A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “I’m not trying to prove anything.”

  “Are you trying to get hurt?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then let the police handle this. Every time I turn around, you’re deeper into trouble.”

  She glanced up at him, and he saw the storm brewing in her eyes. “You act like this whole thing is my fault! Have you forgotten that the person behind all this is a cop? Sorry, but my faith in law enforcement is a bit shaken right now.”

  Nathan took a deep breath and tried to rein in his temper. She was right. This whole thing was a cop’s fault. And Nathan’s faith was shaken, too. Much more than he cared to admit to her.

  “Look, I’m trying to understand here,” he said. “I know you want to help, but—”

  “You really want to understand me?” She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed with emotion. “It’s easy. My job is everything to me. It’s all I have. Some people have their social life, their marriage, their Dewar’s. I have my job. That’s it.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “I know that.”

  He watched her, battling the urge to argue the point. He’d had his feelings thrown back at him enough already today.

  She peered around him, at her two cars. One would have to be picked up tomorrow.

  Nathan started the engine. “Take the Sunliner,” he said flatly, and glanced at her. She looked wary, unconvinced that he was done fighting. “It’s a target, sitting here. You’re lucky it didn’t get boosted last night.”

  She nodded and pushed the door open. She turned to look at him. “Thanks. For the ride and everything.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Have a safe trip back.”

  It took two wrong turns and nearly an hour, but finally Alex managed to find the hospital. She located the ICU, where Melanie had been moved late last night after surgery. Then she got past the nurse’s station, only to be held up at Melanie’s door by a brawny U.S. Marshal.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He stood up from his metal folding chair. “No visitors.”

  Alex let her face fall. “But she’s my sister.” She put a quiver in her voice and manufactured some tears. “I came all this way to see her.”

  He gazed down at her, stone-faced.

  “Couldn’t I peek in for just a few minutes?”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “But—”

  “It’s okay. She’s with me.”

  Alex turned to see John Holt sauntering down the hallway. He was in full ranger attire, from the hat and boots to the star pinned to his lapel.

  “Evenin’, Alex.” He nodded at the guard, then pulled a clipboard from a plastic holder affixed to the door. It was some sort of visitors’ log, and he jotted both their names on it, alongside the date and time.

  “We won’t be long,” Holt told the man, pushing the door open for her.

  Alex stepped inside the room. The only light came from a fluorescent fixture above the sink and the greenish glow emanating from the machines lined up beside the bed. Alex let her gaze linger over the heart monitor and the IV before coming to rest on Melanie.

  Her skin looked waxy. A patch of hair had been shaved, and a bandage wrapped around her skull where a bullet had grazed her. Alex knew more damage lay beneath the sheet, where a .22-caliber slug had nicked her kidney.

  Her gaze moved back to Melanie’s face. It was pale, almost gray. She looked like a corpse, and Alex had a sudden vision of the wailing, red-faced baby who’d squirmed in her arms just a short while ago.

  “Doc was in not too long ago.”

  Alex turned. Holt lurked behind her, in the shadowy niche beside the bathroom.

  “What’d he say?” she asked him.

  “She has a cerebral contusion. They’re monitoring the swelling.”

  “And the prognosis?”

  “She got through the first day okay, which is something. But her chances fade as this drags out.”

  Alex pressed her lips together. It felt wrong to be talking like this in front of Melanie. Maybe she could hear them.

  Alex went to her side and picked up her hand. It was cool and limp.

  “How long has the guard been there?”

  “Since they moved her up here.” Holt stepped closer.

  “How long will he stay?” She glanced over her shoulder, and she could see Holt knew what she was asking. Personnel was expensive, and this couldn’t go on forever. Melanie’s clock was ticking. Today, her life had value. Tomorrow, maybe not so much.

  “Let’s step outside,” Holt suggested.

  “I need a minute with her first.” She waited a beat. “Please?”

  He eased back into the shadows by the door but didn’t leave the room.

  Realizing it was the best she was going to get, Alex eased herself down on the bedside, taking care not to jostle anything. She stroked her thumb over Melanie’s palm.

  Did Holt know about Grace? If not, Alex wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. The chances of a secret staying secret diminished with every person who knew about it.

  Alex studied Melanie’s eyes. The lids looked bluish in the fluorescent glow. She noted the artfully shaped brows that Courtney had worked on just yesterday morning. So much had happened, and so quickly.

  Across the room, Holt cleared his throat.

  She squeezed Melanie’s hand and bent her head close.

  “I met Grace,” she whispered. “She’s going to be fine, don’t worry.” Alex tucked Melanie’s hand beside her on the blanket and patted it gently. “You get better now, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

  Outside the room, she gave the marshal a nod and followed Holt down the antiseptic-smelling corridor. At the end of the hallway was a visitors’ area furnished with tacky purple sofas.

  Holt gestured for her to sit, but she turned to face him instead.

  “You guys find Coghan yet?”

  He gazed down at her with those sharp gray eyes. “An officer interviewed him this afternoon at his father’s house in Freeport. He has an alibi for yesterday night.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “What is it?”

