Patrick shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. His cell phone stayed buried in his fist. How could he trust Maggie? He barely knew her. It hadn’t been that long ago that he discovered she existed. That they shared a father. She got the legal version. He got the illegitimate one. Both their mothers kept them from knowing about each other, some twisted pact Patrick’s mother said was “a profound mistake.” Of course she called it that only after the secret had been found out.

Now Patrick stood under the awning of a restaurant adjacent to the mall. He had walked into the place hoping to finally get out of the cold, sit down and have something to eat. The restaurant was packed, but he had found an empty bar stool in the lounge and ordered a Sam Adams. He was taking the first sips while he looked over a menu. That’s when the news alert came on.

The television monitors were back behind the bar, high up, and everyone was watching or pointing.

Patrick almost choked. He still couldn’t believe it was his picture, his name. He had just taken a drink of the beer. Could barely swallow. Why did the police think he had something to do with the bombing? And now Maggie did, too. He didn’t even know Chad and Tyler. Had never met them. Dixon pointed them out at the mall this morning. That was it.

Now here Patrick was out in the cold, again, shivering, teeth chattering. Soaking wet from his head to his toes. He made his way back to the hotel, avoided making eye contact with anyone, keeping his head down. Though he honestly wondered if anyone could recognize him in his present condition.

By now he figured he knew the hotel better than anywhere else. If he needed to hide, it seemed the best place. He took the stairwell to the fourth floor, knowing from his previous search that this was one of the quieter floors. He waited to make sure no one was in the laundry room before he went in. Helped himself to enough towels to dry himself off. He even found a pair of work coveralls.

He peeled out of his wet clothes, rolled them up in some towels and threw them into one of the dryers. The coveralls were a size too big. He had to turn up the cuffs. But they were dry and warm. He decided to take off his wet high-tops and his socks and threw them into the dryer, too. If any of the maids caught him he knew enough Spanish to make up a good story. At this time of night he didn’t expect to see much housekeeping staff.

From the laundry room, he heard the freight elevator. It was stopping at the fourth floor. He recognized the screech of the doors sliding open. He looked into the hallway but ducked back into the laundry room just as he caught a glimpse of the man stepping out. A huge man in a blue uniform. Patrick’s stomach did a flip as he pressed himself against the inside wall, hidden partially by the racks of folded towels, and held his breath.

He didn’t think he could fool the security guard named Frank a second time tonight.