“The people who work for you—do you know which ones smoke?” she asked.
“None of them.”
“None? How do you know?”
“Piss tests.”
She blinked. “You actually—”
“Absolutely I do.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important.” He paused. “You really want to hear this?”
“If it’s relevant to the case.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, and she felt the full power of his gaze. The intensity of it put a flutter in her stomach. “When we’re working a job, the most important thing—the life-and-death thing—is focus. We have to be in the moment, every moment.” Those green eyes held hers, and she couldn’t look away. “Most attacks will happen in under five seconds, start to finish. We have to see it coming, interrupt it, and get the protectee out of harm’s way. The way we do that is focus. All the time. That means no distractions. I can’t have someone watching a rope line or a doorway or a rooftop, but they’re not really watching it because they’re thinking about their next cigarette or anything else. No cravings.”
“What about food or sex or coffee? You’re saying they don’t crave that?”
“We minimize it.”
“So you just expect your guys to be superhuman.”
“In some ways, yes.” He leaned back in the chair now. “And since you asked about it, I don’t have sex with clients. That would be the mother of all distractions. If someone working for me does it, he’s gone.”
She didn’t hide her skepticism.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you to a point,” she said. “Maybe you can control you, but you can’t control other people. A lot of people can’t even control themselves.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Honey, you’re a cynic.”
“I’m a realist.”
He watched her eyes, and she felt a warm tingle. His attention dropped to her mouth, and again she wondered what kissing him would be like. She’d been wondering since she first met him, first saw him. His intensity appealed to her. Hell, everything about him appealed to her. Except that even with an alibi, he was on the wrong side of this investigation. One of his guys might have committed the murder.
“You know, you never answered my question the other night,” she said. “What were you doing skulking around in the forest?”
“Setting up surveillance cams.”
Her eyebrows tipped up with surprise. “In the woods? Why?”
“They’re my woods. I told you before, I own the land.”
“I know, but—”
“Perpetrators sometimes return to the scene of the crime.”
“Are you saying you’re investigating this case?”
He didn’t answer.
“Liam, you are not an investigator.”
“If I find something important, you’ll be the first to know.”
“And who are you to decide that? You shouldn’t be collecting evidence of any kind. You could destroy chain of custody or create holes in the case that a defense attorney will exploit at trial.”
His expression darkened, and he leaned closer. “Let me explain something, Tara. Catalina was my client and my friend. Someone hunted her down like an animal and slaughtered her, and probably got off on it, too.” He paused, holding her gaze. “I intend to find the man who did that. And I don’t want him tried—I want him dead.”
The words chilled her. If she’d ever wondered what sort of Marine he was, now she knew. He was hard, merciless.
Lethal.
And she didn’t want to be hearing any of this. He should know better than to say it to someone with a badge, but he didn’t seem to care. Did he think she’d cover for him if it came to that? Having seen the victim, Tara understood his desire to get revenge. But her job wasn’t about revenge. She’d taken an oath to uphold the law.
She looked away and tried to think of a new topic. “So, I understand you have a lot of job applicants. I’m guessing that includes a lot of Marines?”
“We get people from everywhere.”
“Okay, but a lot of military?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is that, exactly?”
“Supply and demand.” He took a sip of water, and she waited for him to explain.
“Thousands of guys are coming out of the service right now with very specialized skills,” he said. “Police, fire, paramedics—a lot of those training programs are full up, including mine. I get a hundred applicants for every one I hire.”
“And you run criminal background checks on all your people?”
“Every last one.”
She’d bet that wasn’t the only sort of check he ran. He probably went deep, and why shouldn’t he? His business was all about hiring the right people. And it sounded like he could afford to be picky.
“I told you,” he said now. “It’s not one of my men.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
He looked at her, and for a while they were locked in a staring contest. Tara felt a surge of annoyance, with herself and with him. She shouldn’t be here like this. They had competing agendas. And just being in his presence made her lose focus on hers.
He watched her, and it was as if he could look right into her mind and see all those conflicting emotions. How did he do that? How did he make her feel as though he knew her innermost thoughts, including the ones she shouldn’t have?
She took a last sip of her drink and forced herself to slide back her chair. “I should go.”
He nodded.
But she didn’t move. She just looked at him, and with every passing second his gaze grew hotter. She needed to leave before she did something stupid.
She reached for her purse, but he caught her hand.
“I got this.”
She watched him, feeling the weight of his fingers through her sleeve, and she didn’t know what “this” was. Not really an interview. Definitely not a date or even a pickup.
She stood. He stood, too, pulling out his wallet. He left money for the drinks, along with a big tip, and then he rested his hand at the small of her back as they walked to the door. Tara’s nerves flitted. A moment later, they were out on the sidewalk.
Traffic whisked past. A cold wind whipped her hair around her face, and she brushed it away.
“Well, good night.” She glanced up and felt her stomach drop as she read his look.
He leaned down and kissed her.
