But then the booze had hit, and it was game over. She’d puked her guts up outside his hotel, which—in her book, apparently—was an unforgivable party foul. Not that it mattered to him. He couldn’t count the number of times one of his buddies had heaved up his liquor on the way home from a bar. But Elizabeth had been mortified.
It was his own fault. He’d suggested the pub. And he’d kept the drinks flowing, along with the teasing and conversation, because she’d finally seemed to relax around him. It was a side of her personality she didn’t share much, but he’d seen it then, and he’d seen it again last night, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. The chemistry was back. Yes, she was still wary, but he planned to get past that. Soon. He had ten days’ leave remaining, and he didn’t plan to waste a day of it not getting to know Elizabeth LeBlanc better, no matter what roadblocks she threw at him. He was a SEAL, for Christ’s sake. He thrived on challenges.
His phone rattled in the cup holder, and he smiled as he picked it up.
“Hey.”
“Hi, it’s Elizabeth. Looks like I missed your call? I was in a meeting.”
Her voice was all business. And she probably had no idea that he’d spent a good portion of the last twelve hours dreaming up ways to get her naked.
“So . . . did you make it home yet?” she asked.
“Almost. Decided to take a little detour first, drop in on a friend.”
She got quiet, and he wondered if she’d take the bait. Male friend or female? Was she even the slightest bit curious? Come on, Liz.
“Listen, I’m glad you called,” she said. “I wanted to apologize for rushing off last night. It was one of those things.”
“No problem. What about you? You make it home yet?”
“Ha. Not unless Home Suites counts as home. But I made it to Houston okay.”
“Any progress?”
Silence as she debated what to tell him. “With regard to the target, no. But there have been other developments.”
He didn’t respond. Sometimes the most convincing argument was none at all.
“I can’t share the details,” she added, “but it looks as though someone on the terrorist watch list may have managed to slip through the border and—”
“Who?”
“I can’t—”
“Who?”
Another pause. “Omar Rasheed.”
“There’s an international manhunt on for the guy. How the hell’d he get in?”
“I can’t discuss details,” she said, “but it basically looks like he came through a back door.”
“Meaning Mexico.”
“He was spotted at a truck stop in Del Rio—that is, if it is him. The footage is a little blurry, so we’re relying on facial-identification software.”
“You check the surveillance cams? Get a look at his contact?”
Another pause. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. And I can’t go into all this with you.”
“If he got out at a truck stop, he probably had a contact there waiting,” Derek told her. “Or he used the stop to get a message out. ‘I’m here, pick me up at the bus depot,’ or whatever.”
“We do this for a living, you know. We don’t need you to—”
“Fine, all right. I don’t want to fight with you. But Rasheed’s in Texas? Jesus. That’s not good.”
Someone started talking in the background, and he heard her muffled response.
“I have to go,” she told him. “Enjoy your leave. I hope you get a chance to relax. Take care, okay?”
And that was it.
He hung up, pissed. And not just because she’d managed to blow him off again.
Relax? Was she serious? One of the most-wanted terrorists in the world was in his own backyard, and the supposedly best law-enforcement agency on the planet didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing there. Dread tightened Derek’s gut as he continued up the drive.
He caught a glimpse of his destination through the trees. It sat high on a hill. The gleaming white building looked like a Greek monument that had been airlifted into the heart of the Texas Hill Country.
The Delphi Center.
Besides being home to some of the country’s brightest forensic scientists, the place was a decomposition research facility. Derek watched a buzzard swoop down into some trees and guessed he hadn’t lucked into a squirrel. No, they studied people here. The very dead kind.
Derek pulled around to the back of the building as he’d been instructed. He turned into a service lot and spotted the woman he’d come to see, who happened to be his best friend’s wife.
Derek parked his truck and got out. He barely had the door shut when Kelsey threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
“Hey, Kels.”
“I’m glad you’re home.” She choked on the last word, and Derek got a lump in his throat as he stepped back to look at her.
“I’m so sorry about Sean,” she said as her eyes filled with tears.
“Me, too.” He glanced over her shoulder at the woman standing beside the service door. She had reddish-blond hair and wore a white lab coat. “You’re Dr. Voss, I take it?”
“Mia.” She stepped forward and smiled. “Kelsey and Gage have told me so much about you.”
Derek shot Kelsey a look. “Uh-oh.”
“So what’d you bring us?” Kelsey asked, recovering her composure.
Derek reached into the truck bed and unlocked the toolbox mounted behind the cab. He pulled out a smaller, portable black toolbox.
“A pair of beat-up, dirty-as-hell A.T.A.C. boots.”
“All Terrain, All Conditions,” Kelsey said. “Gage has some just like that. You want us to analyze them?”
“If you would.” Derek had filled her in a little over the phone but hadn’t gone into detail.
“What exactly are you searching for?”
“I don’t know.” He gave her a level look. “I been in some sketchy places recently. Think maybe I tracked something out.”
