Only a short one this time. Am hoping to get the next instalment up before I go to America in just over a weeks time (trip to San Diego Comic Con... the excitement is growing!) but I can make no promises; depends on how the next week pans out.

Until then, enjoy!

Part 9.

Summer still has its unyielding grip on the desert; the season lingering on into September, the month every inch as hot and as unwelcoming as August had been. In the motel office the air con unit gives a pathetic, mechanical whirr before falling silent and Maria sighs, knowing it won't be long before the afternoon heat permeates the coolness of the room. The Hispanic woman shifts wearily in her seat, glancing at the clock to check the time. It's quiet; summer's refusal to leave has meant the normal influx of hikers and tourists have kept away from this remote corner of New Mexico, probably awaiting cooler weather. Maria doesn't blame them.

Already the room feels warmer, temperature creeping up almost perceptibly. She's just about to give in before it worsens, go and find York to fix the unit again (seriously, that man has been an absolute godsend) when a truck pulls up into the motel lot. Beneath the veneer of dust Maria notes it's fairly new, in good condition and bearing Californian licence plates. A tall dark man in a red t-shirt and worn jeans climbs out and for the first time in months a stranger arrives in Santa Luca.

The traveller stretches, perhaps ridding himself of the vestiges from a long journey and Maria sees him glance around, taking in his surroundings before making his way towards the office. The bell chimes jarringly as he steps through the door, bringing with him a gust of hot, arid air.

From her position behind the main desk, Maria looks up at the stranger with interest, getting her first clear view of the man's face. Young and pleasant to look upon, the sort of guy who wouldn't be out of place on the cover of some men's health magazine, but there's a melancholy there also; a sadness in his brown eyes that belies the cheerful smile he gives her as he stops in front of her.

"You're brave, venturing out here with this heat," she tells him lightly, even though she doesn't think he's here sightseeing. "Can I get you a room? We've got plenty to spare."

"I'm actually looking for someone. A man."

She rolls her eyes at him, unable to resist making a sarcastic comment. She'll blame York for it later. "There's a few of those around."

The man takes it in his stride, smile widening briefly but refusing to be distracted for long. "This one's called Hunter."

It's with a strange sense of relief that Maria doesn't recognise the name. There's something about this dark stranger that suggests trouble, at a minimum some upsetting of the status quo, and that worries her. She wonders if he's some sort of policeman or law enforcement; he has the disposition of one.

She shakes head. "Sorry, we don't have anyone by that name here. Nor has passed through. I'd remember."

She's not expecting the man's expression of pure, unfeigned disappointment, looking for all the world like she's pulled the rug out from beneath his feet. His reaction suggests a depth of emotion invested in this search that is more than professional. Maria's becoming increasingly convinced that this is a personal mission, that this man is looking for someone he genuinely cares about. Sudden sympathy for him rises within her and she throws him a lifeline.

"Maybe he didn't leave his name? What does he look like?"

"Tall, blond, blue-eyed." He pauses, as if searching for the right words or phrase. "Brooding. Rides a motorcycle."

Maria starts at the description, suddenly knowing exactly who he is talking about and she sees a fierce hope ignite on the man's face.

"You know him, right?" He's almost pleading.

She swallows hard. "There's a guy here that fits that. Goes by York."

She isn't prepared for the raw emotion in the man's dark eyes or the strange look that appears on his face; a mix of joy, relief and apprehension all rolled into one. He opens his mouth a few times, but words seem to be escaping him. When he does finally speak his voice is hoarse and tentative.

"Where… Where is he?"