”

It’s then that I notice we’re in a budget-motel parking lot. I’d probably notice more, but with Farren leaning so close to me, it’s hard to concentrate on much else. He has no idea his proximity, as he undoes my seat belt, has me basking in the warmth emanating from his hard body.

He doesn’t catch on, either, when I say in a rush, “Oh, okay. Avon, Indiana. Huh, that’s great.”

I take a breath. God, must this man smell so good, so…male? Thankfully, for my now-racing pulse and this little ache I begin to feel at my core, Farren releases the seat belt and settles back in his seat.

“While you were sleeping,” he says, nodding to the three-story brick building in front of us, “I ran in and checked us into two rooms next to each other. If you need anything, I’ll be close by.”

If I need anything? I think of how good it would feel to have Farren’s strong arms around me. What would it be like if he held me, kissed me, touched me? Spending the day together, talking, listening to music, and traveling, those things have left me feeling especially close to him. Not to mention his thoughtful gesture. Giving me a gift, even if it was just a disposable camera, touched me.

Farren hands me a key card, breaking me out of my sleepy, emotion-laden reverie. “Anyway,” he says, “Haven’s credit card was used at this motel on Saturday night.”

I glance up at the building. There’s a bright yellow sign on the side; a black eight dominating the center. Haven was here, at this very location, and only forty-eight hours ago. Now, instead of racing, my heart aches. I miss my best friend. Spending the day on the road has kept my mind occupied, but everything now comes rushing back to me.

“Are Vincent and Eric using her card to make it look like she’s traveling on her own?” I ask.

“Most likely.”

Farren sighs. I notice he looks tired. His sister’s disappearance is taking a toll on him, even if he barely lets it show. But late at night like this, defenses down, I see it.

“Hopefully,” he continues, regaining his usual cool composure, “I’ll know more once I check things out.”

This is all so sad. I’m saddened for Farren, and I’m saddened for my own loss. I can pretend all I want, but this trip is deadly serious.

Farren catches me swiping at a tear trailing down my cheek, and he takes my hand.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, “we’re going to find her. Everything will be okay.”

I bite my lip and squeeze his hand. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Farren says in the most serious tone I’ve yet heard him use. “At any cost, Essa, we will get my sister back. I will lay my life down for her if it comes to that.”

“I know,” I whisper, my voice pained. “I hope it doesn’t, though.”

“Me too,” he says.

I wish I could wrap my arms around Farren. Everything inside me urges me to seek comfort from him. I wonder if he longs to seek the same from me. If he does, he’s not showing it.

Releasing my hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, he says, “We should get you settled in your room. I want you to stay inside while I take a look around the property.”

I nod. “Sure, okay, of course.”

He continues, “There’s also some surveillance-camera footage I need to check out.”

“How do you plan to access those?” I ask, curious.

With a much-needed air of levity, he glances my way and replies, “Oh, Essa, trust me. I have my ways.”

I don’t doubt for a minute that he does.



I expect for us to spend only one night in Indianapolis. But when Farren comes up with a lead on more surveillance footage—Haven’s card was used at a gas station across town—we stay an extra night. Unfortunately, however, nothing substantial comes from the lead, and we decide to leave early the next day.

In the morning when I wake up, first thing I do is check the time.

8:10.

Shit. Farren expects me to meet him at the car by eight thirty.

I jump up and race around the room, gathering clothes, folding, and packing. But before I head to the shower, I check to make sure everything I unpacked is definitely repacked. As I’m lifting and checking under the bedding, which I’m leaving a wreck—sorry, housekeeping—I catch a murmur through the thin wall separating my room from Farren’s.

I stop and listen. It sounds as if Farren is talking on his new burner phone. His voice is low, though, and, for me, incoherent.

“I hope he’s getting news about Haven,” I whisper to myself, eternally hopeful. And then, with a sigh, I climb off the bed, close up my suitcase, and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

After a quick shower, I stand in front of a small mirror hanging on a wall above the basin. I’m trying to decide if I should pin my hair up into a loose bun or try something different with the long locks. My hair is still damp from showering, so I opt to braid it. I always like the way my hair looks—all wavy and bouncy—when I take a braid out.