The bullshit the FBI pulled on his brother in order to get his cooperation. He wanted to ask about her role, but couldn’t bring himself to add to her stress.
“Did your attacker say anything?”
Ignoring his question, she shot back, “Why are you here?”
“You know. But we’ll save that conversation for later.”
She pointed. “Make a right at the next light.”
“Where are we going?”
“I told you—”
“What’s at the address?”
She said nothing.
“Liv—”
“Pull over.”
He did as instructed, parking her vehicle in front of a large brick building. Above the entrance, carved in stone, was a sign that read Hawthorne Elementary School.
Liv yanked on the door handle, and he grasped her arm. “Wait.”
“Let go of me. Now.” He released her, and she made to bolt again.
“You’ve got blood all over your neck and top. It’ll be a shock to whoever is inside.”
“Dammit.”She reached behind the driver's seat and lifted what looked like a go-bag from the floorboard. Plopping the black duffel in her lap, she unzipped it and drew out a navy button down top with a collar. She shook it out and laid it across her bag.
Grabbing the ends of her soiled shirt, she ripped it over her head in a quick, jerky motion. Zeke glimpsed a no-nonsense beige bra that molded around full breasts and the outline of strong muscles gliding beneath smooth skin before remembering to avert his gaze.
Through his peripheral vision, he watched her scan their surroundings, as if searching for someone or something, while donning her clean shirt.
“Why are we here, Liv?” He glanced at the building again.
Rather than answer, she pulled a wet wipe from her bag and cleaned her neck with efficient strokes. She appeared paler than normal and on the verge of losing her stomach’s contents.
Zeke’s hand strangled the steering wheel. He called on his limited cache of patience while his brain frantically tried to process the sequence of events.
“Did that guy threaten someone who works here?”
She flipped down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror.
“Liv?”
Removing her service weapon from her hip, she placed the pistol, holster and all, into her bag, along with her soiled shirt. She dropped the bag between her feet. “Don’t leave this vehicle.”
In less than a minute, she’d transformed from victim to businesswoman. All evidence of her ordeal was gone. Except for the pebbling of blood at the cut site.
He held out a square of gauze and pointed toward her injury.
She accepted the offering and exited, jabbing her arms into a business jacket while walk-running up to the school’s entrance, completing the illusion.
Nearing her destination, she slowed her pace. A dark-haired man, carrying a young girl in a flower-covered dress, exited the building. Liv paused to exchange a few words before pushing through the entrance door.
Zeke knew next to nothing about kids. What ages attended elementary school? The little girl in her father’s arms looked young. Six? Seven? He had no idea.