A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

“I don’t know.”

  “Will you find out?”

  “I’ll go,” Nathan said, partly because he wanted the information, but also because he needed a word with whoever was running this investigation.

  Plus he needed some space. From Alex. The last few hours had taken a few years off his life.

  Alex wasn’t dead.

  She wasn’t critically injured, even.

  Nathan, on the other hand, felt like he’d just absorbed a bomb blast. He had to get some air. He slipped past the cop.

  “Wait.”

  He turned and saw Alex looking at him, a combination of worry and confusion on her face.

  “You never answered my question,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Nathan shook his head and walked away.

  Alex rested her cheek against the passenger’s-side window of Nathan’s car and gazed out into the night. Office buildings and parking garages and alleys swept past. After a while, the mundane urban landscape gave way to something different. She saw brick walls and lampposts and ornate wrought-iron balconies. Neon signs reflected off pavement still damp from tonight’s rain.

  She turned to Nathan. “Is this the French Quarter?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her sluggish brain tried to conjure up the map of New Orleans she’d looked at earlier today. Or was it yesterday? Whenever it was seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The image wouldn’t come, so finally she gave up and closed her eyes. “I’m booked at the Hyatt,” she told Nathan. “That anywhere near here?”

  “We’re going someplace else.”

  Too tired to argue, she turned her attention out toward the street again. Wilted-looking party girls strolled the sidewalks, some in pairs, some alone. A man urinated in a doorway. She’d never been here, but it was quieter than she would have expected. Maybe it was really late. Or early.

  Nathan rolled through an intersection and took a left without comment.

  He was giving her the silent treatment. Or at least she felt like he was. He’d said almost nothing to her since they’d left the hospital with her arm in a bandage and a bottle of pain meds stuffed in her purse. Something was eating at him, and she felt pretty sure it had to do with her cross-country road trip.

  But Alex was beyond caring. A deep chasm had opened inside her when she’d knelt beside Melanie and watched the life seep out of her. She was in a coma. The surgeon who’d treated her said she might never come out of it. And the man who’d put her in that coma was free. Still. All Alex wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry.

  There would be no crying in front of Nathan. That, she promised herself. She’d hold it together until he left tomorrow, and then she’d deal with all the emotions churning inside her. She didn’t want an audience.

  He took another turn, this time into a narrow cobblestone alley. The walls were so close, Alex could have reached out and touched them. She perked up a bit and looked around and realized the alley didn’t lead to another street, but rather a tiny parking lot. Nathan pulled into a space beside an SUV.

  “Is this it?”

  “This is it.”

  He cut the engine, and they got out of the car. Nathan came around and took her backpack from her, then led her through a narrow brick tunnel. On the other side was a spacious courtyard lit up with white twinkle lights. Alex blinked and looked up. Four levels of balconies festooned with lights and hanging plants shimmered down at her. Most of the windows between the tall black shutters were dark, but there was the occasional yellow glow.

  Nathan led her past a gurgling fountain, then a cluster of cast-iron tables and chairs, all empty now. He pulled open a French door that led into a dim room.

  A green banker’s lamp shone from a desk in the small, carpeted lobby. The place smelled like cinnamon—the real kind, not the cloying air-freshener variety. Alex recalled the stench of the All Saints Motel and shuddered.

  A slightly built man walked into the room and extended a hand to Nathan. He wore a black silk robe over black pajamas.

  “Morning, Mr. Devereaux.” Then he looked at Alex and smiled pleasantly. “We’ve got you in room 322.”

  Nathan took the key the man held out and nodded a thanks.

  “The kitchen’s closed at the moment, but we’ll have coffee starting at six.” He glanced at his watch. “Not too long now.”

  Nathan thanked him again and led Alex to an elevator. They stepped inside, and she looked at Nathan while it made its slow, grumbling ascent.

  “You called ahead,” she said.

  He just looked at her.

  She glanced away. Her gaze fell on the rolled cuffs of the windbreaker she wore. Nathan had brought it to her in the hospital to cover up her bloody clothes. It said APD in yellow block letters on the back, and it was lined with gray flannel. She’d already decided to keep it.

  The door dinged open and Nathan led her down a hallway. She’d been led around a lot tonight, and she was too tired to care. He stopped in front of a door and opened it with the old-fashioned key. It had a chunky plaster fleur-de-lis on it, probably to keep guests from leaving town with it in their pockets.

  Nathan pushed open the door and flipped on the light. Alex followed him inside and immediately noticed the duvet-covered king-size bed. Heaven.

  After a shower.

  She was already stumbling toward the bathroom when Nathan dropped her backpack onto a yellow wing chair.

  “I’ve got to make a call.” He opened the French door to the balcony, and she shut herself in the bathroom.

  It was dark. She felt along the wall and tested three different light switches before finding one that illuminated the shower. It was a tub, actually. Claw-footed. Under different circumstances, she might find it charming. Under different circumstances, she might find Nathan charming and feel touched that he’d brought her to such a quaint little bed-and-breakfast in his hometown.

  But right now she felt cold, right down to her core, and she knew even a scalding shower—or bath—wasn’t going to make it go away.

