“Why are you helping us?”
Her face hardened.
“I’m not helping him.”
Before I could ask what that meant, she disappeared through the steam.
I crouched behind the cart, shaking.
A minute passed.
Then two.
The hotel robe barely covered my legs.
I had no phone.
No key.
No idea whether the police were coming.
A door opened across the laundry.
The security guard stepped inside.
He was large, bald, and wearing an earpiece.
He scanned the room.
I lowered myself behind the towels.
His shoes crossed the tile.
Slowly.
He stopped beside the first washer.
Then the second.
My chest hurt from holding my breath.
A towel slipped from the cart and landed near my foot.
The guard turned.
I ran.
He shouted.
I shoved the cart into him and sprinted between the machines.
He grabbed the back of my robe.
The belt tightened across my waist.
I twisted free, leaving the robe in his hands.
Underneath, I wore only a tank top and shorts.
