I stopped in front of the hotel and called Delilah. A few minutes later, she appeared from the automatic doors, looking around with quick, anxious glances. She was carrying a small backpack on her back, a white t-shirt slightly hanging out from the zipper like she'd packed in a hurry. Ivy and her must have had a heated argument if she just grabbed her stuff and left without looking back.
Seeing me, she walked across the street. She reached the car, opened the back door first, and dumped her backpack on the seat with a soft thud. Then she hopped into the passenger seat and shut the door firmly.
"Evan. What's going on? Just tell me."
"I, uh…" I cleared my throat, fingers tightening on the wheel. "We should sit down first."
"We are sitting down," she said as I eased the car to the left, merging into traffic. Her voice was sharp, impatient. "Just tell me what's happening?"
