Bulletproof Badge. Angi Morgan

and tried to keep thinking about their options. Nothing seemed to be going their way. Not even a cab. “Where can we catch a ride?”

      “Oh, good grief. We need to head back to Congress Street.” She laced her fingers through his. “Just so you know. I’m not really a sweatpants type of girl.”

      Holding hands was standard practice. Along with dragging him across the street, heading west again. She leaned into his arm, using his body to steady the fast pace. He was proud of her for hanging in there so well. He almost opened his mouth to tell her but thought again. It somehow felt intimate to tell her.

      Shoot. He needed sleep himself if he was having this type of debate in his head. More importantly, he should be making plans. Deciding where they could stay, someplace a manager wouldn’t call the police.

      “Would calling the police be so bad?”

      “Huh? How did you know...?”

      “You were mumbling. So, would it? Would calling them be so bad?”

      “It would ruin our chances of catching Tenoreno.”

      “Well, then we’re definitely not going to the police. I want that horrid man to spend the rest of his days rotting in jail. Even if he didn’t pull the trigger, he was responsible.”

      Garrison felt Kenderly’s determination through her fingers squeezing his biceps. Yep, he liked her. He felt himself smiling without anyone looking.

      Nice. Wait. Not nice. She’s my witness.

      They spotted the cab at the same time. Their hands separated, and Kenderly’s earsplitting whistle got the cabbie’s attention.

      “Evening.”

      “Hi,” Kenderly responded to the driver, then looked at Garrison. “Where to?”

      “I...um... I’m not sure.”

      The driver tapped his finger against the steering wheel, flipped the meter on, then tapped again. At least he wasn’t listening to local news. Their descriptions were accurate enough, and the burger shop probably let the police know what they were wearing. At least, if Garrison was the cop assigned to their case, he would have gotten a description.

      “Hey, buddy, I need to get going. So where to?”

      “Take us south on I-35.”

      “Got a particular place in mind?” the cabbie asked.

      “I can’t remember the name, but I’ll tell you when I see it.”

      “Sure,” the driver said.

      “You have no clue where, do you?” Kenderly whispered.

      He crossed his fingers and showed them to her. She covered her mouth, but he heard the giggle.

      Fifteen minutes later, there was no laughter. He checked them into a semisleazy motel. Sheets in hand, he unlocked the door facing the highway and wished he hadn’t flipped on the light. It wasn’t the worst place he’d stayed in, but it was far from the best.

      A long sigh escaped from Kenderly next to him. “At least they didn’t assume we needed it by the hour.”