When Arrin gave his one word refusal to confide in Ten and instead asked how long until they arrived at the next town, Ten was kind enough not to pursue the subject further. “Oh, we'll arrive in maybe two-and-a-half or three-hours.” He nodded at a red tin on the dashboard. “If you’re hungry, go ahead and help yourself to a chocolate chip cookie. They’re homemade.”

Although Arrin was starving he was unwilling to eat something offered by a stranger. Ten seemed friendly, but so did he, and he was a multiple murderer. For all he knew Ten made a practice of drugging or poisoning hitchhikers and leaving their dead bodies in ditches along his route. “I’m not much for sweets.”

“Suit yourself, but you’re missing out. My wife makes t...

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