out Project Justice in the past. Now let them help you.”
* * *
IT TOOK LESS than an hour. In fact, it only took about seven minutes. With some prodding, Hudson had remembered that Liz had said free clinic. That narrowed down the possibilities considerably. With a little bit of fancy online footwork, Mitch had come up with three urban clinics in the Houston area with employees named Elizabeth.
Hudson decided to visit them in person, rather than try to get Liz on the phone. As skittish as she was—and as angry as she’d been with him when she’d fled his house—she might refuse his call or try to make him think she was the wrong Elizabeth. It would be easier to confront her in person and convince her she needed to come forward with her statement.
With addresses for the three clinics in hand, Hudson set out to find his alibi. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the tightness in his chest had little to do with his thorny predicament, and almost everything to do with the fact he couldn’t wait to see Liz again. He only wished his excuse for tracking her down wasn’t what it was.
Houston City Clinic was the first stop. It was a depressing storefront office crowded between a run-down bodega on one side and a pawn shop on the other. Hudson had a hard time picturing Liz spending every day at a place like this. It would say something about her character if she wanted to help people that badly.
He walked through the crowded waiting room, filled with snuffling adults, screaming toddlers and feverish babies and thanked God for the great health coverage he got through the sheriff’s department.
At least, for a while longer.
“Excuse me,” he asked the harried receptionist, “I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”
“If you mean Dr. Eliza Eldridge, that’s you and everybody else in here.” She looked him up and down. He’d put on some decent-looking khaki pants and a polo shirt, wanting to appear his best when he encountered Liz again. He supposed he looked a little too well-heeled to be patronizing a free clinic, but people could fall into unfortunate circumstances anytime.
Or maybe the receptionist had simply pegged him as a cop. Some people had a sixth sense when it came to spotting law enforcement.
“Take a number,” the woman said.
“Maybe you can help me.”
“No cutting in line,” she said without looking up. “Take a number.”
“I just want to ask a question. Is Dr. Eldridge a tall brunette with dark blue eyes?”
“She’s five foot two with brown eyes and a ’fro.”
“Then I have the wrong Elizabeth. Thank you for your time.”
She didn’t look up.
One down, two to go.
The second clinic was in a better neighborhood. But it shared the same air of hopelessness as the first. “Elizabeth” was easy to find; she actually worked at the front desk, according to a nameplate. She wasn’t Liz, either.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“Are you Elizabeth?” he asked, just to be sure. Liz had said she was a social worker, not a receptionist, but he had to be thorough.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“No other Elizabeths work here?”
“No, just me,” the pretty Latina woman said, still smiling. “You aren’t a bill collector, are you? ’Cause I made my car payment yesterday.”
He smiled back. “No, nothing like that. Just trying to find an old friend.”
“Good luck.”
One to go. His heart lifted as he turned into the parking lot of the third clinic, Los Amigos Family Clinic. Despite the sadly depressed condition of the neighborhood overall, this clinic was clean and bright, and the entire block on which it sat was free from trash and graffiti. The small, freestanding building was painted in bright colors, and the windows were clean. A sign in the window advertised Free Flu Shots.
Inside was bright and fresh, too. There was still a crowd of people waiting for care, but they didn’t seem quite as desperate as the patients at the other clinics.
The receptionist sat behind a glass partition. Hudson rang the bell, and the frosted-glass door slid open. A young man in a nicely pressed shirt greeted him with a polite smile. “Help you?”
“I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”
“I’m so sorry—Ms. Downey had to cancel her appointments today. She had a death in her family.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrible.” Hudson’s heart went out to Liz. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, give her a shoulder to cry on. Which was ridiculous, because he barely knew her. “Just to be clear, is this Elizabeth tall with dark hair and dark blue eyes?”
The young man nodded. “That’s her. Can I give her a message?”
“I don’t suppose you could give me a phone number, could you?”
“Ah, no. We can’t give out our employees’ personal—”
“Yeah, no, I get it. That’s okay.” He had a last name now. Downey. If nothing else, Mitch could find a phone number and home address. For that matter, he could tell Sanchez, and she could track Liz down. But he’d much rather talk to Liz first.
“Thanks.” As he exited the clinic, he was already redialing Mitch.
* * *
AFTERNOON WAS WANING as Hudson approached the front door of the posh apartment building in Houston’s downtown historic district. Who knew there were 28 Elizabeth Downeys living in the Houston area? Mitch was able to eliminate most of them based on identifying factors like race and age, but there were four who had shielded their privacy enough that he couldn’t rule them out. Mitch had offered to hack into Department of Public Safety records and peek at their driver’s-license pictures, but Hudson couldn’t condone Mitch breaking the law on his behalf.
He’d find her. In fact, he was almost positive he had. This building just looked like someplace Liz would live—a redbrick 1800s building right off Market Square. Secure—but not behind the walls of some sanitized gated community where no one knew their neighbors.
Now he just had the security desk to contend with.
“I’m here to see Elizabeth Downey,” he told the official-looking man who watched all who came and went through the lobby. He didn’t wear a uniform, just a nicely pressed suit, but Hudson had no doubt the man could stop anyone who tried to gain entrance to the elevators or stairs without his okay. At least he’d try.
“Your name?” the guard asked as he picked up the phone from the antique desk.
He considered lying, but Elizabeth would probably refuse entrance to someone she didn’t know. “Hudson Vale.” God, he hoped she was home.
The man spoke softly into the
