Lauren drove as I stared out the window. It took seemingly forever to actually get out of the airport and hit Interstate 70. Sunlight glinted off the fresh layer of snow covering the trees and ground. Industrial buildings littered the highway, giving way to an old Purina factory and the stockyards. The GPS swung us southward on Interstate 25 and we passed the massive Invesco Field, a glittering expensive shrine to the city’s football team. We turned west again, venturing out into the foothill suburbs, the tires of the rental car crunching against the layer of gravel and sand that coated the highway. My stomach started to tighten as we got closer.

“What are we going to do when we get there?” Lauren asked, her eyes glued to the road.

“I’m working on that.”

“Good to know. GPS says you have ten minutes.”

It actually took nine for us to exit the highway, head south over the rolling hills and pull into the parking lot of a small chain hotel on the corner of a busy intersection. Lauren shut off the engine and we sat in the parking lot for a long moment.

“You figure it out?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“Well, we’re here.”

“I can see that.”

The hotel was a gray, four-story rectangle. A business hotel, most likely, that housed salespeople in town for the week and sat empty on the weekends. The parking lot was filled with rental cars.

I pulled out my phone, punched the hotel into my browser and waited for it to bring up a phone number. I touched the number and held the phone to my ear.

“We aren’t just going in?” Lauren asked, annoyed. “Why can’t we just go in?”

I held up my finger to silence her.

A friendly voice answered, asking how to direct my call.

“I’m trying to reach a guest,” I said. “Bryce Ponder?”

“Do you have the room number, sir?”

“Ah, yeah, somewhere,” I lied. “Hang on. I have it written down here.” I glanced at the hotel again. “I think it was the third floor. Sorry. My car is a mess, but I know I have it here somewhere. I apologize. My son called me when he checked in last night and I scribbled it down in a hurry when he called me.”

Lauren looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

The girl on the other end laughed. “Close. Fourth floor. Four-thirty-two.”

“I knew there was a three in there somewhere,” I said.

“I’ll connect you now.”

“Thank you.”

I waited for the line to go quiet, then covered the phone with my hand. “Remember four-thirty-two.”

She nodded.

The line buzzed and my stomach jumped.

So close.

After five rings, the girl came back on the line. “Sir, I’m sorry. There’s no answer on that line. Can I connect you to the voicemail for that room?”

“Sure, that would be fine,” I said.

“One moment.”

I waited until the automated voice came on, then hung up.

“What the hell was that all about?” Lauren demanded.

I held out my hand in warning, telling her to chill out. “Easy. We go marching in there without any info and just start asking for names, it would go nowhere in a hurry. It doesn’t look good and the desk is trained to protect their guests’ privacy. They won’t give us the time of day.”

Lauren didn’t say anything.

“The phone is easier,” I explained. “They’re supposed to get the room number from you so they can verify you know who you’re calling, but it’s an easy bluff. Most desk clerks just want to transfer the phone call and if you’re nice to them, they’ll put you through.” I nodded at the phone. “And sometimes you get lucky and they give you the room number without thinking because you sound like a confused dad.”

She nodded slowly. “Why did you say the third floor?”

“The hotel only has four floors,” I said. “Look at the windows.”

She did.

“I had a twenty-five-percent chance of getting it right and an even better chance of there being a three in the number,” I said. “It’s like those TV psychics. I made her think I had more information than I actually had.”

“How’d you know she’d do that?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “She could’ve stonewalled me and not connected me. But I’ve done it enough times to know it usually works. It was a bonus that she said the number without thinking. People want to help. I was nice to her. She gave it to me without even thinking.” I shrugged. “We caught a break.”

“Okay,” Lauren said. “So now what?”

“Now I want to walk the lot,” I said, opening my door. “Look for Minnesota plates.”

The morning air was cold and dry and my nostrils tingled when I breathed in. The snow had been shoveled from the parking lot and pushed to the sides, dirty mounds surrounding the lot. I walked slowly between the aisles of cars, checking the plates of each one. Lots of Colorados, a bunch of Nebraskas, a few from Kansas and a couple from Florida. I did not see any blue and white Minnesota plates.

I glanced at Lauren, who was walking the aisle next to me.

She shook her head. “I don’t see any from Minnesota.”

Which meant one of two things. They’d driven a car with plates from a different state or they weren’t there.

I didn’t think they’d driven a car with different plates. They were probably in Ponder’s. But if they’d checked out, the desk clerk would’ve told me.

We needed to go inside.

Or, rather, Lauren did.

“You need to go knock on the door,” I said.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I don’t want to go in yet, in case they aren’t there,” I said.

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

She sighed, exasperated. The tension was wearing on her.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Call me,” I said. “When you get to the fourth floor, call me and leave your phone on. Just hold it in your hand so I can hear. Knock on the door. If someone answers, just stand there.”

“Just stand there? Like a mute?”

“You can do whatever you want. Act like you got the wrong room. Start yelling at him. Whatever. But it’ll take me less than two minutes to get up there if I hear someone answer. If no one answers, just come back outside.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I still don’t understand why…”

“I know,” I said, cutting her off. “Just trust me.”

She was still shaking her head when the glass sliding doors opened and she disappeared into the hotel.

I blew on my hands, the cold starting to do its thing on my fingers. I pulled my phone from my pocket and held it so I wouldn’t miss Lauren’s call. I walked quickly toward the front door and sat on the stone bench a few feet from the entrance, making sure whoever was at the front desk couldn’t see me. My heart rate was accelerating and I kept reminding myself to settle down, to stay in control, to keep thinking logically.

The phone buzzed in my hand and I held it to my ear. “Hey.”

“I’m on the floor,” she said, quietly, breathing a little harder than normal.

“Okay. Just get to the door and hold the phone in your hand at your side,” I said. “I’ll be able to hear you.”

“Almost there,” she said. “Hang on.”

There was a rustling over the line and I listened closely.

A moment later, Lauren’s fist knocking on the door echoed through the phone.

I held my breath and listened.

She knocked again.

I exhaled and listened.

The rustling crackled through the line again.

“No answer,” Lauren said.

“Put your ear to the door,” I said. “See if you hear anything. TV, hair dryer, whatever.”

After a moment, she said, “I don’t hear anything.”

I exhaled again. The parking lot was right. They weren’t there.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going in to talk to the front desk. When you come down, ignore me. Just walk out. I’ll meet you outside at the car.”

“Joe, I don’t…”

“I know,” I said, standing. “I know you don’t understand. I’ll explain when I come out. I’m trying not to waste time, alright? You need to trust me.”

The line buzzed for a moment.