to call a taxi, and worst of all, no driver’s license. And it wasn’t as if she could just march in and request another one in Alexis Beranger’s name, since as far as she knew Alexis Beranger didn’t exist.
“I can’t let you in the car until it’s been checked for prints,” Whitfield said. “But I can see if your purse is in the vehicle.”
Dread squeezed the breath from her lungs. She should have realized they’d do a routine check for fingerprints.
And when they did, they’d find hers and discover her real identity.
“How long will it take you to check for prints?” she asked
“With the backlog they have in the investigation unit, we’ll be lucky if we get the report back this week.”
“What’s the quickest you could get it back?”
“Wednesday afternoon,” Whitfield said, “but that would only be if the chief put a rush on it.”
She couldn’t rule that out. It was Monday now. That gave her two days to disappear again. And she had no car.
“You should go ahead and alert your insurance company,” Whitfield said, “though I suspect they’ll total it. The Honda is what—about eight years old?”
“Ten.” She’d bought it from a used car lot in Vegas seven months ago, a few days after fleeing California. She’d have to settle for one older than that this time. Her ready cash was running low.
“I’ll need Tommy’s car seat before I leave today,” she said.
Whitfield dabbed at the perspiration that beaded on his forehead with a wrinkled handkerchief he’d pulled from his back pocket. “I’ll have one of the cops get the boy’s seat for you now. Then you’ll be free to go. Like I said, a detective from the precinct will contact you, likely later today.”
“My phone is in my purse,” she said.
“That’s okay. I need to get your home address anyway.”
She provided it and a few other relative pieces of information he would have normally taken from her fake driver’s license. And now she’d have a detective making a house call. Could this get any worse?
Yes, she answered herself. It could be a million times worse. Tommy might have actually been kidnapped or seriously injured or even killed in the wreck. And she was the one who’d vowed to keep him safe.
“Want to go home,” Tommy whined as Whitfield walked away.
“I know you do, sweetie.” He was hot and tired and recovering from a traumatic morning. And now he’d have to get used to a new home.
“Exactly how is it you called a friend when you don’t have a phone?” Tague asked.
Her irritation swelled. “So now you’re starting with the questions, too?”
“I’m just wondering how you plan to get home when you have no car and no money.”
“I figured I could bum bus money from you.”
“I never lend money to friends.”
“We’re not exactly friends.”
“We must be. I never offer rides to strangers.”
“I didn’t hear you offer.”
“Give me time.” He made a mock bow. “May I give you a lift?”
Her ready response was no. But she really did need a ride. And it wasn’t as if she’d be around long enough to worry about the cowboy trying to stay in touch.
“I live on the other side of town,” she cautioned. “You might want to consider that before you make those rash offers.”
“In that case, I may have to charge double.”
“You expect me to pay you?”
“I was kidding. Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay, but I have to make a stop before going home.”
“At the hospital, I hope.”
“If it’s necessary. First I’d like to check with my son’s pediatrician. If the doctor can check him out at the clinic near my house, it would be less stressful to Tommy. He’s familiar with the setting and the staff.”
“I can handle that. But you still need someone to check out your injuries.”
“I’m fine, and if you’ll stop with the questions and orders, I’ll accept your offer. But just for a ride,” she emphasized, just in case he was expecting more. Tague looked and acted like a gentleman, but she’d been fooled before.
“A ride was all I offered. You’re safe with me, Alexis. But I can provide references if you doubt me.”
“From your mother?”
“Either her or my parole officer.” He put a hand up to cut off her protests before they formed. “I’m only teasing.”
“Okay, cowboy. You’re on.”
Chapter Three
Tague thumbed through the newsmagazine for about twenty seconds before dropping it back to the waiting room table. It was his first time in a pediatrician’s office since he’d been a kid himself and he felt as out of place as a wasp in a beehive.
He was the only person in the room not accompanied by a kid or two. One woman was corralling three, none of whom appeared to be old enough to go to school.
Tague had nothing against kids, but the idea of being outnumbered by them three to one was a little frightening. They seemed more work than a herd of cattle, and they definitely required more supervision.
It had to be tough raising one on your own the way Alexis was doing. Already married and divorced though Tague figured she was likely no older than his twenty-six years.
The woman was definitely intriguing. She was feisty enough to try to fight off an armed thug and then commandeer Tague into action to go after her son. But she was ready to run from a cop just trying to help.
What really had him going was that she looked so hauntingly familiar. Yet he was pretty sure he hadn’t run into her before.
He couldn’t help noticing her great figure and stunning legs that did terrific things for her white shorts. Straight, blond, silky hair that cupped her chin and fell to her shoulders. Enticing lips.
But it was the eyes that really mesmerized him. Sort of a blue-violet color tucked in between thick, dark lashes. Sometimes fiery. Sometimes shadowed and troubled. Always hypnotic. She was not the kind of woman a red-blooded male would forget meeting.
And the druggie who’d stolen her purse had her ID and her home address. Neither Whitfield nor Alexis had mentioned the danger that could entail, but both
