Had something happened? No, she refused to believe that. His part in this hadn’t come with risks.
She took the exit ramp off the freeway, hugging the wheel and praying she’d see the Porsche’s taillights.
She didn’t see shit.
Not even the cop car waiting on the side of the road. Well, not until she zoomed past it.
“Nooo.” Foot off the gas, she watched her side mirror. It was after midnight. Maybe the cop was sleeping. Holding hope and her breath, she followed the road around the curve. Right before the patrol car disappeared from her sightline, blue lights filled the night behind her.
“Mother Cracker!”
Decision time. Drive like the devil or pull over and become a sweet-talking angel. She looked up. Four cars waited at a red light about fifty yards up the street. None of them, however, was Dillon Armand’s red Porsche.
She. Had. Lost. Him.
And she had a cop on her ass.
Rationalizing that she was better at sweet-talking than outrunning and outmaneuvering a cop, she pulled to the side of the road.
She prayed this decision didn’t get her arrested. There was a slight chance the car’s owner had left the club early, discovered his car missing, and reported it stolen. It wasn’t. She’d just borrowed it.
Putting the car in park, knowing she had a few minutes while the officer ran her license plate, she reached across the seat into the glove compartment. Relief came as she pulled out the car’s registration and insurance card. She might have even smiled when she spotted a credit card with the name TAYLOR DUNN on it. Probably good ol’ Charlie’s wife.
She tossed the registration and insurance card back into the glove compartment. Checking to make sure the cop was still occupied, she yanked open her purse and snatched her driver’s license and credit card from her wallet. Not that these had her real name on them either. Those had come from a job last year.
Eyes on the rearview mirror, she stuffed the two fake cards between the seats.
Next to her Glock.
Then she slid Dunn’s credit card into her wallet.
Leaning back, she outlined the story she’d pitch. Frankly, she was a better storyteller than driver.
Her job demanded it. More times than not, her life depended on it.
Three minutes later, the officer exited his car. She checked her mirror to make sure the red wig hadn’t slipped. In leaving the Black Diamond club, she’d snagged the wig off another girl’s station, just in case Dillon Armand spotted her following him and recognized her as one of the waitresses.
Eyes locked on the rearview mirror, she watched the uniform officer move cautiously toward the Mustang, his right hand at his hip in case he needed his weapon.
She waited for the big sandy-haired cop to stop at the driver’s door before she rolled down the window.
“Ma’am.” His on-guard expression faded when he saw her. “Can you cut off your engine?”
She turned the key and offered him her softest smile as she read his name embroidered on his shirt. “Sorry, Officer Johnston.” She let the Alabama accent she’d spent most of her life hiding roll off her tongue. “Was I speeding? This is the first time I’ve driven my mom’s Mustang and it has more power than my Smart Car.”
“I imagine it does.” A straight pair of white teeth showed behind his lips.
“But I know that’s not an excuse, so if you have to ticket me, I’ll understand. Thankfully, I got a new job and I can afford it.”
“Where’s your job?”
“Teaching at Jones Elementary off Oakwood. I love it.” Eliot, her manny-slash-bodyguard-slash-only-one-who-gave-a-damn-about-her, always said her best weapon was her ability to talk someone to death.
“What grade?” His smile widened.
“Kindergarten. They like to hug at that age. I was lucky Mrs. Brown is having triplets and they needed someone to finish out her year.”
He nodded. “Can I see proof of insurance and your license?”
“I hope Mom put her card in here. Dad’s always fussing about it.” She started to lean over then stopped. “It’s in my glove compartment. I watch police shows and they say I need to ask before reaching.”
“Go ahead, and thanks for being conscientious. You haven’t been drinking have you?”
“Just a glass of champagne with dinner. My best friend got engaged.” She reached over the seat and pulled out the car’s registration and insurance card. “Thank you, Daddy.” She passed him the paperwork.
He gave them both a look. “And your license?”
“Oh, sure.” She grabbed her purse. This was where the real acting began. Opening the wallet, she