A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  She passed the front desk, nodding at Brenda, the night manager, before walking down the long, carpeted hallway that grew dimmer as she neared the Sand Dollar Suite. The overhead light was out near her door, and she made a mental note to mention it to the front desk in the morning.

  She let herself in and switched on the light. The maid had been here, and it smelled like lemons again. She put the grocery bags on the dresser and stashed a few things in the mini-fridge before plugging her phone into its charger. Still nothing from Scarborough.

  Troy had been right. All her muscles were tied up in knots. But what she needed more than beer and companionship was a hot shower.

  She stood under the scalding spray and thought about her discovery. How would her boss react? With skepticism, most likely. A nine-year-old bullet was a shaky lead at best. And Elaina’s request that Scarborough send a team out to recover it from Ronnie’s shed could get her laughed out of the office. When her boss had told her that she could offer to fast-track lab work for this case, he’d meant once they’d developed a suspect. Blind DNA tests were not the norm.

  But even the prospect of embarrassment wasn’t enough to make her ignore the possibility that the through-and-through bullet they’d found tonight might have their unsub’s DNA on it. And if that same genetic profile was already in the database… She backed away from the thought. She didn’t want to get her hopes up.

  Elaina squeezed the water from her hair and stepped out of the shower. She dried off, then wiped the fog from the mirror with the towel before wrapping it around her body. Troy was right. She did look like hell. She ran a comb through her hair and studied her reflection in the glass. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her skin was a combination of too-pale from hours cooped up in an office and too-pink from her recent adventure on Troy’s fishing boat. But who cared, really? She hadn’t come to this island to pick up men. She dropped the comb in her travel kit and jerked open the bathroom door.

  Her heart lurched. The lamp was on. And Troy Stockton was stretched out on her bed.

  “How did you get in here?” She stalked over to the bedside.

  He gave her an insolent look as he lifted a bottle of Dos Equis to his lips and took a sip.

  A warm breeze wafted over her shoulders, and she glanced across the room to the open slider. She strode over to it, dragged it shut, and flipped the latch.

  “I told you, I have work to do.” She jerked the curtain closed and whirled around. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just proving a point.” He put his beer on the nightstand, stood up, and sauntered over to her. He rested his hands on his hips and gazed down at her, and she was acutely aware of her damp hair and skimpy towel.

  His gaze dropped, then came up again. “Put some clothes on. We’re getting you a new room.”

  “I don’t need a new room.”

  “I’m not asking, McCord. I’m telling. Either you get yourself a new room or you’re coming home with me.”

  Elaina stepped back, clutching her towel. Something dangerous flared in his eyes. “I already requested one,” she said, “but there’s nothing available on the upper floors right now. The manager said she’d try again tomorrow.”

  “Did you tell her you’re an FBI agent?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Christ, throw your weight around some. Flash your badge.”

  “It’s not a Triple-A card!” She walked over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. “I’ll ask again tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder. “Something might have opened— What are you doing?”

  He was on the princess phone now. “Brenda? Hey, it’s Troy Stockton.” A smile spread across his face. “I’m good, thanks. Listen, honey, I need a favor. I’m in 132 with Special Agent Elaina McCord. The FBI sent her here to help out with that murder case.”

  Elaina huffed out a breath and grabbed a handful of clothes.

  “Uh-huh… No joke… Yeah, she’s got a badge and everything.”

  Elaina rolled her eyes and walked into the bathroom.

  “I don’t know. Lemme ask her.” Troy put his hand over the phone. “Hey, have you ever shot anybody?”

  She slammed shut the door.

  “I don’t think so,” she heard him say. “Yeah, just those paper targets. Anyway, she needs a new room tonight. Something on the second or third floor.”

  Elaina pulled on her jeans and shoved her arms into the rumpled blouse she’d been wearing earlier. She jammed her feet into sneakers, not bothering with socks. Of all the arrogant, heavy-handed—

  The door opened a few inches. “I got you all set,” he said through the gap.

  She yanked the door open and brushed past him. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Better pack up.” He looked at his watch. “She’s meeting us at Room 346 in five minutes.”

  “You’re really infuriating, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  She watched him for a long moment. There was a determined look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. It told her arguing would be pointless. And she didn’t really want to argue anyway when she knew he was right. Some guy who could very well be the killer had the phone number to this room and knew she was staying here.

  Troy’s eyebrows tipped up. He knew he’d won.

  Elaina ignored him for the next ten minutes as she packed her things, exited the Sand Dollar Suite, and rode the elevator up to the third level. The doors were spaced farther apart up here. These were probably larger suites, which was going to be hell on her budget. It probably never occurred to Troy to inquire about a little detail such as room rates.

  Brenda stood in front of a room at the end of the hallway. She smiled shyly as Elaina approached with Troy at her side.

  “I can’t believe you’re with the FBI,” she gushed. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a federal agent stay here.”

  “Sorry to be so much trouble,” Elaina said as Brenda opened the door.

  “No trouble at all.” Brenda moved aside and ushered them in.

  Elaina stepped over the threshold and froze.

