A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “No.”

  “What color was the truck?”

  “She couldn’t remember for sure. Something light.”

  “Lot of pickups in Texas,” he stated, and for some reason his tone of voice ticked her off.

  “I’m aware of that. But wouldn’t there be an accident report or something? Maybe someone called the police?”

  “I can look into it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t respond. He was probably annoyed that she kept peppering him with requests. But at this point, she didn’t really care. Nathan was her best contact at APD, and she needed help.

  He took her elbow and pulled her close to the trees. A couple squeezed past them on the narrow trail, and Nathan nodded hello. When they were gone, he gazed down at her with those clear blue eyes, and her stomach did that little flutter.

  “I’m doing you a lot of favors,” he murmured.

  “And?”

  “And it’s only fair to warn you. I’m keeping score.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nathan ignored the neon fast-food signs lining the feeder road. He’d skipped lunch and dinner. It was nearing midnight now, and he could have used a hamburger something fierce; but more than he needed food, he needed to talk to Alex. And she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. He dialed her number with one hand while using the other to swerve into the fast lane.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  She said something, but it was drowned out by the wail of a guitar. “What?”

  “It’s Nathan.”

  More noise, and then “Have to talk louder.”

  “Nathan Devereaux.” Jesus, where was she? “I ran down that lead for you.”

  She said something, but he didn’t catch it.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  The noise stopped abruptly. “The Roadhouse,” she said, clear as a bell. She must have gone outside.

  “Eli’s Roadhouse? Off the interstate?”

  “You know another Roadhouse in town?”

  Her sarcasm grated on his nerves. Not to mention the vision of her standing outside some noisy biker bar talking on her damn iPhone.

  “Did you say you ran down that lead for me?”

  “Yes.” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I need to talk—”

  “Want to have breakfast tomorrow? You can fill me in.”

  He exited the freeway and pulled up to a stoplight. It was a quiet Monday night. Not too many cars out. Sounded like all the action was going on at Eli’s.

  “Nathan? How about eight A.M. at that pancake place?”

  He heard a whoop of laughter followed by the snort of someone’s Harley.

  “Are you outside? You know, that’s a crappy neighborhood. The parking lot backs right up to a strip club and—”

  “I’m going back in,” she said. “So I’ll see you for breakfast then? Eight o’clock?”

  He imagined her rolling out of bed and coming to meet him. After sleeping with some biker she picked up.

  Shit, he was being a jerk. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t pick up some stranger at a bar.

  But what did he know? And what was she doing at Eli’s Roadhouse? The place was a rat hole. Nathan had practically grown up in bars, and he knew exactly the kind of people who frequented ones like Eli’s.

  “Are we on, or not?”

  “We’re on,” he said.

  “Good. See you tomorrow.”

  Then the music was back, and she clicked off.

  * * *

  Troy watched Alex zip the phone into her purse and elbow her way back through the crowd. Whatever that was, she didn’t look happy about it. She hitched herself back onto the stool beside him, dropped her purse on the floor, and picked up her drink.

  “You okay?” he asked over the noise.

  “Yeah.” She took a gulp of rum and Coke.

  “You don’t look happy.”

  The band ended their set with a loud flourish, and the crowd clapped and whistled.

  “It was my detective friend,” she said.

  “Something come up?”

  “Nothing urgent.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s on my case about safety. Thinks this place is a dump.”

  “Hey, I wanted to meet at El Rancho. This place is a dump.”

  “Yeah, but it’s got atmosphere.” Alex pushed her empty glass across the bar and traded nods with the bartender.

  Typically, Alex wasn’t much of a drinker. But something was bugging her tonight, and Troy was determined to figure out what it was.

  “Guess your detective friend doesn’t know about your SIG,” he said. “Maybe your concealed carry permit’s a little out of date?”

  “You were saying?” she asked, changing the subject. “About the Delphi Center?”

  The band filed off the stage to take a break, and Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Caught in the Crossfire” started up on the jukebox. Troy took a swig of beer and then picked up where he’d left off.

  “Mia called me last night,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “She has the results already?”

  “She has something.”

  “Is it Melanie?”

  “She wouldn’t give me details over the phone,” he told her. “She said come by in person, she’ll explain everything then.”

  Alex eyed him suspiciously. “She didn’t tell you what she had?”

  “Nope.” Troy had asked, of course, but she’d been unusually tight-lipped.

  The bartender brought over a second Crown and Coke, and Alex stirred it thoughtfully with the slender red straw.

  Troy watched her, kicking himself again for fucking things up so badly. Alex was hot. Not in an obvious, pole-dancer kind of way, but in a subtle way he found way more attractive. Their few weeks together last Christmas had forever changed his view of short, small-breasted women.

  She glanced up at him, and the suspicion was back.

  “What?”

  “Pretty fast turnaround,” she observed. “I thought DNA tests took forever.”

  “It’s a private lab. And you said it was urgent.”

