more, until the area she found herself in was not exactly nice—but not exactly the pits, either. This little cluster of less-than-magnificent motels was maybe five miles from the Mall.
Though she was so tired she was almost stumbling, she still made herself walk around the motels, examining the layout of the rooms, the parking lots, the points of access and egress. None of the places was perfect, but an older, redbrick establishment met most of her requirements. Number one, there weren’t many cars in the parking lot, so they might be amenable to trading cash for discretion. The rooms all opened up to the parking lot; she didn’t want to be stuck in a room with nothing but a narrow hallway beyond her door. And the fact that the place was old meant there were actual windows in the bathrooms. The windows were high and small enough that she’d have trouble fitting through, if it came to that, but if things were desperate enough that she needed to go out the window, she’d do it if she had to strip off and slick shampoo all over herself to squeeze through.
Something else in the motel’s favor: it was here. She was tired, she was hungry, and her arms ached from carrying the drugstore shopping bag. It hadn’t seemed all that heavy at first, but the weight was wearing on her. And the longer she was out in the open looking like, well—herself—the more danger she was in.
She looked in the office window. The desk clerk was a young woman, thank goodness. A woman was more likely to empathize with a hard-luck story, and she wouldn’t expect a blow job in return for a favor. The clerk looked bored and impressionable. Both factors would play in Lizzy’s favor.
She opened the door and took off her hat, heaving a little sigh as she approached the desk.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked, her face brightening at the prospect of an actual customer.
“Yes, I’d like a room. Ground floor, if you have it.” Given the small number of cars in the parking lot, a ground-floor room should be available.
The clerk—her name tag read Cindy—smiled and tapped her computer keys. “How many nights will you be with us?”
This was where it would get tricky. “Just one.”
“Great! I’ll just need your driver’s license and a credit card.”
Lizzy bit her bottom lip. Her picture might have been shown on TV by now. Maybe not. Would they bother with breaking news for a stolen car and a car chase? Would they show her driver’s license picture? Had she even been identified yet? Fortunately there was no television in the tiny lobby, and even if there had been, Cindy didn’t look as if she’d care much about the news. Soap operas, maybe, or reruns of game shows.
“Cash,” she replied, digging for her wallet. “I don’t have a credit card.”
Cindy paused, wrinkled her nose. “The owner says there has to be a credit card on record, in case of damages to the room.”
Lizzy paused, as if considering the problem rather than dismissing it. “I can give you an extra deposit,” she finally said. She didn’t want to spend more money than necessary, so she said, “Twenty dollars? Thirty? When I check out in the morning you could inspect the room and give the deposit back, so I’m okay with doing that.” Meaning she didn’t intend to be doing anything that could possibly damage anything in the old building.
“Well … that might be all right. I’ll just need your driver’s license.”
This was the really tricky part. Lizzy tensed and put an anxious expression on her face. “I—uh—I’d really like to not have my name on the record.”
Cindy immediately shook her head and sighed. “We don’t do that. Sorry.”
Lizzy let her lower lip tremble. “I understand. I just … it’s my husband. I can’t let him find me. I have a way out of town, and once I’m away from D.C. I think I’ll be safe, but … but that won’t happen until tomorrow.”
Cindy’s blue eyes got big. “Husband?”
Lizzy nodded. She let her real fear and anxiety show through.
“You could call the cops …”
She gave a bitter laugh. “He’s a city politician. He knows … too many people. I can’t trust the police.” And wasn’t that the truth, she thought wryly.
Cindy looked at her computer, pursed her lips, and sighed again. Lizzy was already wondering where she could try next—she couldn’t go much farther—when the woman said, “Maybe … 107 isn’t rentable