  “It’s our honeymoon suite,” Brenda said when Elaina turned to gape at her.

  “I can’t possibly stay here.”

  “It’s perfect,” Troy said. “Thanks a lot, Brenda.”

  Elaina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she crossed the enormous room and dropped her bag on the sofa beside the fireplace. If this suite cost less than four hundred dollars a night, she’d be amazed.

  She pulled open a huge armoire and noted the fully stocked snack tray, complete with gourmet chocolate and roasted cashews. She opened the mini-fridge and discovered an array of miniature liquor bottles, all top-shelf brands.

  Elaina turned away and caught a glimpse of the bathroom. It was decorated in the same quaint style as the bathroom downstairs, only instead of the little claw-footed tub, this room had a double shower and a Jacuzzi tub big enough for a swim team.

  At a loss for words, she walked to the balcony and stepped out.

  Moonlight glittered off the waves as they rolled against the sand. The breeze felt soft on her skin as she leaned against the railing and looked out over the shore. From this high up, she could see all the way to Coconuts, with its flickering tiki torches.

  The door slid shut with a thump. Troy’s boots scraped over the tile as he walked up behind her. His big, warm palms settled on her shoulders.

  “Troy—”

  “Shh.” He started kneading, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t step away. The pads of his thumbs dug into her muscles, magically homing right in on all those knots she’d been carrying around. Her head sagged forward. How had this happened? She’d done the smart thing tonight, and yet here she was, on the moonlit balcony of a honeymoon suite with Troy.

  “Relax,” he whispered, and his breath was warm against her ear.

  “I can’t afford this place.”

  “I talked her into giving you the sam
e rate you had before.”

  Those hands continued to work her shoulders, and Elaina closed her eyes. His body eased closer, until his thighs brushed the back of hers. She shivered. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against the warm hardness of his chest.

  She couldn’t let this happen.

  She wanted this to happen.

  His hands glided up and down her arms, very leisurely, but she could hear her own heart thudding over the hiss of the surf. He kissed her temple, and her nerves jumped.

  “You got a boyfriend I need to know about?” His voice was low and warm.

  “No.”

  “Fiancé?”

  “No.”

  His hands slid over hers now, molding her bare fingers to the railing. “Husband?”

  “No.”

  His grip tightened, and she closed her eyes, letting the solid heat of him completely surround her. Then his right hand moved up to her shoulder, and he brushed her hair to the side, baring her neck.

  “So why do you keep avoiding me?”

  Her heart raced. She wasn’t sure she could find her voice. “I just think—”

  “You think too much, Elaina.”

  He nipped her shoulder right where the muscle was tightest, and her breath caught. Her heart hammered as the gentle bite turned into a feather-light kiss that trailed up to her jaw. Slowly, he turned her around and slid his hands up to cup her face. She knew he was giving her one last out. When she didn’t take it, he tipped her head back and dove in.

  Heat speared through her body as he licked into her mouth. He tasted like lust and beer and everything she’d tried to resist her whole life. He tasted good. Her fingers dug into his jeans, and she heard a little sound in her throat. His hands slid down to her waist. His lips were firm and strong, and he kept kissing her, tasting her, and the warm pressure of his thumbs seeped through her shirt. She wanted the shirt gone. She wanted the breeze, his heat. She wanted… so many things, it made her dizzy. She arched into him, keeping one hand planted on his hip while the other combed into his hair. She curled her fingers and pulled him closer.

  His palm settled on her rib cage, and she realized he’d untucked her shirt. His hand glided over her skin and she started to say something, but he covered her mouth again and swallowed the words and his hand moved up to cup her bare breast. He made a low sound of approval as he stroked the tip of it with his thumb, and she pressed closer.

  What was she doing?

  She was in a hotel room with a man she wasn’t even dating. His body pressed against her, heavy and solid, and all she could think of was how right it felt, and how completely natural, and she couldn’t believe she’d denied herself one of life’s basic pleasures for so long. His hand moved down again, and she shivered and kept kissing him, somehow aware of the buttons of her shirt being plucked open, one by one. And then the breeze tickled over her skin, and a cold wave of panic hit her.

  He must have felt her stiffen because he stopped and looked down at her. She glanced around briefly, but the couples strolling the beach didn’t even seem to notice them up here.

  “Let’s go in,” he said.

  He knew she wasn’t comfortable. She wasn’t going to get naked with him right here on this balcony. She drew some air into her lungs and shook her head.

  He didn’t move. He just watched her closely.

  “Not tonight,” she whispered.

  He eased back, let his hand drop away. The wind moved between them, and the moment disappeared.

  And her phone vibrated in her pocket, just to obliterate the mood even more completely. She gazed up at him, and it vibrated again.

  “That’s probably my boss,” she said, refastening her buttons.

  Troy didn’t move.

  “I told him to call me back tonight, no matter how late.” She glanced down. Her buttons were askew, so she simply tied the shirttails together. Now she looked about as idiotic as she felt. “I need to go in and take care of this.”

  “I know.”

  She watched him. She’d expected guilt. Or at least some attempt at persuasion.

