Tom sat in the back seat by his backpack. He’d hitched an hour before two ladies in a BMW stopped to give him a lift. Honey, the loquacious redhead, drove; her sister, a laconic woman wearing jeans and a t-shirt, had sinewy forearms. She cleaned her nails with a buck knife and then put it away. Tom could tell the quiet sister disliked him—he had a sixth sense. He wanted to see Honey again, though, even if she was older. He studied the big, faded freckles covering the backs of her hands. Then he heard the knife click open.