“Wait.” He could see a flicker of sudden panic in her eyes. Her hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist as she turned to block the view of their faces from the clerks sitting in their kiosks. Then Sarah noticed the cameras over the main door and in the corner, so she moved even closer, almost as if stepping into an embrace. The delicate floral hint of her shampoo and the uniquely feminine scent of her surrounded him, snatching his breath. “What if they need to see my real ID?” He had to study her lips to make out what she was saying, her voice barely a whisper.

“Do you have it?” he murmured softly.

She shook her head. “Just the fake Rachel Jones one.” He could see a slight tremor run through her, could feel it in her hand that had gripped his wrist. “I . . . I left everything behind when I ran.” From the expressions chasing across her face, Mick would put money on Sarah’s thoughts being momentarily trapped in memories of the past, none of them good. He had the urge to punch something. Preferably Kevin’s face, but he would be content with doing damage to any part of the scumbag’s anatomy.

“Then we’ll brazen our way through.” His instinct was to lead the way, fight her battles, to throw his body between her and any dragons that might arise. However, he could tell by the tension around her eyes, the slight tautness around her mouth, that she was scared. The only cure for that was for her to take control. Step into the fear so she could move past it. “And if it doesn’t work.” He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“Right.” Sarah nodded, raising her chin. “I’ve got nothing to lose by trying and everything to gain.” She was slightly pale as she threw back her shoulders. “Let’s do this.” Sarah sucked in a breath, turned, and headed along the winding path formed by metal barriers. Mick followed in her wake, so proud of her courage, her strength in facing the multitude of challenges life had thrown her way. Sarah stepped up to kiosk four. Mick flanked her.

“What can I do for you today?” The clerk was behind a bullet-resistant glass window with a metal speak hole. She looked to be in her late thirties, early forties. She was a large, comfortable-looking woman with dangling earrings and light-brown hair piled on her head with a sparkly clasp.

“Hello.” Sarah’s voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat and started again, a pleasant, calm smile on her face. “Hello. I’m hoping you can help me. I was—”