𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

Katherine Louise stares at a half-naked man, confusion knotting in her stomach.

Well...she didn't sleep with him. Willingly, anyway. She's clothed, he's in another bed...

As she flits for the bathroom, she wonders where the hell these pajamas came from. This duffle is hers. The clothing looks like hers. We're about to find out. She pulls on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and layers a soft blue flannel over it. She grabs the tan courduroy jacket and throws it over her leg as she rifles through her bag in search of her weapons. 

None.

So she packed her weapons bag.

Katherine rises to her full height and pulls the jacket on before opening the door in relative silence. The man in the bed across the room is snoring. Not loudly, but enough to know she has some grace when it comes to making noise.

She spots her bag at the foot of the bed she crawled out of and moves towards it to pul her boots on. With one last glance to the stranger, she swings her two bags over her shoulders and moves for the door. She closes it quietly behind her, staring at the man between the cracks until it's shut.

Katherine wonders what in the hell she was doing with him.

She finds her phone buried deep in her clothes bag and starts searching for her keys, all the while glancing up to look for her car.

There are ten here, and none of them are hers.

She sighs, hanging her head, and reluctantly opens her phone to dial her father.

This is Clay Donovan and I'm unavailable. If it's an emergency, call my daughter Katherine—360-357-4438.

Katherine's brow furrows, wondering when he changed his voicemail, and why, but the beep prompts her to start talking. "It's me," she begins, voice aloof and sharp. " What the hell's up with your voicemail?" She rubs her forehead and sighs. "Call me back as soon as you can. I have no damn clue where I am and I can't find my car. So...call me back." She hangs up and stuffs her phone into her back pocket before swinging her bags over her shoulders. She ventures to the edge of the parking lot, looks both ways, and goes right. 

The air is good. Thin, crisp, but not cold enough to prompt snow. They're at least somewhere hilly, judging by the rolling blacktop ahead. Mountains. Colorado?

It's maybe a quarter of a mile before she runs into civilization. A small, inviting diner with big glass windows to look at the trees outside. A cup of hot chocolate warms her belly in all of the right ways. She could fall asleep in this booth right now. 

Her waiter slides a plate of steaming steak and eggs onto the table, along with her sides, and then he's gone. Katherine's mouth waters as she surveys at the two plates before her. Steak and eggs first, or hashbrowns and sausage first? She goes for a sausage link.

Heaven.

Her phone vibrates after three more bites. She flips it open and squirts some ketchup on her hashbrowns. They have spicy ketchup now?

"Oh, Jesus," she whispers. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" It's a gruff voice, low in register. Not quite annoyed, but there's a hint of worry. It isn't her father's voice. It's not Bobby. Check the damn caller ID, idiot. 

Long lost hunter contact? Even then, why the hell is he talking to her like that?

Katherine frowns, looking up from her plate, and swallows. "Who's this?"