Page 22 of Not This Place

Nodding, Ethan stored the number with a deft thumb swipe and tucked the phone away. Rachel's own cell lay discarded on the dash, its silence now a mocking taunt. She snatched it up, punching the familiar number for Sheriff Dawes. One ring. Two rings. Nothing.

"Pick up, damn it," Rachel muttered, redialing with a jab of her finger. The call went straight to voicemail this time. Frustration clawed up from her gut, setting her jaw in a hard line.

"Voicemail," she spat out, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat where it landed with a dull thud against the upholstery.

"Rae," Ethan began, his tone even, a counterpoint to the storm brewing inside her.

"Not now." The words cut between them.

Rachel's foot pressed down on the accelerator, the engine's response immediate, a surge forward into the night.

The dashboard lights painted Rachel's face in a sickly green hue as she navigated the dark, winding road to the motel. The silence between them stretched out, filled only by the hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional crackle of static from the radio.

"Rae," Ethan finally said, his voice low, "maybe we should head back. Or you could let someone else take over—"

"No." The word was sharp, a blade severing the suggestion before it could fully form. "There's no point. Dawes will keep her safe."

He nodded, though she barely caught the gesture in her peripheral vision. His concern hovered in the car like a tangible thing, but she pushed it aside. She focused on the road ahead, the yellow lines flickering under the headlights.

Rachel's thoughts churned. They had delved deep into the off-grid community's secrets, too deep. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. A message. It had to be a message meant to rattle her.

She’d got into that stupid shooting contest. Trying to buy trust. She thought she had.

But mentioning the brothers, Joseph and John… it was going to cost her.

"Damn it." The curse slipped through clenched teeth. The implications settled like lead in her stomach. They weren't just dealing with illegal activities; this was personal now. Someone wanted to make her pay.

She remained in the surface level emotion of anger, refusing to delve much deeper. She couldn’t afford to. Her relationship with Aunt Sarah had been a rocky one, but the woman had raised Rachel. Had taught her much of what she knew.

"Rae, talk to me," Ethan urged, his voice cutting through the tension.

She didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

The engine growled, a low and constant rumble as Rachel pressed her foot harder against the gas pedal. The speedometer's needle crept up, edging past the legal limit. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, each white-knuckled hand a vise of contained fury. The road stretched out before them, an endless black ribbon slicing through the Texan night.

Ahead, she spotted the small, squat shape of the motel against the backdrop of a gas station.

She frowned as they drew nearer.

The motel in question was a nondescript, two-story slab of concrete and glass. Neon lights flickered above the entrance, casting a garish glow over the parked cars. Rachel pulled into one of the remaining spaces, shutting off the engine. "Alice Danvers," she said, her voice low and hard, the CEO's name tasting sour on her tongue. "She's top of my list tomorrow."

She didn’t want to speak about her aunt, but she’d turned her notifications volume up. A text to Dawes, as she marched towards the motel entrance, yielded no results.

No reply. He was laying low.

Ethan nodded, his gaze following hers to the motel entrance. He knew better than to comment on Rachel's tone. Instead, he pressed his thumb to his phone screen, illuminating their faces with its harsh light. "I'll set a reminder for seven AM," he said as he tapped on the screen.

Rachel didn't respond. She was staring at the neon sign above them, its light fading in and out in a mesmerizing rhythm. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, colliding and overlapping in a cacophony of anger, confusion, and determination. She thought about the off-grid community and Alice Danvers. But mostly about her Aunt Sarah.

Rachel shook herself out of her thoughts and flung open the small motel's door. The metal groaned in response, but she ignored it. Tomorrow, she would find Danvers. She would find answers.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Texas moon glared down at her, casting elongated shadows across the barren expanse of the parking lot where Rachel Blackwood stood alone. The blue moonlight glinted off her badge.

She hadn’t been able to sleep.

For an hour, she'd tried.

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