  Instead, he slid open the door for her. As she stepped into the dimly lit suite, her phone vibrated again, telling her someone had just left a message.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, and he was already at the door. She couldn’t read his expression.

  “Lock up behind me,” he said, and walked out.

  • • •

  The morning shrimp boats were chugging up to the wharf, trailed by a noisy flock of scavengers, when Brenda pulled into the driveway. She got out of her car and heard the sound of news radio. He wasn’t asleep yet? That wouldn’t be good.

  Instead of going inside to fall into bed, she tentatively approached the garage, where her husband had been spending so much time lately. She smelled gun oil and cigarette smoke as she stepped through the doorway.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He was at his workbench, hunched over a pistol, and he didn’t look up.

  She went farther into the room, sidestepping a crate of the MREs he liked to take on his camping trips. “Guess what happened tonight.”

  No response. His hands moved briskly, disassembling, reassembling.

  “I met a real FBI agent. She’s staying with us. She’s been there since Friday, and here I didn’t even know till now. It’s a woman, but still. I knew you’d get a kick out of it.”

  Not a word. Only the click and slide of the parts coming together over the sound of the radio. He dropped the pistol on the newspaper in front of him and jabbed a finger at the stopwatch.

  Damn, he’d been timing himself.

  He glared up at her.

  “She showed me her badge and everything,” Brenda said, trying to distract him. “She’s here investigating those murders. Knows Chief Breck. She said she’d help keep an eye on things at the inn.”

  Elaina McCord hadn’t said that, but she may as well have. What sort of law enforcement person would stay at a place and not help guard it? Plus, Brenda had given her the honeymoon suite.

  He picked up the gun and aimed it at her. A chill went straight to her heart.

  “Put that away. You know I hate those damn things.” She stared into the black hole. “Do you even have the safety on?”

  He watched her steadily, his eyes expressionless, like a shark. She hated it when he looked that way.

  Snick.

  She jumped slightly, and he laughed.

  “No bullets,” he said.

  Brenda backed out of the room. She couldn’t talk to him when he got like this.

  He touched the stopwatch again and started taking the thing apart.

  CHAPTER 9

  The headline screamed out from the stack of newspapers sitting beside the counter: PARADISE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. Mia lifted a paper from the stack and put it beside the register.

  “And something to drink with that?”

  She glanced up at the cashier. “Yes, I’d like a tall nonfat—”

  “Just the paper, thanks.” An arm reached around her and slid a bill across the counter.

  She turned around.

  Ric Santos held up a cardboard cup. “Tall nonfat latte?”

  “Your change, sir.”

  “Thanks.” He scooped the change off the counter, tucked the newspaper under his arm, and led Mia away from the coffee bar. “I got you some breakfast, too,” he said, depositing a small brown sack on a nearby table. He pulled out a chair and looked at her expectantly.

  “How did you get here?” Mia asked.

  “Drove, same as you.”

  “But how’d you get in?” She stared at him, taken aback by his appearance at this coffee shop on the ground floor of the Delphi Center. This lab had tighter security than most military bases.

  “Sit down.” He nodded at the chair.

  She sank into it and looked at what was spread out before her on the table. A newspaper, two coffees, and a paper bag containing—she peeked inside—chocolate almon
d scones.

  He sat down in the chair beside her and leaned forward on his elbows. Those brown-black eyes pinned her, and she was suddenly self-conscious about her white lab coat and messy ponytail. She’d put in two hours already this morning before coming downstairs for her nine o’clock coffee break.

  Mia’s gaze narrowed as she took in the details of his appearance—the starched white shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, the dark slacks.

  The gun and badge plastered to his hip.

  He was dressed like all the homicide detectives she worked with, and she realized he’d been a bit vague when he told her he was a cop.

  And she also realized it was no accident he’d wandered into this particular coffee shop on the ground floor of her office building at nine o’clock sharp.

  “You’ve been checking up on me. You found out my schedule.” She nodded at the cardboard cup in front of her. “You even found out my coffee preference, what I like to eat.”

  He leaned back in his chair now and looked at her. “Does that bother you?”

  “Actually, yes. And what bothers me more is that you came here in person. I told you to call me. Don’t you think this is a little presumptuous, Detective Santos?”

  “Ric.”

  She arched her brows, waiting for an answer.

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. “How many detectives call you in an average week?”

  Dozens. They’d all managed to get the number of her direct line somehow. And they all wanted updates on their lab work. She didn’t fault them for their dedication, but if she answered every one of their phone calls, she’d never get any work done. For this reason, she had all outside calls directed straight to voice mail.

  “I needed to talk to you,” he said simply. “I thought I’d have better luck doing it in person. I’ll forget your coffee preference, though, if it makes you feel better.”

  She shook her head, feeling foolish now. He’d bought her breakfast, after all. And at least he’d had the courtesy to catch her on a break, instead of having her called down from the lab.

  She picked up the latte and took a sip. One Splenda. His detective skills were impressive. “So what is it you want from me?”

  He let the question hang there, and for a moment she was back at the bar, flirting with this man and thinking he was flirting with her, too.