  “Says he was down there fishing.”

  “And you find that credible?”

  “It checks out.” Holt rested his hands on his hips. “For now, at least.”

  Alex rolled her eyes.

  “We think he’s got an accomplice, Alex. You sure you didn’t see anything yesterday? Not even a glimpse?”

  “I told the police everything I saw. It’s in the report.”

  “I read it,” Holt said. “But he’s not doing this alone. He has an accomplice, and we need to know who.”

  “Maybe it’s that guy from the shopping mall. You ever identify him?”

  “Sure did,” Holt said. “When he showed up at the morgue.”

  A chill moved through her. “You think Coghan killed him?”

  “Could be Coghan. Could be this mystery person.”

  “Maybe Melanie knows who it is.”

  “Maybe.”

  Alex gazed past him, down the long corridor. “How long for the marshal?”

  “A week, max.”

  She glared at him.

  “Budgets are tight,” he said. “We can’t pay to protect her indefinitely.”

  Not if she can’t help us. Not if she’s a vegetable. The words hung there, unsaid, in the space between them.

  Alex shouldered her purse. “I’d appreciate a visitor’s badge. Or some kind of clearance.”

  “Planning to be here a while?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.” She started to walk away.

  “Alex?”

  She turned around.

  “Watch your step.”

  Alex felt sick as she exited the hospital. She was on her own now, but Nathan’s departure hadn’t brought the relief she’d expected. She needed someone to talk to tonight. Or even better, someone who wouldn’t talk at all, but would
take her to a place where she could forget everything.

  Nathan could do that. He could make the rest of the world just float away until there was nothing but the two of them and their private cocoon.

  But then reality would intrude, as it always did. Their one amazing night together would turn into two. Then three. Then four, with lots of daylight hours mixed in. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d have a relationship on her hands.

  And Nathan was right. She didn’t like relationships.

  He’d start expecting things. She’d start expecting things. He’d get disappointed. She’d get disappointed. She’d been through the cycle just enough times to know it wasn’t for her. She had no interest in getting “landed,” as he put it. She didn’t know of a single happy marriage, and she’d looked around. Of course, a lot of that looking around involved tracking down cheating spouses and deadbeat dads, but still. Those were real-life examples.

  Alex retrieved her car from the hospital parking garage and found her way back to the French Quarter. Her backpack was still at the bed-and-breakfast. And she still hadn’t checked out of the Hyatt.

  Maybe she’d stay there tonight. It was late to be moving around, but the idea of spending a night in that big bed all alone depressed her.

  She pulled into the tiny lot beside the B and B and scanned the selection of cars. No black Mustang. A lump of disappointment lodged in her throat. She’d gotten rid of him, just like she’d wanted, and now she felt like a world-class bitch.

  Alex trudged through the courtyard adorned with twinkle lights, past the tables crowded with people drinking and talking and laughing against the backdrop of jazz music. She opened the door to the lobby and was relieved to see the man she recognized from last night seated at the desk in front of a computer. Instead of silk pajamas, he wore a neatly tailored suit with a lavender pinstripe.

  He stood up and smiled as she approached. “Miss Lovell. What can I do for you?”

  She pulled out her wallet, even though instinct told her Nathan would have taken care of the bill already. It was the sort of gentlemanly thing he’d do, even though he was ticked off at her.

  “I need to check out,” she said, tugging out her credit card.

  His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing wrong with your room, I hope?”

  She heard a noise outside and glanced past him, at the sidewalk bustling with tourists.

  Then she saw the car.

  “Miss Lovell?”

  “Sorry. Did Mr. Devereaux leave yet?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer and telling herself she was pathetic.

  “To my knowledge, no.” The clerk frowned. “I believe he’s at dinner.”

  She let out the breath. She tucked the card back in her wallet. She walked to the French door and peered out, just to be certain.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Lovell?”

  She glanced at the clerk, who was watching her curiously.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. “Thanks.”

  She pulled open the door and stepped into the damp New Orleans night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE

  Alight drizzle started falling as she made her way through the crowded streets. By the time she crossed Toulouse, the drizzle had become a full-fledged rain. She spotted a familiar corner and turned left, then right again, trying to retrace the route they’d taken earlier.

  The rain became a downpour. Tourists scattered, ducking into bars and restaurants, but none that looked familiar. Alex glanced around in despair. She’d been paying attention. What had she missed?

  She spied the narrow alleyway. It was empty now, and shadowy, but the neon green sign in the window said MCLEAN’s. She made a dash for it.

  The bar was warm and noisy and crowded with waterlogged tourists. Alex scanned the room. No Nathan. She elbowed her way to the back, to the raised platform where a sax player was warming up at the microphone. But the table they’d shared earlier was occupied now by a cluster of college kids.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  She glanced around, hopes fading. He’d grown up in the Quarter; he could have gone anywhere. What made her think she knew him well enough to predict his movements? Maybe that hadn’t even been his car.

  “He’s upstairs.”

