It was every dollar I had in the world.

I tucked the money back into my coat, then reached for the burner phone in my outer pocket.

I pressed the small side button through the fabric of my sleeve until the screen lit up blue, showing three bars of signal and half a battery in the dark shelter.

A mile down the county highway, past a dark lumberyard and a closed gas station, a yellow neon sign flickered through the rain.

It spelled out Pine Crest Motel above a flat cinderblock building set back from the road.