Finally, the car turned into a city-run parking lot. I pulled down a side alley, only to discover that I couldn’t see the sidewalk or the parking lot. No time to find a better place. I hurried from the car and crept alongside the building.

Near the end of the alley I dug into my purse and found what I wanted. Then I eased as close as I dared to the end of the alley, lifted the open makeup compact and angled the mirror.

The only people I saw were two elderly men heading toward me and a trio of teenage boys skateboarding in the opposite direction.

I was thinking of circling back when I caught a movement at the parking lot exit. A middle-aged executive, silver-haired, clean-shaven and bespectacled, briefcase swinging purposefully at his side. I sized him up against the man from the jail…then stepped back into the alley. Now I knew why he’d lingered in his car.

As I watched through my mirror, he crossed the road and marched away from me. A scant twenty feet later, he turned right, opened a door and went in. I eased out for a better look at his destination. A coffee shop.

It shouldn’t take him more than two minutes to grab takeout. Five minutes passed. Obviously, he wasn’t getting his coffee to go. Time for my own quick-change routine.

I zipped down the alley and came out on the main thoroughfare. The first promising shop I saw was a drugstore with a window display of tourist wear. Good enough. Three oversized sweatshirts, one ball cap, cold cream, a scrunchie and a bag of penny candy, and I was flying back to my car.

All three sweatshirts went on over my skintight sweater, bulking me up, schlepping me down and giving me ample room to hide my gun. Wig off. Hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail that disappeared under the ball cap. Cold cream on; makeup off.

I knew enough to take off my watch and hoop earrings. But when it came to my ankle boots, I was stuck. All I could do was pull my jean cuffs over them.

Then I returned to my spot at the end of the alley, crossed the road, fell in behind two women close to my age and proceeded past the coffee shop window. One sideways look was all I permitted myself. My would-be killer sat just beyond the window, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

I ducked down the first side road and checked behind the restaurant for alternate exits. There was an emergency door, but it was unlikely he’d risk setting off an alarm. So I circled back to my alley, took out my bag of candy and settled in to wait.

Thirty minutes later, I was still waiting.