“ ‘Sketchy’ such as . . . a bomb factory?” She studied his face for clues. Being married to a former SEAL, she knew the score. He couldn’t tell her the details of his mission, not even the location.
“What do you think we might find?” Mia asked. The woman was a microbiologist and probably needed to know which tests to run on the boots.
“Explosive residue, biological material, could be anything—which is why I’ve got them packed in an airtight metal container.”
“Wow.” Kelsey frowned. “Don’t they have people on the base for this?”
“They do,” Derek said. “But some new intel came through in the last few hours, and I started thinking about it while I was on the road. I know you guys work with weapons-grade materials here, so I figured you’d be set up to take a look, maybe run a few tests.”
“We’re happy to.” Kelsey glanced at him. Her eyes welled up again, and she was looking at him the same way his mom did when he’d been away a long time, that look of I thought I might never see you again.
His job was hard on the people left behind, which was one reason he’d never been much on relationships. He’d seen too many of his friends try to make it work and get burned.
Derek shifted uncomfortably. “So . . . if you’ll tell me where to take this?”
“Right this way.” Mia swiped her ID badge over a panel. The service door opened, and he followed her inside.
* * *
Elizabeth had never been a runner. It was a weakness that almost did her in at the FBI Academy.
Sit-ups, yes. Push-ups, okay. She was surprisingly decent at chin-ups. But running? Nope.
She plodded along the sidewalk beside Lauren, sucking in oxygen mixed with car exhaust from Houston’s early-morning commuters. Breathe in, breathe out. One step at a time. She focused on the scant patches of grass along the pavement, trying to imagine a more scenic route than the four-lane street lined with fast-food joints and strip centers.
She stopped at a corner and ben
t over to catch her breath as she waited for the light to change. She’d always hated those peppy, supercharged joggers who bobbed impatiently at intersections, refusing to break the pace.
“You got it?”
She glanced up at Lauren. She wasn’t a bobber, either, but she looked much less winded.
“It’s hot,” Elizabeth wheezed.
“Humid.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Ninety-percent humidity, which is worse than the heat.”
The light changed, and they pushed onward. She could see the hotel. Four blocks left. Her skin was drenched, and her scalp was starting to tingle.
“Hurt, agony, pain—love it!” Lauren said, quoting the signs posted along the obstacle course at Quantico.
Elizabeth stifled an obscene gesture. She imagined Derek. She’d seen him running on the beach in San Diego once, and it was a sight to behold—shoulders back, skin glistening, muscles rippling as he ate up the sand with his powerful strides. He’d made it look easy. Fun. Beautiful, even.
She reached the hotel parking lot and stumbled to a halt.
“Good run,” Lauren chirped.
Elizabeth slouched against a lamppost and scanned the lot for her boss’s Taurus. At least he hadn’t left for the office yet—a good sign.
A phone chimed, and she and Lauren reached for their fanny packs. They couldn’t go anywhere without sidearms and electronic leashes.
“Mine,” Elizabeth said, fishing out her cell. She sucked down a breath and tried to sound normal. “Hello?”
“How was your jog?”
Derek.
“How’d you know I was jogging?” She glanced around.
“IHOP across the street.”
She pivoted again. Sun reflected off the windows, and she couldn’t see him, but she spotted a gray F-150 parked in the lot.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Taking you to breakfast.”
Her stomach did a little somersault, and she glanced at Lauren.
“Your friend’s invited, too.”
“I don’t have time for breakfast. I have a meeting soon. And I need to shower.”
“And you need breakfast. Come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”
He clicked off, and Elizabeth stared down at her phone.
“Hot date?”
She glanced at Lauren. “A friend dropped by. He’s from Houston,” she added, as if that explained it.
“A breakfast booty call.” Lauren grinned. “You go, girl.”
“It’s not a booty call, it’s pancakes.”
“Yeah, right.” She started toward the hotel.
“You want to come?”
“No way.” She gave her a wave over her shoulder.
Elizabeth glanced at the IHOP and then at her hotel room. She should shower first, but . . . what if he showed up at her door and wanted to wait? The idea of being in a steamy shower with him anywhere near her was impossible. She didn’t trust herself.
She walked to the IHOP and ducked into the ladies’ room to clean up before venturing into the dining area. It wasn’t hard to spot him. All she had to do was follow the wistful looks of the waitresses milling near the kitchen.
She slid into the booth. “How’d you find me?”
He smiled. “You told me where you were staying.”
“I said ‘Home Suites.’ There are probably half a dozen here.”
“Yeah, and this one’s by your office. I told you, Liz, don’t underestimate us spec ops guys. We’re not as dumb as we look.”
She perused the menu, trying to get her heart rate under control. She was still winded. And maybe a little flustered from sitting across the table from a ridiculously hot guy wearing jeans and cowboy boots. He could have been a Levi’s ad.
“Didn’t know you were a runner,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Looked pretty good to me.”
“I nearly keeled over on mile two.” She glanced up. “Don’t laugh. Running’s never been my thing.”
