Smoke and Mirrors
PENELOPE
The air-conditioner unit in the window stuttered and buzzed. The leaky motel room sink dripped incessantly, and there was a funny smell emanating from the carpet or the bathroom or... hell, maybe even me.
Bishop was gone. Jackson and I had just made sure of that. I was still covered with a thin layer of dirt from that dusty airport runway, and I had enough grime under my fingernails and streaked throughout my hair to be mistaken as a Woodstock attendee.
And—f**k, I could still feel him on me.
Minutes later, after Jackson removed our cuffs and I unloaded a s**t-ton of curses, I still felt as if he was tethered to me.
I wrinkled my nose in the direction of the old motel’s bathroom, afraid to use it, knowing that even if I could wash off the filth, I still wou