  She turned the water to hot and plugged the tub. She toed off her sneakers. Then she stripped her clothes off and left them in a pile beneath the pedestal sink. Avoiding even a glance at the mirror, she climbed into the tub and rested her bandaged arm on the side. At least it was her left arm. All she had to do was keep it clean for a few days, and she’d be fine.

  Melanie was in a coma. She might never walk or talk or bathe herself again.

  Alex used the hotel’s shower gel and shampoo to clean up as well as she could. It smelled like lavender, but the scent did little to relax her because the bathwater had turned a pale pink from the dried blood on her body. Alex stood up, dried off, and wrapped the towel around herself.

  She cracked the door and peeked out. The big bed was empty. She left the light on in the bathroom, but switched off the overhead one in the room. Using just the ray of light from the bathroom, she retrieved a clean T-shirt and panties from her backpack and slipped them on.

  Then she climbed into the bed and let her head sink onto the cool feather pillow. She tucked the duvet around her shoulders and shivered at the chilly sheets. She couldn’t get warm. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of Melanie and felt colder still.

  A hot tear slid down her cheek. Then another. She pressed her face against the pillow and tried to will them away.

  The balcony door creaked open. Every muscle in her body tensed as she listened to the sounds of Nathan moving through the suite, taking off his shoes, using the sink. She listened to him toss his leather jacket over a chair, then empty his pockets onto the table. There was the soft thud of his holster and his gun, and she held her breath, waiting.

  Finally the mattress sank down as he stretched out beside her. She tried to breathe evenly, tried to seem asleep. It was childish, yes, but she couldn’t deal with sex right now. If he even touched her—

  He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He stroked her damp hair back from her face,
and his fingers brushed over her wet cheek.

  He pulled her closer against his warm, hard chest and she drew in a breath.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

  “Honey, it’s okay.” His fingers feathered over her cheek, and she choked on a sob.

  And then the game was up, and she curled into a ball and didn’t even try to hold back. She cried raggedly, noisily, like she hadn’t cried since she was a kid. Nathan didn’t say anything. He just held her close, and even through the duvet, she felt the solid heat of him.

  When all the tears were gone, she put her hand on top of his and clutched it to her chest, and the warmth of it was the last thing she thought of as she finally fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO

  Alex came awake slowly. Her mind was foggy. Muddled. Her gaze fixed on a scarred leather jacket flung across a chair, and she remembered Nathan.

  And Melanie.

  She sat up in bed and immediately felt dizzy.

  Then she remembered the pain pills. She glanced at the bandage on her left arm and pictured the baby-faced resident who’d stitched her up and brought her the little brown bottle. She glanced around and tried to orient herself. She faintly remembered waking up at dawn, and the room had been blanketed in bluish light, rain thrumming just outside the windows. A warm, strong arm had tightened around her and pulled her close.

  The light was bright now, the sharp bright of morning. Or maybe afternoon.

  She heard the low murmur of a male voice and glanced through the French door on the other side of the room. A pair of familiar boots was propped on a wrought-iron table there. He was on the phone.

  Alex kicked off the covers and padded across the room. She dug her phone from her purse and touched the screen. One-thirty? She’d slept the day away! She jabbed the numbers for information and drummed her fingers on the table impatiently as the operator gave her the number and then patched her through to Tulane University Hospital. After a brief exchange with a hospital staffer, Alex hung up.

  She rummaged through her backpack, but came up with nothing to wear, not even a pair of running shorts. For what she’d thought would be a brief overnight, she’d packed only a T-shirt, a travel kit, underwear, and a pair of flip-flops. The bloody clothes she’d left on the bathroom floor had disappeared.

  Frustrated, she crossed the room and pulled open the door to the balcony. Nathan’s gaze met hers as he listened on his phone.

  She stepped outside and looked out, not caring that the flower boxes hanging off the railing didn’t fully block the view of her standing there half naked. She surveyed the scene below. The sidewalks were crowded with tourists, the streets clogged with cars. Over the din of traffic, she heard the soulful moan of a saxophone being played somewhere close by.

  “I got it covered,” Nathan said into his phone. “Okay, then. Catch you later.”

  Alex turned around as he clicked off. He held her gaze for a moment and then his attention drifted lower.

  “What happened to my jeans?” she asked.

  “They bit the dust.”

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “I’ve cleaned up plenty of jeans. Trust me, those were history.”

  She leaned back against the railing, and her gaze landed on the white coffee cup sitting on the floor next to his chair. Behind him, on an ornate little table, she spotted a carafe and another white cup and saucer.

  She stepped across the narrow balcony and poured herself some coffee. It was lukewarm, and she didn’t bother with cream before taking a gulp. It tasted strong, like the coffee she’d had at Nathan’s all those mornings ago when she’d shown up to take him jogging. The caffeine went straight into her veins.

  “I don’t have anything else to wear,” she said, turning to face him.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “I didn’t bring—”

  “I got you a dress at the gift shop next door.”

  She blinked at him over the coffee cup. “A dress?”

  “It wasn’t exactly the Gap. They didn’t have jeans there.”