But he was grinning at her as the waitress stopped by and flashed him a smile.
“What can I get y’all?”
He nodded at Elizabeth.
“I’ll have the short stack with sausage links. And coffee.”
“And you?” She looked at Derek.
“Coffee.”
“That’s it?” The waitress’s overplucked eyebrows tipped up.
“That’s it.”
When she was gone, Elizabeth looked at him. “I thought you wanted breakfast?”
“That’s for you. I already ate.”
“It’s seven thirty.”
“SEALs are early risers.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “We get up and hit it.”
Her cheeks heated as she thought of Lauren’s booty call comment. She looked away.
“Okay, now what?” she asked. “You’ve stalked me across four states. I assume there’s a reason.”
He smiled. “I’m not stalking you.”
“No?”
“I’m trying to keep tabs on your case.”
She shifted in her seat.
“Hey.” His smile disappeared. “You know that, right? If I’m honestly making you uncomfortable, say the word.”
She looked him over. He was serious. He didn’t want her to think he was some pervert.
And he made her a lot of things but not uncomfortable. Nervous, maybe. Lustful, yes. Sometimes even a little stupid. But not uncomfortable.
“No, it’s fine.” She sighed. “I get it. You’re interested in the investigation.”
“That’s right. And hey, if you decide to take me back to your hotel room to rock my world, that works, too.”
She folded her arms over her chest as the waitress dropped off mugs.
“Relax, I’m kidding.” He sipped his coffee. “I just wanted to check in, touch base. See how things are going.”
“Things are going fine, but I can’t discuss details with you.”
“Fine, as in you located Rasheed? Identified his target? What?”
“You know, you have this exasperating way of not listening to what I say. I can’t talk about it. It’s like you with your missions.”
“You know all about my mission,” he countered. “You were in the meeting, back at Coronado.”
“Sure, one mission. It’s part of my case.”
“Exactly. My team’s part of this case. I’m just trying to get an update.”
He made it sound logical, although she knew it wasn’t. But she was tired of arguing with him. She glanced at her watch. She only had fifteen minutes left before she had to get back, so she couldn’t give him more than an overview, anyway.
“We have not located Rasheed,” she admitted. “We also have not identified the target.”
“Have you narrowed it down?”
She paused. “Somewhat.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means we have some possible leads we’re investigating but nothing that’s been substantiated.”
“So basically, you have nothing.”
She didn’t answer, which she figured was answer enough.
Derek shook his head.
“We’re working on it.”
More head shaking.
“We’ve got some of our best people down here—”
“Straight answer, Liz. Have you even narrowed it down to Houston?”
The waitress was back with a heaping plate of food, and Elizabeth suddenly felt self-conscious. But then hunger overpowered her vanity, and she dug in.
He watched her intently as she swallowed a bite of sausage. “No.”
His jaw twitched. He glanced out the window and then looked at her. “I’m here to make you an offer.”
Her guard went up.
“You deliver me some intel, I deliver you your terrorist.”
She stared at him. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said? You’re not part of this investigation.”
“You’re wrong.”
; “Derek—”
“I became part of it the second my boots hit that rooftop in Asadabad.”
No, the second his teammate got killed. This was about payback for Sean Harper, but he didn’t want to admit it.
“Listen, I understand you want to help, but—”
“Hear me out, okay? And then you can lecture.” He gave her a long look. “I graduated from BUD/S not long after 9/11. You know what I spent my first four tours of duty doing?”
She waited. But it became clear he wanted an answer. “I don’t know,” she said. “Looking for Osama bin Laden?”
“Every guy over there was looking for bin Laden. But do you know what I actually spent my time doing?”
“What?”
“Assaulting cave complexes. Afghanistan has more than a hundred fifty thousand square miles of mountains. That’s miles of cave complexes and some of the most treacherous terrain in the world. We’d get a name and a scrap of intel, and it was like go.” He snapped his fingers. “Over and over again, our mission was to find a needle in a haystack. And we did it.”
He leaned closer. “I can find this guy in Houston. Hell, I can find him in Texas.”
She didn’t respond.
“Just give me what you have. A license plate, a phone number, an address. Give me some scrap of something about this tango or someone you even think might be helping him, and I’ll turn it into a lead and track him down.”
His confidence was mind-boggling. She would have laughed if he hadn’t looked so stone-faced.
“You’re serious.”
He nodded.
“We’ve got an entire task force looking for this guy. What makes you think you can find him?”
“I’m better.”
She shook her head. “Even if I wanted to involve you, which I don’t, for about a dozen reasons, including that I could get fired—”
“What’s more important? The lives of innocent people or your job?”
“Hey.” She pointed her fork at him. “That’s a cheap shot. Of course I care about innocent people, but I can’t very well help them if I lose my job, can I?” She picked at her pancakes and tamped down her annoyance. “Even if I wanted to give you some magic bit of intel, the fact is, we don’t have any.”
Beyond Limits Page 7