Taylor blinked sleepily. “What're you so happy about, Miss Angel?”
“Your dad is a very smart man, Taylor. Thanks to his thinking ahead, we're a lot less likely to get caught now.”
“But I thought once we got back to Dad everything would be okay,” Taylor said, clearly puzzled. “Aren't we going home, Dad?”
“Eventually,” Bidwell said. “But remember I told you there were people trying to make us upset?”
“And remember I told you that man might've hurt your dad?” Hardesty made her voice soft. “That man's still out there, Taylor. We're not sure who's helping him. We're not sure where he is. Getting you and your dad home safe means we still have to not get caught.”
“And it means we have to go back to DC,” Bidwell said. “Taylor, we might have to go help Uncle Ben and Aunt Mikaela.”
“Is that why you don't trust Uncle Tim, Miss Angel?”
Hardesty rolled her shoulders, bit her lip, let the boy see her thinking about that. “Actually, I think I trust you, and your dad, and your Uncle Tim more than anybody else I know, Taylor.”
“Even Buster and Lodi?” Taylor asked.
A ripple of pain went over Bidwell's face, but Wilson said, “I'm sure you can still trust the dogs, Taylor. In fact, after all this is over, we'll bring them up to the house – whichever house it ends up being. Taylor, the house where you've lived since ...” he broke off, swallowed, and then resumed quietly, “since your mom's funeral may not be where you get to go back home to, for awhile. There was a fire in the house yesterday. I took the dogs to Doctor Atchison, because there wasn't any place for them to stay. The house can be fixed, I think, but it will take a long time.”
“Were they hurt?” The boy's round blue eyes glimmered wetly and his voice trembled.
“Buster has a blister on his nose, and Lodi has blisters on his hindpaws,” Wilson said. “Doctor Atchison thought they should stay with her until they're well. She said they'd be fine in a week or so.”
Hardesty let out a breath she hadn't known she'd held. “Thank you, Tim.”
“Least I could do,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don't know where the cat went – I know she got out, because I saw her while I was picking up Lodi.”
“Simba is used to being outside, and I happen to know,” Bidwell said, “she's an excellent mouser. If the barn's still standing, the pigeons and rabbits and the horses should all be fine.”
“No reason to think otherwise,” Wilson agreed calmly. Hardesty nodded, and Bidwell wrapped his arms around his son, squeezing reassuringly.
“Okay,” Wilson said a few minutes later, as the two-lane blacktop he'd been following opened out into a different town, “here we are, folks. Where do you want to start?”
“Food,” Taylor said.
“Coffee,” Hardesty and Bidwell chorused.
“Looks like that's settled,” Wilson murmured. “Do we go in, or drive through?”
“Go in,” Taylor said. “It will make us harder to see if we're not in the car they're looking for. And there'll be a bathroom inside.”
Bidwell said mildly, “That sounds like a good idea to me, too.”
“It might be best if we don't stop on the main drag,” Hardesty said quietly. “Take that left at the light, and let's see if we can find someplace along the road.”
“We're not going to look local,” Wilson warned.
“No, we're not,” Bidwell agreed. “But we can look less like the pictures on the news. Lose the tie and jacket, Tim, and I'll do the same.”
Hardesty steadied the wheel while Wilson peeled out of his suit coat and yanked off his tie. In the back seat, Bidwell divested himself of the same items. “Okay, Tim. Now what do we do about your sidearm?”
“Hang my badge on my belt,” he said, “and if you'll call me Elliott, maybe they'll think we're rehearsing for a TV show.”
“Cute,” Hardesty said.
“See, you're getting into character already,” Wilson chuckled.
She favored him with an eye-roll, but Taylor had begun to giggle. “You're all wrong for Livia.”
“You watch too much TV,” Hardesty said.
“No,” Taylor answered. “You don't watch enough. Uncle Tim doesn't really look like Detective Stabler, either. He looks like ... Agent McGee.” Wilson flinched visibly, and Hardesty covered her laughter with an almost-convincing coughing fit. The boy solemnly considered. “I really don't know who you look like, Miss Angel. You're not dark enough for Livia. Your eyes are blue, and you have freckles. It's worse than Dad. He doesn't look like anybody on TV either.” He thought about it some more. “You're not ... really really skinny. And you don't show off your ...” he patted his chest. “Assets, I think they're called. Do those ever fall out of your shirt?”
Bidwell choked and Wilson nearly lost control of the SUV, and Hardesty turned scarlet.
“The joys of parenthood,” Bidwell said, when he could breathe again. “I apologize, Angela.”
“No,” she answered, and shook her head. “It does look like they might, on TV, doesn't it, Taylor? ” She smiled. “All I can tell you is I never thought of that before.”
“Oh,” Taylor said.
“There's a place that might work,” Bidwell said, changing the subject. “Think we can get in and out of there reasonably quickly?”
Wilson eyed the neon sign with its outline of a chicken, the parking lot with half a dozen pickups, and shrugged. “Maybe. Let's pay cash. Shall we go in as two separate couples?”
“Yes, and I think you should take Taylor,” Hardesty said. “That's the one combination that hasn't been on TV yet, I'd bet.”
He raised an appreciative eyebrow at her. “And walk up?”
“Do you have a spare key?”
“Why might I need that?”
“If we're seen to leave separately too it will reinforce the thought we're not a group. So whoever walks up, also walks out – or you're seen with keys in hand.”
He nodded. “No, I don't.”
“In that case don't stop yet – go up the road, make a block, come back from the other side. We'll walk in and walk out,” Hardesty said.
Up the road a block, Bidwell said, “Stop here. Tim, come in with me.”
“A farm supply store?”
“This one,” Bidwell said, “will carry clothes. I know Taylor's sizes. We'll have to let Angela do her own shopping – would you rather go first or last?”
“Last,” she said decisively. “Don't forget, guys, you need everything – from the skin out, and new shoes. While you're in there, I think I'll stroll down to the corner drug store. I know that chain; I should be able to get everything in one stop. Lend me a little extra cash, and I'll take care of toothbrushes, razors and carry-ons.”
Wilson nodded. “Take $150. Don't spend it all, if you can avoid it.”
“Right,” she said. “You guys got any preferences about toothpaste?”
“Not as long as you don't get perfumed deodorant,” Bidwell muttered.
Three-quarters of an hour later they met up in the same parking lot. Hardesty distributed shaving kits and sundries including socks and baseball caps.
“Not too shabby,” Wilson said. “We decided to go with the stuff on clearance. Most of it looks like it's for a hunting trip.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she said. “Taylor, put these on, will you?”
“Hey!” he said. “I don't need glasses.”
“No, but you'll be harder to spot if you're wearing them.”
“Oh,” he said, thinking it over. “Okay.”
Hardesty shouldered a backpack she'd picked up. “There is one problem. They didn't have any shoes my size. I don't think flip-flops are quite the thing.”
Bidwell said, “What do you have in mind?”
“They got work boots in there?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“That'll do,” she answered. “Do the three of you want to go on back and eat?”
“No,” Wilson answered. “I think we'd do well to hit the road again, for a little while, at least.”
“You ever travel with a hungry second grader?” Bidwell asked conversationally.
“Think he can go five miles? I need to fill up the SUV. The closest place with the right fuel is five miles from here – and it's a major truck stop.” Wilson waggled his eyebrows at them. “The sort with showers, and a convenience store, and a restaurant.”
“The sort the FBI might be checking?” Bidwell asked.
“They'll be checking everywhere, sooner or later,” Hardesty said.