Page 27 of Critical Strike

He wanted another kiss. Forget the fact that his arms were full of items that were supposed to help hide them from a law enforcement hunt.

Focus, Patterson.

His focus was something he was usually known for. But something about Claire Wallace blew his focus to hell.

He opened the door and tossed the bags in beside him.

“Are you okay? Any problems?”

He reached over and squeezed her hand before starting the engine. “You’re the one who has her picture all over the news, and you’re worried aboutme?”

She shrugged. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

He leaned over and stole a kiss. Just a brief one, afraid that if he let his lips linger, they might start a show right here in the parking lot that would get them arrested for nothing having to do with her fugitive status. He kissed her forehead before he moved back into place and started the truck.

“Did you get everything we need?” Claire asked, putting the plastic bags on the floor near her feet.

He drove out of the parking lot, careful not to draw any attention to them. “Yes. I think you’ll look good as a brunette.”

She made a face. “I guess so. Did you get cat food?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not taking any chances on that cat-dog chasing me down a back alley because I forgot.”

“Good. He can’t keep living on bacon and beef jerky.”

She looked through the bag. “You didn’t use a credit card, right? I should’ve mentioned that before. Ballard is definitely watching for movement on mine. He’s probably watching yours, too.”

“No, I used cash. I always carry a pretty good amount with me—a by-product of growing up so long without any money at all.”

For years he’d tried not to carry so much, refusing to let the past dictate his present. It was his dad who’d finally sat him down and told him that not everything about his past needed to be fought. If carrying cash helped his subconscious be at ease, then carry the damn money.

Fight the real wars, not the cosmetic ones.

She tried on the brown wig. “How do I look?”

He glanced over. “Good. I like your natural look better, but this helps you blend in a little more.”

He didn’t even say anything when his truck smelled like cat food a few minutes later when she cracked open a can for Khan.

But they were going to have to come up with a plan. Driving around increased their chances of being pulled over.

“I think I know what I need to do,” she said after Khan finished eating. “I have the drive with the info that proves Ballard planned to use Gouda for illegal purposes...” She looked out the window, her fingers twisting in Khan’s fur as he settled on her lap. Luke knew that meant she was thinking, so he gave her time.

“Thing is,” she started up again suddenly, “the data can’t be read outside of Passage Digital because of the proprietary coding we use.”

“Can you find a way around that?”

She nodded. “I think I can build a shell program robust enough to extract the information. It won’t be perfect, but it will be proof enough to get the police looking into Ballard and Passage Digital.”

“Okay. That’s good news. What do you need?” Luke bypassed the turn onto the highway in case they needed to stay in town. “Special equipment?”

“No, it’s all coding based. I need a computer that’s on public Wi-Fi, so I can make it more difficult to find where I’m located, with uninterrupted time and nobody else around.”

“How much time?”

She grimaced. “It’s hard to say exactly, but it won’t be short. A few hours.”

“We’ll be too noticeable at a coffeehouse or hotel lobby for that long. We’ll have to break in somewhere.”

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