  “I’m guessing she charged me a rush fee, too, then.”

  “It wasn’t bad.”

  “You paid her already? She said she was going to invoice me!”

  “I took care of it,” he said.

  “But—”

  “It’s no big deal.” He clinked his beer bottle against her glass. “You can get the drinks.”

  Her spine stiffened, and she got that look on her face. It meant she was pissed at him. And she had no idea how much that turned him on.

  What was it with this girl?

  He gazed at her for a few moments, trying to figure it out.

  It was the brains, he decided. Smart women did it for him. It was the same way with Mia. There was something there, some kind of vibe they gave off. They drew him in like a magnet, then fucked with his head. Alex was a master at it. She was doing it right now. He’d spent the better part of a week—and a crapload of money—doing her a favor, and still, he could tell he was no closer to getting back in her bed than he had been when he’d gotten her first phone message.

  Troy swilled his beer and plunked the bottle on the counter. Truth was, he didn’t mind helping her, even without the sex. He respected what she did for a living. He respected her, and there were far too few women in his life he could say that about.

  “There’s something else,” he told her.

  She glanced up, and her face fell. “It’s Melanie, isn’t it? They identified—”

  “It’s not about Melanie.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s about the Delphi Center,” he said. “I’m here to recruit you.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “For what?”

  “Their Cyber Crimes Unit. It’s a growing field, and
they’re looking for people. Mia asked me what kind of skills you have. I told her, and they want you.”

  The look on her face was pure astonishment. “What on earth would I do there?”

  “Anything,” he said. “Everything. The possibilities are endless. They run down identity theft, child porn, credit card fraud, you name it. You’re great with computers. You’d be a natural at it.”

  “But…” Her voice trailed off as the bartender stopped by to check on them. “But I don’t even have a degree. The people over there are doctors and PhDs and—”

  “Your skills are in high demand right now. Who gives a damn about a degree? You know the Internet better than anyone. They could use you.”

  She stirred her drink and shook her head. “I’ve already got a job. One that I like, too. I’ve built a business.”

  “So do some freelance for them. Couple of projects here and there, see if you like it. I can tell you right now, you’ll like the pay.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think of everything you’d learn.” Then he pulled out the big guns. “Think of the equipment and software you’d get to use. They demo stuff that hasn’t even hit the market yet.”

  Her eyes locked with his, and he knew he had her.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you’d be interested.”

  “No, I mean, why you?” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re connected to Delphi Center, aren’t you? And not just through Mia.”

  Troy glanced away. He’d known this would come up. “I’m on their board,” he said.

  “How’d you get on their board? You must have—” She broke off abruptly and stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of those anonymous benefactors who freaking funded the place.”

  He just looked at her.

  “Oh my God.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I knew it was weird. How you just breezed right in and—”

  “Look, there are a lot of people involved,” he said. “It’s not just me. They’re doing groundbreaking work over there. It’s attracted attention. Anyway, talk to Mia. She’ll fill you in.”

  She watched him for a long moment. “Fine, I’ll talk to her. But this isn’t going anywhere. A lot of what I do is in the gray, legally. I’m not exactly a model citizen.”

  “You never know.”

  Actually, he did. Delphi knew all about Alex’s background, and they wanted her anyway. They wanted her because of it. The sort of experts they needed for cyber crimes weren’t sitting around writing software manuals.

  But Troy let it go.

  For a while, they drank and traded small talk. When Alex’s second rum and Coke was gone, she rested her chin on her fist and gazed down into the glass.

  Her mind was on Melanie again; he could tell.

  “How’s your case coming?”

  “The same.” Her voice was glum.

  “Hey, perk up. Maybe your detective will come up with something.”

  “He’s not my detective.”

  But the tone of her voice sent up a red flag. He was onto something.

  “You seeing each other?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Again, too emphatic.

  Troy smiled. He never would have pictured Alex Lovell with a homicide cop, but there was something poetic about it. Not that it would ever work out. Cops were notoriously bad at relationships. Plus they were cynical, and Alex was a closet idealist.

  She glanced up at him. “So are you coming with me?”

  “Where?” Troy glanced over her shoulder at the bar entrance.

  “The Delphi Center.”

  A guy stood at the door, staring at Alex. His gaze shifted to Troy.

  “I could, but I don’t need to,” he said. “You’re on the list now.”

  “The list?”

  The man was shorter than Troy—probably five-ten—but powerfully built under that cheap blazer. His gaze scanned the bar briefly, then homed in on Alex again.

  “Yeah, you’re all cleared.” Troy took a last swig of beer. “You don’t need an escort anymore. Just call Mia.”

  Alex looked surprised by this news. She looked even more surprised when the homicide detective appeared at her side.

  “Hi.” The man ignored Alex’s gaping stare and extended a hand to Troy. “Nathan Devereaux,” he said coolly.

  They shook hands. “Troy Stockton.”

  “What are you doing here?” Alex asked him.