Her mind emptied as he pulled her into him. The firmness of his lips and the hardness of his body made her too shocked to move. His hands slid around her waist and splayed across her back, and then she was moving, sliding her fingers around his neck and letting herself be lifted right up onto her toes. She was letting him in, tasting him, feeling his tongue and his hands and the wall of his chest pressed against her. He tasted so good, and he felt solid and male.
She had a fleeting image of her hotel room across the street but pushed away the thought. And then he changed the angle of the kiss, and she couldn’t think at all as his tongue tangled with hers and the kiss went on and on. She liked the way he kissed—strong and confident and unyielding. Not taking no for an answer. She didn’t want to tell him no. She could feel his desire for her, and anything he could dream up she wanted to say yes to. The world seemed to fall away, and she was holding on to him, struggling for balance as lust spread through her. She made a small, needy sound in her throat, and he pulled her in tighter.
She leaned away, flushing. His eyes were dark and simmering, and she knew what he was going to say. Come back to my room.
She stepped away. “I have to go.”
He watched her intently. But he didn’t argue, and she felt a tug of disappointment.
Traffic hummed around them, and a chill swept over her skin as she glanced around. She brushed her hair from her eyes and tried to make her voice sound normal. “So . . . you’re going back to Dunn’s Landing tomorrow?”
&nb
sp; He nodded.
“I’ll probably see you around town, then,” she said.
“Count on it.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tara stacked by the door, staring at Brannon’s back, the M-4 cradled in her hands. Her heart pounded and her throat felt dry as she waited.
“Alpha, you’re a go.” The commander’s voice came over the radio, followed by a deafening boom as the battering ram hit wood.
Then they were pouring in, storming the apartment in a thunder of boots and flash-bangs. People screaming, running, diving to the floor. The room smelled of pot and fear. She sidestepped the chaos and scanned for her objective, quickly finding it beyond the tangle of obscenity-spewing bodies being cuffed on the ground.
“North hallway,” she told Brannon, making a dash for it. One door left, two right. And a lone gray door at the end that pulled her like a magnet.
“Dead bolts.” She tossed a look over her shoulder.
“Want me to—”
“I got it,” she said, blasting it with a kick. The door bowed but didn’t break.
“Here, lemme—”
“No!” She backed up and flew at it again, stomping so hard the force rocketed up her leg as the door burst open and smacked against the wall—boom!
Tara rushed inside, Brannon behind her.
The room was dark, and the stench hit—sweat and urine and other foul odors. The floor was a sea of cushions and sleeping pallets.
“Rushing!” Brannon darted across the room and through a door that stood ajar. “Check this out.”
Tara was still scanning the blankets for any sign of life, but the room was empty, and her stomach knotted with fear as she followed Brannon through the doorway.
She knew the room from the videos—every detail, down to the wrought-iron bed and faded black comforter. The bed was empty now, the entire room empty. Her gaze went to the scarred wooden dresser where a frozen yogurt cup had once been.
Now it was gone.
A glint on the floor caught her eye, something peeking from under the bed. She dropped to her knees and pulled out a sequined pink flip-flop, a child’s.
“Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Hey!” Brannon’s gaze snapped to hers. “You hear that?”
She listened. Turned. Behind a floor-to-ceiling curtain over what she’d assumed was a window, there was actually a door.
“Cover me,” Brannon said, pushing it open.
Thin white legs. Bare feet. A mop of brown hair. It was a girl, maybe four, huddled beneath the sink. Tara rushed over, making soft shushing noises she didn’t recognize—a nonverbal soothing that seemed to spring from inside her.
“Chhh, chhh, chhh . . . it’s all right.” She slung her gun to her back and crouched beside the girl. Brannon switched on the light, and Tara saw the glimmer of metal dangling from the pipe beneath the sink. The handcuff was attached to a tiny wrist, rubbed raw.
“Find a key,” she ordered, and Brannon disappeared, leaving her alone with the child.
Matted hair, dirty cheeks. Her wide, dark eyes made Tara’s heart pinch.
“Chhh, chhh, chhh . . . it’s okay now.” Tara reached for the girl, but she cowered back. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out now, okay?”
More squirming and pulling. In her flak jacket and helmet, she must look terrifying. Tara pulled off her helmet and prayed the social worker would get her ass over here. Then she grabbed a towel off a hook on the wall and wrapped it around the quivering shoulders.
Tara glanced back at the empty bedroom. She’d memorized every detail down to the stains in the Sheetrock.
She looked at the cowering child. “The others,” she said softly. “Do you know where they are?”
“He said don’t talk.”
“It’s okay now. You can talk to me. Do you know where the others went?”
She nodded slowly, and Tara’s stomach filled with dread.
“Where are they? You can tell me. Where are all the girls?”
Tara jerked upright, heart pounding. She stared into the darkness. She glanced around at the clock, the TV, the stripe of gray seeping through the curtains.
Another hotel room, this one in Austin. She brushed her hair from her face. Her T-shirt was soaked with sweat. She peeled the sheets away and walked into the bathroom, still disoriented as she groped around for a light switch. She blinked at her reflection in the mirror.
