Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(37)

He returned, shaking his head. She shook her head too. She stood and, with careful movements, walked to the front door. She still wore his big socks and oversize sweatpants.

He scooped her up, closed the front door, and carried her to the truck, noting her watchful scan of the area again. Once inside the cab, he reversed and headed back to the highway.

“Close to my place are a couple clothing stores,” Eagle said. “I suggest we get you something to wear.” Seeing her expression, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

“My Suburban,” she said quietly. “It’s gone. I hadn’t had a chance to unload everything. I was so concerned about getting the boxes to safety that I left my purse to get in the next load. Now it’s gone too—along with all my identification.” She stared at him in shock. “That means I can’t prove who I am.”





Chapter 12





She didn’t know why that should bother her so much. But, without her ID, she couldn’t get a driver’s license, couldn’t get her bank cards, or access any money she had in the bank. So many instances in everyday living required her identification.

“I don’t suppose you remember any of your numbers?”

“Does anyone?” she asked in astonishment.

He chuckled and poured out a stream of digits.

When he stopped, she said, “What the hell was that?”

“My Social Security number, driver’s license number, and my credit card numbers. With your numbers you could at least transfer money.”

“I still need a card to go to the bank to get it out.”

He shrugged. “Sure, but we could transfer the money into my account, and then you’d get some cash, while you wait for new cards to arrive.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “It never occurred to me to memorize my numbers.” Then she remembered losing her purse while in the field over a year ago. “My bank keeps a copy of my passport photo on my account in case something like this happens.”

“I know it’s probably not the time to ask, but are you sure your name is Issa McGuire? Any chance it might have been changed?”

“That’s my name,” she said firmly.

“And you know for sure you’re from Ireland?”

She stared at his profile. “Meaning, my mother might’ve changed our name when we came to the States?” She frowned at his nod. “It’s our name but she Americanized hers, but I don’t know why.”

“Depends on what happened that killed your father and brothers,” he said. “If she thought you were still in danger, she might very well have.”

“But my first name is very unusual,” she murmured. Any other name felt and sounded foreign to her. “Wouldn’t she have changed that too?”

“Unless you refused to answer to anything else.”

Another memory popped into the confusion in her brain. “Actually, for a long time I didn’t speak.” She stared out at the world passing by. “After what happened to my father and brothers, I became mute for a long time. I know she was really frustrated with my slow return to normality. The specialists said to just let me be, that I’d recover after I had a chance to process the trauma.”

“How long were you like that?”

“At least six months. But I really struggled that first year. Not only was I behind in school, coming from Ireland, but I was also dealing with the trauma of so much loss and change, and it took several more years before I really got started with my education. I spent a lot of years playing catch up. Once I got it—once I understood this was my life now, and there was no going back—then I adapted. I took off, raced to the head of my class, and stayed there.”

“And why was that important to you?”

“Choices. I figured, if I was at the top of the class, I would have choices for my future. My mother didn’t appear to have any. She worked in a local retail store, running the cash register at minimum wage.”

“There was no money? She had no assets from Ireland?”

Issa shook her head. “Not that I know of. From my understanding, we arrived penniless, and there was never any spare money while I grew up. My mother was always penny-pinching to make things work. I got a job as soon as I was old enough, and it was the same kind of job she had. When I realized I could be working for minimum wage for the next forty years”—she shook her head—“I worked even harder at school.”

He nodded. “I can relate to that.”

When they hit Denver, he drove through the big city until they were on the side closest to his place. He pulled off at a restaurant. “Do you want to stop and have some lunch?”

“I can wait until we get home.”

“You might be able to, but I can’t.”

He waited until she got out the truck, and, even though she still was dressed in his clothes and felt like a hobo, he took her in and seated her at the first empty table. Positive everybody must be wondering who the hell she was, she kept her head down.

When she finally peeked around the space, she realized nobody even looked at her. A waitress came to bring them coffee and menus. Never was Issa more aware of her lack of funds than she was right now. In a low voice she said, “You do remember I don’t have access to my money?”