First Drop by Zoe Sharp Page B

concentrate on getting you and Trey to safety, OK? We can work out the details later. Just tell us where you are and let us come get you.”
     
    It was my turn to go quiet, fighting not to let the tears come. For a moment there was nothing but the occasional click of static on the line, then her patience broke. “Come on, Charlie, cut me some slack, huh?” she bit out. “I’m putting my neck on the line for you here.”
     
    “All right,” I said and gave her the name of the motel and a rough idea of its location, trying to ignore the mental klaxon that was blaring in the back of my skull.
     
    But not completely. When Gerri demanded the room number I squinted through the gap in the curtain at the block opposite, but the room numbers themselves were small and I couldn’t quite read them clearly at this distance. The room directly across from ours was in darkness, unoccupied. On impulse, I directed her there. “Right-hand block, left-hand end room, first floor,” I said.
     
    “We’ll find it, don’t you worry,” she said. “Now sit tight, Charlie and wait for us to come get you. And don’t worry. You’ve done the right thing. Everything’s gonna be OK.”
     
    So why, as I ended the call, did I get the feeling I’d just made a big mistake?
     
    I knew there were a hundred other questions I should have asked Gerri while I had the chance, but I was still shell-shocked about Sean. I went backwards and forwards over that part of the conversation, recalling with a stark clarity the way Gerri had blown up at the mention of his name. She’d been evasive, too. Whatever had happened to him, it must have been bad to have provoked that kind of reaction.
     
    I was still sitting there, staring at nothing when the bathroom door opened and Trey shuffled out, looking a bit sheepish. He’d been attempting, I noticed, to clean up his shirt. The front of it was still wet. Not just sulking, then.
     
    I don’t know what he saw in my face, but his stride faltered and he came to sit on the side of the bed opposite. When he spoke his voice was almost tentative. “What’s up?”
     
    I glanced up at him, tried to force a smile that took more effort to produce than the end result was worth. “I’ve just called Gerri Raybourn,” I told him. “She’s coming to pick us up.”
     
    His face spasmed momentarily, like a kid let out with the grown-ups who’s just been told it’s bedtime. “When?” he demanded.
     
    I shrugged. “Soon, I expect,” I said.
     
    It occurred to me then that Gerri might have been just the person to ask what had really happened to Trey’s mother. If the company carried out any kind of background checks before they took people on, a suspicious disappearance of a spouse was just the kind of thing that should have jumped out at them. They must have looked into it further. Still, I suppose there would be time enough to find that out later, once the kid was off my hands.
     
    Trey was fidgeting, but he stilled when he caught my inquiring glance. “I kinda don’t trust her,” he mumbled.
     
    This time I didn’t have to push the smile out. “Neither do I – not entirely, which is why I’ve told her we’re in the room across the way,” I admitted. “We’ll watch from here what she does when she arrives before we go out there.”
     
    That got me a quick, unexpected grin. I blinked, and it came to me that Trey must have been a pretty-faced child. Once he’d got over the gawkiness and the tantrums, the acne and the braces, he would no doubt turn into an attractive adult. His mother must have been a looker, I concluded, because he certainly didn’t get that side of his genetic make-up from Keith.
     
    “So we wait here, yeah?” he said. And just when I thought he’d been doing some rapid growing up, he added with a hint of his old whingey tone, “I’m hungry.”
     
    There was no way I was going to go out to the diner, and I vetoed Trey’s idea that we should order in pizza, even