  Alex bit back a comment. He’d bought her a dress. She didn’t wear dresses. And she couldn’t imagine what sort of selection they’d had in the gift shop next door. She pictured something black with feathers and maybe a Mardi Gras mask to go with it.

  She’d deal with it later. She sank into the chair across from him, keeping her knees together to preserve some semblance of decorum. But his gaze settled on her legs anyway.

  “I just called the hospital and—”

  “No change,” he finished for her. “I called, too. Twice.”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “Since nine.”

  He’d barely had four hours of sleep, but he looked showered and clean-shaven and completely alert. What had he been doing all this time? And how had she slept through it?

  “It’s the meds.” He nodded at her bandaged arm. “You conked out.”

  Alex glanced down at her bandage. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories, and her stomach tightened. If only she’d gotten there sooner. Or gotten Melanie out sooner—

  “You okay?”

  She glanced up, and the intensity in his blue eyes startled her. He didn’t usually look that way. He usually looked low key. Casual. As languid as his voice. She must have scared him yesterday. Not just the hospital part, but her meltdown afterward.

  “I’m not going to cry all over you, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  She shrugged. “Fine.”

  But he didn’t seem convinced. She stood up. “I need to go the hospital. And I need to check myself and Melanie out of the Hyatt.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “Then I need to go get my cars. They’re both at the motel still.”

  He stood up. “First, we eat. You can do all that after.”

  She looked up at him and knew she wasn’t going to win any arguments right now. She’d save her chips for later. Something told her they’d have plenty to argue about in the coming hours, starting with the fact that he’d made no mention of any plans to leave. Nathan’s presence here—in this cozy little suite—didn’t factor into her plans right now.

  He stared down at her, as if expecting her to challenge him. When she didn’t, he stroked his hands up her shoulders and turned her around to face the door.

  “You’re a four, right?” He opened the door and steered her into the room.

  “A what?” Her gaze landed on the rumpled bed, and she pushed away the memory of going to pieces in his arms last night.

  “Size four,” he said. “I’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

  She didn’t reply. He was good at guessing because he’d been married, probably.

  Alex was a six, but she let him have his fantasy.

  She spotted the white shopping bag beside the door. She felt his gaze on her as she walked over and picked it up, then poked through the tissue paper.

  It was black. But it wasn’t bad, really. She held up the simple sleeveless dress made of some sort of rayon material. It buttoned up the front, and the skirt flared out a bit at the knee. Alex sighed.

  “There’s some other stuff in there, too.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, but the look he gave her in return was completely unapologetic.

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you back,” she said, and annoyance flickered over his face.

  Rather than give him a striptease, she ducked into the bathroom to change. Besides the dress, which was just a bit snug, he’d bought her some black lace panties and a matching demi-bra, size 34C. More wishful thinking. Alex dropped the bra back into the bag and decided to go without. After getting dressed, she spent a few minutes brushing her teeth and scooping her hair into a ponytail.

  The room smelled like shaving cream, and for a fleeting moment she felt nostalgic. When was the last time she’d shared a bath
room with a man? She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in… years, really. Troy didn’t count. They’d known each other a long time, but the romance had been a brief flash.

  What about Nathan? This whole arrangement felt intimate, and it made her uneasy. He’d come all the way here, most likely to rescue her from the perceived dangers of her job. But then what? Was he just going to walk away? He hadn’t given her a lecture yet, but she felt like one was coming. Maybe the prospect of sex was keeping him here. She remembered his arms around her last night. They’d shared a bed for hours, and he’d simply held her. But that wasn’t going to work again tonight. Part of her didn’t want it to.

  She finished up her face with some lip gloss, walked out of the bathroom, and slipped her feet into flip-flops. “Ready,” she said, picking up her purse.

  The elevator ride was quiet. They cut through the lobby, and she was surprised when he led her to the front door instead of the parking lot.

  “We’re walking?” she asked.

  “Thought I’d show you around the Quarter.”

  She squinted at the bright sunlight as they stepped onto the cobblestone sidewalk.

  “Which way?”

  He caught her hand in his and started walking. The air was heavy with humidity, and she could almost feel the steam rising up from the sidewalk. Maybe a dress was better than jeans. It was certainly cooler in this muggy climate. Nathan pulled her through the throngs of tourists with their floppy hats and fanny packs. He led her past vividly colored doorways and ornate iron gates, and she caught glimpses of lushly planted courtyards as they passed by. Many doors were flung open, and music drifted out. Alex caught snippets of zydeco, rock, a Broadway tune pounded out on a piano. Most incongruous of all were the low, pulsing thumps coming from dark doorways where neon signs advertised GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!

  On the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse, they waited patiently as a horse-drawn carriage clomped by. Half a block farther and Nathan tugged her into an alley.

  “Where…?” But her voice trailed off as she realized it wasn’t an alley, but an extremely narrow cobblestone street. He turned left, then right, then left again, seemingly oblivious to the sketchy-looking people who lurked in doorways and whose gazes followed them. Finally he reached an alley lined with potted ivies and flower boxes brimming with geraniums. A stream of people moved past them and they had to wait their turn to pass through the cast-iron gate.