Excerpt from The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Kotler and Leora paused outside the hotel to adjust to their surroundings and circumstances. Leora gazed at the other, neighboring, hotels.

—There's no point, Kotler said, following her gaze. When I called yesterday, they told me I was getting their last room. It's August. The town is booked up. Everywhere here we'll get the same answer.

He read in Leora's eyes a tempered defiance and disappointment. Tempered, he understood, out of respect and—it couldn't be denied—concern for him.

—Maybe. But it would take ten minutes to find out.

—I'd sooner not waste the time.

—So what, then? Is that it? Do we just fly back?

—No, we've come this far. It would be senseless to leave.

—Wonderful, Baruch. But where will we stay? In a tent on the beach? Like the nudists in Koktebel?

—There's an idea. I can see the headline and the photo: Baruch Kotler Exposed!

—Yes, and where am I in this photo?

—Beside me. Where else? If this is the way it's going to be, let them gape.

—I feel I've seen enough of those photos.

—Never mind that, Kotler said. Anyhow, we haven't moved in with the nudists just yet.

Off the esplanade, he flagged down a taxi and the driver helped them stuff their suitcases into the trunk. He took them back to the town's bus station, where, not quite three hours earlier, they had arrived on the bus from Simferopol. The atmosphere then had been hectic: arriving passengers vying for taxis, and a clutch of locals—mainly apartment brokers with brochures and business cards—clamoring for lodgers. At the time, Kotler had paid them little mind. He'd noticed them only insofar as they reminded him that it was with such people that he and his parents had lodged. They had taken a room with a middle-aged Russian couple who lived also with their married son and his family. They had coexisted peaceably, without conflicts, for the entire month, sharing between them not only the kitchen but also the toilet. Simpler times. And now, since it was nostalgia that had, however convolutedly, brought him back to this place, he had no cause to regret what had happened at the hotel. On the contrary, if what he wanted was to revisit the past, to draw as closely to it as he could, then the Russian girl had done him a favor.

The scene at the bus station was no longer what it had been in the morning. Now there were far fewer people about, only a small number of locals, grouped together, at the far end of the plaza, waiting listlessly, a few holding their hand-lettered signs across their knees or down at their sides. They roused slightly at the sight of him, Leora and their suitcases, but none bothered to approach. He and Leora were, after all, unlikely clients, heading, it would seem, in the wrong direction. A thought struck Kotler, and he told Leora to wait with the bags as he went into the bus station to consult the schedule. A stain of pessimism and defeat adhered to the people waiting outside, implicating them in their own bad fortune. Kotler could not repress the suspicion that if they were lingering, if they had failed to attract lodgers, it was for good reason.

—The next bus from Simferopol isn't due for another three hours, he told Leora when he rejoined her.

—And so …?

—When it comes, I expect more locals will return offering rooms. But that still leaves three hours.

—And those people there?

—Those forlorn-looking people? Somebody should teach them the importance of projecting an image of strength.

—We have three hours. You could give them a seminar.

—Yes, well, perhaps now is not the best time.

—Perhaps not.

—Three hours is long enough to investigate one or two places. If we don't find anything we like, we can return in time for the Simferopol bus and see what else materializes.

Excerpted from The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis. Copyright © 2014 by David Bezmozgis. Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.