Chapter 6

It was 10:17 when I pulled into Marisol's driveway.

The porch light was on.

Through the front window, I could see the blue flicker of her television.

Marisol opened the door before I knocked.

She wore plaid pajama pants, an old Arizona State T-shirt, and one sock.

Her eyes dropped to the duffel bag on my shoulder.

"Is Emma safe?"

"Yes."

"Okay." She stepped aside. "Guest room's a mess, but the bed is clear."

I followed her inside.

A fleece blanket had slipped halfway off the couch.

Mail covered one end of the coffee table, along with a hair-color catalog…