CHAPTER ELEVEN
Palm Springs, California
Leslie bobbed to the 80’s soft rock that cruised from the radio of Clinton’s uncle’s old, white Honda.
Though she could’ve let her anxiety get to her, the calm, tropical-atmosphere of Palm Springs reminded her of a much-needed vacation.
How pathetic.
She grinned at the way Max’s head bobbed under the glued-on beard and tacky, Jackie Chan wig.
“I wish you’d put that wig on,” he alluded to that synthetic pile of brown horsehair in the backseat. “We can’t risk anyone recognizing us.”
“You couldn’t pay me to wear that thing. Besides, I’m innocent and no one even knows I’m with you.”
“But they will.” He scratched under his wig. “It’s a matter of time.”
She wiggled her nose. “That wig looks ridiculous.”
“Call me by my alias so you’ll get used to
