Free Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel by MacAlister Katie Page B

musings on the pugged woman. He waved a hand at the truck behind him, obviously impatient because he had stopped in the middle of the street, and pulled over into the parking lot of the church motel. It bore the same address that the Californian police had traced from the gas receipt.
    “Right,” he told Sunil, pocketing his cell phone, and making sure his gun was tucked into its holster. “Enough mulling over women who thrust pugs on people, and time to focus on the job at hand. You stay in the car until I’ve seen the lie of the land.”
    “I am certain that I could be of much help to you,” Sunil said hopefully. “Should you need the assistance of one such as me, that is.”
    It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse the offer of help, but he just didn’t have the heart to do so.
    “You can come with me, but you have to stay out ofsight, and not speak until I tell you it’s safe. Do you understand?”
    “Most accurately do I understand!” Sunil bounced happily up and down in the seat until Peter held open the pocket of his jeans. The light flitted over to it and inserted itself, leaving Peter with a slight tingling sensation on his hip bone.
    He exited the car, quickly scanning the immediate surroundings. It looked as innocent as could be. The building had clearly seen better days, bearing the usual small-town church shape—steeple up front, a couple of (mildewed) stone steps, and a few pieces of somewhat dismal stained glass visible on either side of double doors from which paint peeled in long, dingy strips.
    A sign that alerted potential customers to the joyous possibilities of vacancies lay on the ground, half-covered by a round bush covered in yellow flowers. Peter walked carefully up the slippery steps, and pushed open one of the doors, blinking a couple of times as his eyes accustomed themselves to the sudden gloomy interior.
    “Silence now, Sunil.”
    “I will be the most silent you have ever heard,” came the muffled reply from his hip.
    In the distance, he heard the faint sound of a buzzer. The interior of the church—now motel—had been divided up into a main passage down what was once the center aisle that led to the altar, with rooms opening off it on either side. At the far end of the passage, an archway opened into a dark, dismal space, above which an equally dark balcony had been added. Peter was about to explore the former when the sound of quick footsteps had him pausing midway down the aisle.
    A woman with a halo of curly brown hair restrained bya brilliant lime green headband suddenly appeared at the balcony, leaning over it to yell, “Hi! You looking for a room? I sure hope you are, because man alive, are you a long drink of water for sore eyes. Or something like that. I never was really good with similes. Or metaphors. Whichever that is. I’m Alison. You
do
want a room, don’t you?”
    She was nothing like what he expected. She also wasn’t a Traveller, which relieved his mind on that regard. “Actually, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He recommended this motel to me, and I wondered if he was here. His name is”—covertly he slid a glance to the slip of paper upon which he’d written down the information from the California police—“Alan Renfrew.”
    “Really?” Alison’s eyes opened wide for a few seconds before she jumped back and scampered along the balcony until it met a circular metal staircase, down which she thundered.
    “He is here?” Peter asked, somewhat confused by her response.
    “No, the ‘really?’ was about someone actually recommending this place. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s home and everything, and I’m grateful to have it because the alternative is staying with my mom and stepdad, but it’s not quite the Hilton, you know what I mean? And we never, ever get guys like you here.”
    Peter stiffened, eyeing the woman warily. She reminded him of a friendly puppy, bouncing around with happy abandon. “I don’t know whether you expect me to