  “I need to talk to you.” The man’s voice was flat, his eyes hard. His gaze veered to the Dos Equis bottle sitting at Troy’s elbow.

  “I thought we were meeting tomorrow,” she said.

  “Now’s better.”

  Alex looked pissed again, but this time it was directed at the plainclothes detective. Lucky bastard.

  Troy tugged his wallet from his pocket and tossed a couple twenties on the bar.

  Alex frowned. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” Troy said.

  “But—”

  He kissed her mouth to shut her up. And to annoy the cop.

  “Take care.” He looked down into her startled eyes. “I’ll call you next time I’m in town.”

  Alex watched, shocked, as Troy left the bar.

  “You had something you wanted to tell me?”

  She spun around to face Nathan, who’d made himself comfortable on Troy’s vacated stool. He flagged the bartender and asked for a Scotch.

  “I can’t believe you just barged in here! I was with someone.”

  “Looked like he was leaving.”

  Alex couldn’t believe this. What if she’d been on a date?

  Or maybe that was the point.

  The bartender slid Nathan’s drink across the counter and cleared away the beer bottle. Nathan turned on his stool and tossed back the Scotch as he looked out over the crowd. She watched him, simmering. Then his attention settled back on her. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, his blue eyes burning into hers in a way that made her heart pound.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she grasped for an easy topic. “My test results are in,” she said. “From the Delphi Center.”

  Nathan’s gaze flicked to the door. “That where you ran off to the other day?”

  “Troy has an in there. A DNA expert.”

  “Yeah? What did he say?”

  “She said I can come by tomorrow and she’ll walk me through her findings.”

  His gaze swept the room again, then returned to her. “I looked for that accident report,” he said. “Didn’t find anything. I also called around town. None of the towing services has a record of it.”

  “But the witness said she saw a tow truck.”

  Nathan didn’t respond.

  “You think Coghan might have, I don’t know, paid someone to keep it out of the records?”

  “Could be.” He shook his glass, rattling the ice cubes. “You’re not even sure Coghan was there, though, are you?”

  “The woman saw a pickup—”

  “She couldn’t even remember the color,” Nathan cut in.

  “Well, it was raining out. And she told me she’d just taken a big dose of cold medicine.”

  “Sounds like a great witness,” he quipped. “I also checked up on Coghan for that night. Our dispatch records have him at a drug bust over on East Fifth about the time your witness said she saw the truck at the accident scene.”

  Coghan had an alibi. Alex should have expected him to, but for some reason the news came as a disappointment.

  “Maybe he got the dispatcher to lie for him,” she said. “Maybe it’s part of his cover-up.”

  Nathan lifted an eyebrow, and Alex’s temper sparked. She’d had enough of his skepticism.

  “How much more proof do you need that something is terribly wrong here?” She slapped her hand on the bar. “Melanie’s missing. Doesn’t a dead body in the lake near her home mean anything to you? And what about the car
wreck?”

  “Okay.” He cocked his head to the side. “What’s your theory?”

  Alex deflated. “I don’t know, exactly. There was some kind of struggle at the house, I think. That’s why I saw blood. Maybe Coghan kidnapped Melanie. Maybe she had a boyfriend who went after them in the Blazer, and then Coghan killed him, too. Then dumped them in the lake.”

  “And his alibi?”

  “I don’t know, okay?” She slid off the stool. Troy had left enough money on the bar to cover her drinks, so she grabbed her purse from the floor and headed for the exit.

  She heard the scuff of Nathan’s shoes on the pavement behind her as she crossed the crowded lot to her car. She dug her keys from her purse and clicked open the locks. She reached for the door handle, but he reached around and leaned a palm on the door.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What for?” She whirled around. “You don’t believe me. No matter how much evidence I throw at you, it’s all some big misunderstanding. No way could a buddy of yours, another cop, be capable of killing his wife.”

  “That’s not what I think.”

  “But you’re not willing to go out on a limb,” she accused. “Not if it means implicating someone with a badge.”

  “That’s not true, either.”

  He gazed down at her calmly. His hand was still flattened against her car as she glared up at him. For a moment, time seemed suspended as he eased closer, close enough to feel how angry she was. Close enough to feel her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

  And then his hand was in her hair. Her breath caught. And every muscle tensed as he leaned down and kissed her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shock ricocheted through her body. His mouth was warm, firm, and then she felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin as he slanted his head to the side and kissed her. He tasted sharp, like alcohol, and the hot maleness of it made her dizzy.

  Vaguely she heard the grumble of trucks and motorcycles. Vaguely she felt the vibrations beneath her feet, the cool metal of the car as he eased her back against it. Then it was the hard wall of his chest she felt, as his hand held her head steady and his tongue tangled with hers. Her mind was still reeling, but her hands slid up, over his shoulders, and her fingers curled into his hair. He tasted good. Desire pooled inside her as his lips moved over hers and she rocked her hips against him.