One-Night Alibi

“No cutting in line,” she said without looking up. “Take a number.”

“I just want to ask a question. Is Dr. Eldridge a tall brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“She’s five foot two with brown eyes and a ’fro.”

“Then I have the wrong Elizabeth. Thank you for your time.”

She didn’t look up.

One down, two to go.

The second clinic was in a better neighborhood. But it shared the same air of hopelessness as the first. “Elizabeth” was easy to find; she actually worked at the front desk, according to a nameplate. She wasn’t Liz, either.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a friendly smile.

“Are you Elizabeth?” he asked, just to be sure. Liz had said she was a social worker, not a receptionist, but he had to be thorough.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“No other Elizabeths work here?”

“No, just me,” the pretty Latina woman said, still smiling. “You aren’t a bill collector, are you? ’Cause I made my car payment yesterday.”

He smiled back. “No, nothing like that. Just trying to find an old friend.”

“Good luck.”

One to go. His heart lifted as he turned into the parking lot of the third clinic, Los Amigos Family Clinic. Despite the sadly depressed condition of the neighborhood overall, this clinic was clean and bright, and the entire block on which it sat was free from trash and graffiti. The small, freestanding building was painted in bright colors, and the windows were clean. A sign in the window advertised Free Flu Shots.

Inside was bright and fresh, too. There was still a crowd of people waiting for care, but they didn’t seem quite as desperate as the patients at the other clinics.

The receptionist sat behind a glass partition. Hudson rang the bell, and the frosted-glass door slid open. A young man in a nicely pressed shirt greeted him with a polite smile. “Help you?”

“I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”

“I’m so sorry—Ms. Downey had to cancel her appointments today. She had a death in her family.”

“Oh, no, that’s terrible.” Hudson’s heart went out to Liz. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, give her a shoulder to cry on. Which was ridiculous, because he barely knew her. “Just to be clear, is this Elizabeth tall with dark hair and dark blue eyes?”

The young man nodded. “That’s her. Can I give her a message?”

“I don’t suppose you could give me a phone number, could you?”

“Ah, no. We can’t give out our employees’ personal—”

“Yeah, no, I get it. That’s okay.” He had a last name now. Downey. If nothing else, Mitch could find a phone number and home address. For that matter, he could tell Sanchez, and she could track Liz down. But he’d much rather talk to Liz first.

“Thanks.” As he exited the clinic, he was already redialing Mitch.

* * *

AFTERNOON WAS WANING as Hudson approached the front door of the posh apartment building in Houston’s downtown historic district. Who knew there were 28 Elizabeth Downeys living in the Houston area? Mitch was able to eliminate most of them based on identifying factors like race and age, but there were four who had shielded their privacy enough that he couldn’t rule them out. Mitch had offered to hack into Department of Public Safety records and peek at their driver’s-license pictures, but Hudson couldn’t condone Mitch breaking the law on his behalf.

He’d find her. In fact, he was almost positive he had. This building just looked like someplace Liz would live—a redbrick 1800s building right off Market Square. Secure—but not behind the walls of some sanitized gated community where no one knew their neighbors.

Now he just had the security desk to contend with.

“I’m here to see Elizabeth Downey,” he told the official-looking man who watched all who came and went through the lobby. He didn’t wear a uniform, just a nicely pressed suit, but Hudson had no doubt the man could stop anyone who tried to gain entrance to the elevators or stairs without his okay. At least he’d try.

“Your name?” the guard asked as he picked up the phone from the antique desk.

He considered lying, but Elizabeth would probably refuse entrance to someone she didn’t know. “Hudson Vale.” God, he hoped she was home.

The man spoke softly into the phone. Though Hudson was standing right next to the desk, he couldn’t understand what was said. That was a talent. The guard cast a suspicious eye at Hudson, then concluded the conversation and hung up.

“Fifth floor. Apartment 524.”

Relief flooded through Hudson’s whole body. She was here. And she’d agreed to see him. It had taken him half a day, but he’d found her.

Belatedly, he wished he’d brought flowers. She was undoubtedly still angry with him for the accusations he’d thrown at her Saturday night. That had been stupid of him.

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough to suit him. When he finally alighted on the fifth floor, he practically sprinted down the hall until he found her apartment number. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he knocked. Decisively. Twice.

The woman who opened the door was hardly recognizable as the sultry vixen who’d taken his breath away Saturday night, seducing him so shamelessly. She stood before him in sweats and an old Bryn Mawr College T-shirt, her face pale and devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back untidily in an elastic band.

She was still achingly beautiful.

“Liz.” Somehow, that was the only word that would come out of his mouth.

She turned, leaving the door open, and he followed her into her apartment. It was an expensive-looking space, open and airy. The walls were painted in soft pastels; the furnishings looked classy but not formal or pretentious. The only item that looked out of place was a huge bouquet of orchids on the dining-room table, wilted and turning brown. Everything else was clean and well-maintained.

“I can explain,” she finally said.

“There’s no need.” He felt a little off-balance. She was the one apologizing? “I don’t blame you for bailing out on me. I said some awful thing, things I didn’t mean. If I’d bothered to use half a brain before I spouted off...”

She looked at him curiously, as if an apology wasn’t what she expected, either.

He closed the door. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her expression changed rapidly from guilt to suspicion. What had he done now?

“I stopped at your clinic first,” he explained, figuring she didn’t appreciate his intrusion into her privacy. “Someone there told me you’d had a death in your family.”

“Dear God, you still don’t know.”

“Uh...guess I don’t. Pretty clueless here. Liz, I don’t mean to intrude on your grief. But I’m in a difficult situation here, and you’re the only one who can help me. Believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise. I mean, I did want to see you again. And I’m kind of glad I had an excuse to track you down—”

“I can’t help you. You have to leave.” She strode toward her front door, obviously expecting him to vacate.