Marc had made a routine maybe just as
Imogen Howe
's was spiraling. He was getting used to the cafe. An extension of himself and his apartment it became. He would walk into town in the morning and stop then for a double espresso. Then when he'd walk back from town he stop and have a cappuccino. There was something nice about this the whole space felt warm, and he felt at peace.
Imogen on the other hand was on the hunt. She had known where BAKA pulled off, but she wasn't fast enough to see where he went. It was a small town in the center of Arizona. She drove around to each hotel looking for the car. Saying the license plate over and over again.
A few possibilities occurred to her. One he was here somewhere. Two he got right back on the highway, a sort of diversion. Or finally he could have stopped briefly and just spent the night. The airtag she planted wasn't working. It was still 5 miles back on the highway, and her phone kept giving her an updating sign.
She stopped to get gas. This always helped her think. The routine the smell all of it.
