He loped past what appeared to be an elementary school, resting beneath the soft glow of street lights, and he circled the campus until he found a playground and, using the monkey bars, hoisted himself up, over and over again, one pull-up after another, until his back, shoulders and arms were as weary as his legs. The sight of the tall slide made him smile, in spite of himself, and he wished Bonnie were there so she could climb it and sing to him, sing the worry away like she had the night before. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago? Finn became dizzy at the thought. The number of life-changing, plan-altering experiences wedged and crammed into the last few days was mind-boggling.

He resumed his run back toward the direction of the motel, his legs weary, his thoughts heavy, and failed to notice until it was too late, the police cruiser that had idled up next to him. Shit.

“Kinda late for a run, isn’t it?”

“That depends,” Finn said mildly, keeping his pace, and hopefully his tone, steady and unconcerned. “I like it best when it’s quiet. Helps me unwind so I can sleep.”

“Hmm,” the officer said, non-committal. “You from around here?”

“No sir. Just staying at the motel off the freeway up there.” Finn pointed in the general direction of the group of cabins that called themselves something quaint but looked like a row of fish shacks.

“What’s your name?”

Now why in the hell did this guy need to know his name? He was obviously jogging, not bothering anyone. Finn wanted to punch something, but he decided lies would get him nowhere. Lies only made people look guilty when they were uncovered. If this was it, so be it. He would almost welcome it, and Bonnie’s words rung in his ears. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Finn. Finn Clyde.” He jogged over to the officer’s open window and extended his hand, the friendly neighborhood felon. His forthcoming answer seemed to satisfy the officer, who shook his hand briefly but didn’t act as if he recognized the name at all.

“Well, Finn. It’s kinda cold out and you aren’t very warmly dressed, and our streets are more like country roads. Not very well-lit and full of pot holes.”

“I’m warm enough. And it’s not too much farther.” Finn tried not to let his relief show. The officer hadn’t typed his name into a computer or called it into dispatch, as far as he could see. A call came in, and Finn stepped away with a quick wave of his hand. The officer answered the call with his badge number, and then tossed some parting words toward Finn before his attention was pulled elsewhere.

“All right, then. Welcome to Freedom. Have a good night.” The cruiser pulled away and slid down the road. Finn almost stopped running he was so dumbfounded. Then he started to laugh as he remembered. Freedom was the name of the town.

THE ROOM WAS dark when he stepped inside. He let the door swing shut behind him and turned the lock. The drapes were pulled wide, providing enough light to find his way to his bags. He didn’t know why he was digging. His only relatively clean shirt was the one Bonnie had bought him earlier in the day—and it was in the car. He’d had plenty of clothes in the Blazer. Little good that did him. He walked back into the bathroom and pulled off the sweat soaked T-shirt. At least he could get clean beneath the shirt.

When he stepped out fifteen minutes later, Bonnie was sitting in the dark, perched on the end of one of the beds, wearing a little white top and very little else, judging from the bare length of her legs folded beneath her. He had hoped she was asleep. He stopped a few feet from her, rubbing the towel across his head, hand drying his hair before he tossed it toward a chair. He wore his shorts but hadn’t pulled his sweaty shirt back on after his shower. Seeing Bonnie made him wish he had. He felt naked with this girl, defenseless, exposed, and it had very little to do with his bare chest or lack of clothing.

“I thought maybe you left,” she said softly.

“And left you here?”

“I did it to you.”

“And left me a note and two thousand dollars. I was pissed, but I didn’t feel abandoned. I knew why you ran. I didn’t like it. But I understood.” They were both almost whispering, and Finn wasn’t sure why.

She nodded, but stood slowly, her eyes on the ground. Finn kept his eyes on her down-turned face so he wouldn’t see what she’d paired with the white undershirt.

“Will you hold me, Finn?” Bonnie asked, her voice so faint he wasn’t entirely sure that was what she’d said. Because he wasn’t sure, his response was cautious, questioning even.

“It won’t end there, Bonnie—”

“It’ll begin. And that’s what I want,” she interrupted, and he welcomed her honesty, reveled in it, even as he made himself reject her.

“It’s what I want too. But it’s not what’s going to happen.”

“Why?” she whispered, and the sadness in her sigh softened his response even further.

“Because I will hold you, and I’ll want more. And I’ll take it, Bonnie. I won’t be able to stop. And then it will be over, and you and I will have crossed a line we can’t uncross.”

“I want to cross it.”

“Really? ‘Cause I’m not sure you know what that means. You and I go down this road, there won’t be any going back for me and the things they’re saying out there? About me being a loser? And a criminal? And a piece of shit, taking advantage of you, hanging onto you because you’re somebody and I’m nobody? All that stuff will be true.”