  Alex turned to see Vera standing nearby, a tray of drinks hoisted on her shoulder. She nodded across the room, and for the first time, Alex noticed the stairs.

  Her heart lifted.

  “Thanks,” she told Vera.

  “Sure thing.” The waitress squeezed past with her load lifted high. “But fair warning, sugar. He’s in a black mood.”

  Alex wove through the crowd. The stairs were steep, and she climbed them carefully because her sandals were slippery with rain. She must look awful. Suddenly nervous, she finger-combed her hair. At the top of the staircase, she heard a sharp crack.

  Four big lights shone down on four green tables, all of them occupied with players. She spotted Nathan, and her pulse spiked. He was at the far end of the room, cue in hand, rounding the table as he scoped out a shot.

  Alex moved toward him, heart hammering now. She watched his athletic movements as he leaned over the felt. Every detail was visible under the bright light, and she drank it all in—his strong profile; his jaw, shadowed with stubble; the way his muscles strained against his T-shirt as he lined up the shot. She knew the instant he sensed her, although his gaze never left the ball. The cue moved—a slight jab—and balls glided across the felt.

  He stood up.

  His gaze locked with hers, and the sheer meanness in it hit her like a punch. She froze. Her breath backed up in her lungs as he pinned her with all that hostility.

  She forced her feet to move forward. His attention shifted back to the table. No longer sure of herself, she cast around for a distraction. She saw his jacket, draped across a bar stool, and decided that was as good a spot as any. A half-empty drink sat at his place. She dropped her purse on the floor and caught the bartender’s attention.

  “Rum and Coke, please.”

  She glimpsed her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was worse than she’d imagined. Her hair was dripping wet, and her thin rayon dress was plastered to her body—and not in a good way. She tucked her hair behind her ears and tugged the fabric away from her skin, but it was pretty hopeless. When the drink came, she took a big gulp.

  She caught Nathan’s gaze in the mirror, watching her, as he chalked his cue. She swiveled on the stool to face him. The intensity was there still, and she forced herself not to squirm. After a moment, she crossed her legs and tried to look nonchalant as she surveyed the pool table.

  Nathan was stripes. He was winning, too, and Alex wondered about the black mood Vera had mentioned.

  Did it have to do with her?

  She watched his face as he took aim and called the pocket. He made the shot.

  She turned around and stirred her drink. A minute ticked by. Two. She resisted the temptation to look in the mirror to see what he was doing. She’d made a mistake coming here.

  An arm reached over her shoulder and picked up the abandoned glass.

  She turned around and gazed up at him. “You win any money?”

  He drained the drink. “Fifty bucks.” He plunked the glass on the bar, boxing her in with his arm.

  “Not bad.”

  His face was inches from hers, and she could feel his body heat surrounding her, seeping into her skin. Something dangerous smoldered in his eyes.

  “I thought you’d be on the road by now,” she said, somewhat hoarsely.

  “Thought you’d be at the Hyatt by now.”

  She looked at her lap. He’d known she wouldn’t be comfortable at the B and B alone, not after last night. What did that say about her?

  She glanced up and cleared her throat. “I went by the hospital,” she told him. “No change.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  “They’ve got a guard there. A U.S. Marshal.”

 
He eased closer and rested a hand on her thigh. The weight of his fingers burned through her dress and seemed to scald her skin. He bent his head down, and she thought he might kiss her, but he stopped just shy of her cheek.

  “If you came here to talk,” he said in a low voice, “I’m not interested.”

  He eased back and stared down at her. He smelled like sweat and bourbon, and the predatory look in his eyes made her throat go dry.

  “I didn’t come to talk.”

  His grip tightened on her thigh, and her breath caught. His thumb moved under the hem, and she nearly slid off the bar stool.

  He took her wrist in his hand.

  “Come on,” he said.

  And she did.

  Her wrist ached as he pulled her behind him down the rain-slicked sidewalk. Half running to keep up with his long strides, she stumbled over the uneven cobblestones. He towed her across a street, dodging a taxi. She leaped over a puddle on the other side, and nearly landed on her butt, but he caught her and pulled her up.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh.”

  He didn’t even look, just dragged her along beside him until they reached a familiar pair of French doors. He yanked one open and nudged her in front of him, into the chilly lobby.

  The clerk jumped to his feet, no doubt startled by their soggy entrance. Nathan didn’t even spare him a glance as he caught her hand in his and tugged her toward the elevator.

  An elderly couple stood beside the call button, staring politely at the bronze doors as the elevator made its slow descent. He pulled her past them, past a planter and a bench, and pushed open the door to the stairwell.

  “Watch your step,” he said, tugging her up the stairs, and laughter bubbled up in her throat as she remembered Holt telling her the same thing, only he hadn’t meant for her to “watch her step” as she sprinted up a stairwell to have hot, steamy sex with a man who looked like he wanted to strangle her.

  They reached the third floor. Nathan pushed through the door. He snagged her purse off her shoulder as she tripped past him and immediately started rummaging for the room key.

  “Side pocket,” she said breathlessly.