Xander must have said something reassuring because she smiled as if someone had lifted a megaton weight from her slender shoulders.
Cupping her elbow, Nick snagged her attention. “I’m running to the drugstore down the street. I think I’ve got a plan to get us into the park without raising too many eyebrows. Hungry?”
She shook her head. “The burger filled me up.”
He nodded. “Lock up behind me. Don’t answer the door for anyone else. I’ll be back.”
She gave him an absent nod, then turned her attention to the call once more. “So she fell right asleep? Is the medicine helping? Did she cry at bedtime?”
He slipped out the door, hearing the click of the deadbolt, and hit the twenty-four-hour pharmacy nearby, grabbing supplies with a bit of help and tossing them into the basket. When he got to the cashier, Nick figured Sasha wouldn’t like everything he’d bought…but better safe than sorry. And if she wanted to fight about it, he would handle that, too.
Chapter Seven
When Sasha let him in the motel room, she was still clutching the phone with a warm smile.
“Everything all right?” Nick scowled, gripping the bag from the drugstore.
“Yeah. Xander filled me in. Harper’s fever is coming down. She’s been sitting in bed most of the evening, watching movies she’s never had the opportunity to see. Apparently she loves Frozen.”
Nick wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but hearing the news that her daughter behaved like a typical little girl seemed to fill Sasha with relief.
“And they’re reading her books, too. She loves story time.” Sasha bit her lip. “She’s missed out on so many normal childhood things.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Clifford is the one who fucked up your life.”
She winced, and Nick realized belatedly that she probably hadn’t heard that kind of language much. Mike had never been one to swear. He remembered him once saying that Sasha had grown up very sheltered with small-town, religious parents. Nick resisted the urge to shake his head in self-reproach. His first spoken word had probably been four letters.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No. You’re right. I didn’t want this life for Harper. For myself. I certainly wanted more than an early grave for Mike.” She sighed. “But Walter Clifford changed all that, and it’s too late to undo his damage. All we can do is try to pick up and move on. Will something in the bag help us accomplish that?”
She reached for the sack. Nick thought about stopping her, shielding her. He didn’t. Better that she understand now. “To start, yes.”
She peeked in, then paused, frowning as she grabbed the first of two matching boxes. “Hair color? Rich dark brown?”
“Clifford is looking for a blonde with a toddler, not a brunette with a boyfriend.”
Sasha zipped her stare to him, her lush lips parted in surprise. “A what?”
“Boyfriend. Me. We’re going to the bandstand about midmorning, after the joggers but before the stroll-through-the-park-at-lunch crowd. The moms pushing strollers that time of day won’t pay us much mind. If Clifford has surveillance on the area, all he’ll see is two people hand in hand, seemingly in love.” He picked up the Saints ball cap he’d bought and shoved it on his head. “Not only will you look different, but by tomorrow morning, I’ll have enough stubble to pass as a beard. With the bill over my face and these”—he extracted a pair of cheap, dark sunglasses, tag dangling—“no one will recognize me. You have a pair in there, too.”
“And makeup?” She ignored the glasses and started pulling cosmetics from the bag.
He shrugged, hoping he hadn’t fucked up. “One of the female clerks helped me.”
Sasha studied the BB cream that was supposed to adjust to her skin tone, the soft peachy-pink blush, and a translucent powder. A little compact with some brown, gold, and rosy shadows pressed into the shape of an eye shimmered behind the plastic lid.
“The woman said these colors would work for most anyone. When I told her you had hazel eyes, she recommended those shadows.”
“You remembered?”
The color of her eyes? As if he could forget. “There’s a nude lip in there, too. Whatever that means.”
Nick wished like hell Sasha would give him some sort of reaction. Was she pleased? Pissed? Or just puzzled?
Suddenly, she smiled at him. “This is the most makeup I’ve had in what feels like forever. Oh, the lipstick looks pretty. Mascara!” She hugged it to her chest. “I’ve missed this. Thanks.”
He sighed with relief as she pulled out a couple of toothbrushes, toothpaste, a new brush, and a travel-sized lotion. “You’re welcome. Sasha?—”
