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them. He reduced his speed to twenty-five.
    â€œI think we’ve lost them,” he told her.
    She sighed and swept her tangled mass of whiskey-colored hair back from her face. At the end of a cul-de-sac, he parked behind a center island of tall shrubs that would hide them from passersby on the intersecting street. To Mallory’s right was a brown house with a lazy cocker spaniel sunning on the lawn. She wished they could go inside, lock all the doors and hide. “Why are we stopping? Is that wise? If my daughter’s in danger, I want to go get her.”
    â€œWe have to stay out of sight for a while. Besides, I need to get my stomach back down where it belongs.” He leaned his head back against the rest and closed his eyes. His hands remained clenched on the steering wheel. “As for wise? If I were wise, lady, I wouldn’t be here.”
    Now that she knew he was telling the truth about Keith’s message, Mallory was plagued with more questions. “Why, exactly,
are
you here then?”
    â€œKeith’s a good friend. He asked, I’m here.”
    Bitterness laced the words. After several uncomfortably quiet minutes had dragged by, he released the catch on his seat belt and rose to his knees beside her. She turned to watch him sift through piles of assorted junk in the back of the car. She’d never seen such a collection. Boxes, baseball bats, rumpled clothes, a battered suitcase and various fast-food cartons. After a search that led him clear to the bottom of the pile, he lifted a white plastic case and a spray container.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œFirst aid. For your scrapes.” He gestured to her legs.
    She hadn’t even noticed. “I’m fine. Please, can’t we go get my daughter now?”
    â€œI told you, we have to give them time to get off the scent. Might as well take advantage of it.” He crooked his right leg under himself and sat down, motioning her to turn sideways as he gave the can a shake. “Hand me a foot.”
    Catching hold of her skirt to cinch it tight, she lifted her legs and swiveled on her bottom to put her feet on the seat. Her eyes widened when she saw she was minus a shoe. It must have fallen off when she was dangling from the car.
    â€œNo great loss. High heels spell nothing but trouble anyway. I’ll get you something practical. No fashion shows where we’re going.” He ripped a larger hole in her nylon and doused the back of her leg with cold spray. “Your ankle is pretty bruised.”
    He made it sound as if he thought fashion was the be-all of her existence. Mallory shot him a glare, then leaned forward to assess the damage to her legs. “And just where are we going?”
    â€œEastern Washington. A cabin in the mountains. You and Emily will be safe there until I get to the bottom of this.”
    Capping the spray can, he tossed it in a careless arc into the backseat junk pile. Her spine went ramrod straight when he pursed his lips and blew softly on her skin until the disinfectant dried. The play of muscle in his shoulders stretched the cloth of his jacket taut. His hands were gentle as he smoothed stick-on bandages over the worst of her scrapes. He’d obviously done this before. Perhaps he had children? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t always mean anything.
    She watched his bent head, feeling suddenly ashamed of herself. Most men would have dumped her from the car and said good riddance when she’d faked being sick. “Mr. Mac Phearson, I—I didn’t mean to call you names back there. I was just so scared, they popped out.”
    â€œNames? Crazy idiot, you mean?” He raised his eyes to hers, his mouth twisting into a humorless grin. “I’ve been called worse, believe me.” He snapped the first-aid case shut and threw it over the seat. “You weren’t really sick, were you?”
    â€œWhen I saw those fake IDs, I