Damn.
Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot. The fluorescent light didn’t do her any favors. Ditto the lack of sleep and the endless workdays strung together, week after week, until it was all a blur.
The most important thing—the life-and-death thing—is focus.
Liam’s words echoed through her head like an indictment. When was the last time she’d focused on anything?
She stared at the mirror, straining to think objectively.
Before the raid.
That had to be it. Days before the raid, her focus had been razor-sharp. It was that utter focus that had allowed her to spot the yogurt cup in the back of a sex video. A small paper cup that she’d traced to a yogurt shop had broken the case wide open.
But that was days ago, almost a week. And now she was running on fumes.
She thought of Liam’s eyes last night, so dark and observant.
Why SWAT?
She’d told him but only part of it.
Yes, she’d joined because she was determined to avoid being pigeonholed. Law enforcement was a boys’ club, and in that sense the Bureau was no different from thousands of station houses across the country. Change was coming but at a glacial pace. People had to retire and die, taking their crusty attitudes with them to the grave.
She hadn’t told him the full story, the emotional part. She hadn’t told him the team was her lifeline. She needed it. Beyond the harsh and sometimes brutal camaraderie, she needed the raw, physical release. She needed to storm through those doors and stare into those faces and slap bracelets on those people who’d hurt people. It was her outlet, her antidote for the feelings of impotence that could swallow her, for that creeping sense of being invisible to all but the most calculating eyes. It was her way of slapping back.
Usually. But last week’s raid had slapped back at her.
She had no one to blame but herself. She should have seen it coming.
Tara glared at her reflection. Get over it.
She had a job to do, and it deserved her full attention. In that, at least, she knew Liam was right.
She reached into the shower and set the water to scalding. She stripped out of her tank and panties and stepped into the hot spray just as her phone chimed from across the room. Cursing, she snagged a towel and rushed to catch the call—M.J.
“It’s six thirty-two,” Tara snapped.
“Are you in Austin?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Liam?”
“At the moment, no idea,” she said. “But he was here last night. Why?”
“We need you back here ASAP, Tara.”
“Don’t tell me—”
“We’ve got another one.”
THE FOREST WAS damp and cold, and Tara’s breath frosted in front of her as she slid from the car. She scanned the crime scene, marked off with yellow tape. She saw sheriff’s deputies but no sheriff, and Kelsey Quinn’s fiery hair stood out against the dull gray tree trunks.
The forensic anthropologist knelt on the forest floor, scraping at something with a small tool. The area around her was surrounded by metal stakes and cordoned off with blue twine.
Kelsey glanced up and climbed to her feet. “You made it,” she said, dusting her gloved hands on her jeans. Her knees were black with dirt. “Agent Martinez must have called you.”
“She did,” Tara said. “Is she around?”
“I think she’s with the sheriff.”
“I’m surprised he notified you.”
“He didn’t. The coroner called,” Kelsey said. “Cypress County’s secon
d skeleton in six months. I definitely think he’s feeling in over his head. Anyway, I’m glad he notified me this time. I like to see the remains in place.”
Tara looked down at the excavation site, which had been neatly subdivided into a grid of one-by-one-foot squares. Gray sticklike objects protruded from the soil. They didn’t even look like bones, really.
“Who reported this?” Tara asked.
“Anonymous.”
Tara raised her eyebrows.
“If I had to guess, I’d say hunters.”
“Why’s that?”
Kelsey tucked a tool into her pocket. “Deer season ended a week ago. Could be they were torn between civic duty and wanting to avoid being hit with a fine by the game warden.” She tugged her gloves off. “Let me show you what we have.”
She walked away from the grid to a separate area on the other side of the clearing.
“This is private property?” Tara asked, looking around uneasily. They were only a few miles from Liam’s ranch.
“Belongs to a timber company out of Louisiana, I’m told. Here, have a look.” Kelsey gestured to a smaller site designated with orange twine. Leaves had been cleared, and Tara noted the scoop-shaped depression in the soil.
“A skull?” Tara asked.
“That’s right.”
Tara glanced over her shoulder. “Is it unusual to find it so . . . apart from everything else?”
“That happens a lot,” Kelsey said, “mostly due to scavengers, particularly when remains are buried in a shallow grave or not buried at all. And to make matters worse, we had a flood here not long ago, as I told you back at the lab. So anything could have scattered the bones—scavengers, people, Mother Nature.”
“Where is it now?”
“The skull? I’ve got it boxed already. Don’t worry—it’s been tagged and photographed. We’re extremely thorough, I can assure you.”
“Any obvious cause of death?”
“No bullet holes, slugs, or lead wipe.”
“Lead wipe?”
“Metallic deposits left in bone when a bullet penetrates. Of course, I’m just getting started, so there’s still time.” Kelsey rubbed her forehead with the back of her sleeve. Despite the cold, she looked flushed. Hunching over a grave site was obviously hard work.
Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) Page 10