Page 36 of 3rd Tango
I swing back around and…double damn.
A cop has pulled beside the Buick, blocking Matt’s exit. His passenger window is rolled down. “You,” the cop says to Matt. “You’re in front of a hydrant. Move it.”
Really? It’s bad enough my mom is walking straight toward us and now we have Captain America hassling Matt.
Two storefronts down, mom treks on while Matt assures the officer he’s about to move.
Hide.
It’s all I can think. If she spots me, this whole operation is ruined. Matt might be able to avoid her given he’s driving the Buick, rather than his own car. But me?
My mother is far from stupid. She’ll tag us as following her the minute she sees us.
My pulse kicks up and I swing to my right, searching for any available alcove I can duck into. Nothing. The street corner offers me zippo.
No place to hide. Frantically, I scan the area. Nothing.
A stinging sensation rips straight down my neck. Move. Now.
I do the only thing I can and hop back into the car, ducking low.
“Meg,” Matt says, his voice a cross between what-the-hell-and you-must-be-crazy. “You’re killing me. Do you not see this cop?”
“Get rid of him,” I say. “Mom is right there. If she sees me, we’re toast.”
He peers out the windshield and grunts. “She just went into the deli.”
Phew. I scoot back up and let out a breath. “Close one.”
Just as I glance at Matt, the cop steps to the driver’s side. So much for staying low-key.
“Thanks, Meg,” Matt mutters.
“Sorry.” I scrunch my nose. “Guess I should’ve stayed in the car.”
“Ya think?”
“License and registration,” the cop says.
Matt reaches for the glovebox and digs around, coming up with the latter. “Sorry, officer. I was dropping my friend off.”
“I see that.” He peers at me through dark sunglasses. “Miss, are you okay?”
His eyes might be hidden but the tight skin of his face indicates he’s young. Maybe not even thirty. If he’s a rookie, we could be screwed. They tend to play only by the book. No slack.
Ever.
“Yes.” I bob my head. “I’m fine.”
He purses his lips slightly, then moves his attention to the registration and Matt’s license. “This your car?”
“No, sir. It’s my father’s.”
“And, where is he?”
Matt’s head dips forward an inch. “At home. I borrowed it.”
Now he looks back at me. “Miss, why were you crouching? You hiding from someone?”
