Destined (The Rangers of Ridge County #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

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T he glowing vacancy sign bathed the dim lobby in a sea of crimson as its bulbs hummed a sadistic lullaby—the combination wicked enough to entice bloodlust.

The crooked clock on the wall read two-thirty in the morning, and a quick calculation told me I had been awake for over twenty-four hours. The crash was inevitable, but I needed to make it a little while longer here at the front desk.

From my perch, I watched as a vehicle rolled to a stop outside the cracked glass door. A weary young woman toppled out from behind the wheel before glancing around the deserted parking lot.

I was fixated on her movements as she hesitantly stepped forward, cautiously nearing the darkened lobby—pausing with her hand extended as if summoning the courage to pull the rusted handle.

She resembled a wide-eyed rabbit who just realized it had been lured into a fox’s den.

Once inside, she approached slowly—her steps whispering off the peeling yellow linoleum as she ambled tentatively in my direction.

The woman cleared her throat then swallowed, and my attention zeroed in on the delicate movement. She spoke, but my eyes were fixed on the pulse point in her neck as it began to hammer.

Was she scared ?

Her credit card slid across the desk, forcing me to acknowledge the overt request for a room.

“Welcome to Mountain View Motor Lodge. How can I help you?” I recited in a delayed greeting before forcing my eyes up to meet hers.

A bewildered look clouded her features as she peered around the lobby, seeming to weigh whether or not staying in this shithole was a smart idea.

It absolutely was not.

But I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I waited—presenting a bored front despite being anything but.

“I’m looking to rent a room,” she answered skeptically. “Just for the night.”

“I’ll need to see your driver’s license,” I stated, and she reached into her purse before passing her ID to me. I glanced at it, and adrenaline coursed through my veins like an electric current.

Millie Rushing .

Blue eyes, auburn hair, approximately five-foot-eight, slender build, pale complexion with a smattering of freckles.

She wasn’t from here. But what were the chances she was traveling alone?

We continued through the check-in process, and I prompted her to list the name of each person lodging in the rented room—under the guise of safety in the event of a fire or natural disaster.

If she found this unusual, she didn’t show it.

She pushed the requested information back toward me, and I took in the single name on the form.

I handed her personal identification and credit card back along with her room key. I selected a room in the back corner of the lodge. That area of the parking lot was almost pitch black this time of night which would be perfect for what I had in mind.