“It’s in here somewhere.” She rummaged through her computer bag. “Here.”
She crossed the room and handed him an eight-by-ten photograph. It was black-and-white, but at least it was recent compared with the last photo he’d seen. Derek studied the narrow nose, the strong chin, the prominent cheekbones. He took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the picture.
“Plastic surgery?” He glanced up.
“We think so.”
He tucked his phone away and put the picture on the dresser. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They stood there staring at each other, and the moment stretched out. He slid his hand around hers and pulled her closer. She tensed.
“Why are you gun-shy with me?”
She tipped her chin up. “I’m not.”
He kissed her, pulling her against him, and she resisted. For maybe a second. Then he felt her loosen and let go, and she was finally, finally, finally kissing him the way he’d wanted her to for months. Her arms came up around his neck, and he pulled her hips against him. She tasted better than he remembered, hot and sweet, and he hoped to hell she meant what she’d said, because he couldn’t stop right now if he wanted to. He slid his hands over her blouse and felt those soft curves he’d been dying to touch, and her fingers were in his hair now. He filled his palms with her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth and pressed closer.
She tasted so fucking good and felt so perfect he couldn’t believe he’d waited so long to do this. He should have come during his last leave. He should have just shown up at her door and forced her to look him in the eye and tell him she wasn’t interested. Because the way she was kissing him now told him the opposite. She was hot and willing and felt like maybe, just maybe, she’d been thinking about this as much as he had.
She jumped back like she’d been scalded.
“What?” he asked.
She stared at him wide-eyed as his heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t believe she was putting the brakes on.
More pounding, but this was behind him. He turned around as she crossed to the door. If it was Jimmy Torres, he might have to punch the guy.
But it was a woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Her jogging buddy, the FBI agent.
“Hi.” She shot a glance over Elizabeth’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “Very sorry to bug you, but we have a meeting.”
“Now?” Elizabeth sounded frustrated but not nearly as frustrated as he was.
“Gordon’s suite, five minutes. It’s important.”
She ran her hand through her hair. “What is it, do you know?”
“We recovered the phone.”
* * *
Luke pulled open the lobby door, and they swept inside with a gust of air. Hailey was laughing. Laughing. Over some dumb joke he’d made as they’d come in off the beach. And he tried not to think along his normal lines—that a woman laughing at his jokes was a good sign he might be getting laid tonight. Because he wasn’t. No way, no how. Not tonight or any night ever as far as Hailey Gardner was concerned.
She unzipped her jacket as they crossed the lobby. “Wow.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s chilly out there. Is it always like this in the summer?”
“Not usually. Lows are typically in the sixties,” he said. Holy shit, were they actually talking about the weather? Maybe she was trying to distract him from the fact that they were once again standing near the elevators. Her hotel room was just a short ride away. And his frog sense was going haywire now, because every instinct told him she was going to invite him upstairs.
She tipped her head to the side. “You want to come up?”
God help him. Only it wasn’t the sexy, come-hither You want to come up, sailor? but more of an innocent You want to come up and hang out and, I don’t know, watch Glee reruns? It sounded totally innocent, and the look on her face seemed innocent enough, too. But there was nothing innocent about what was going through his head right now. In fact, if she knew, she’d probably be out of here in no time. He had to remind himself that this was a woman who’d been through a severe trauma recently. As in recently. As in her arm was still in a freaking cast. She had PTSD and all kinds of psychological problems to recover from. Luke wasn’t superstitious, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that if he went up to that hotel room right now, he’d get struck by lightning within twenty-four hours.
But damn, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill, and her hair was all windblown, and little strands of it had fallen out of her ponytail. And a minute ago, she’d been laughing. That was the most amazing part.
He’d mustered the cojones to take her out to talk, like she’d wanted, only when they’d gotten to the bar, she hadn’t talked about A-bad at all. She hadn’t even talked about the job that sent her over there. Instead, they’d talked about growing up in Boston and Nashville. They’d talked about siblings and parents. They’d talked about hockey and baseball and pretty much everything in the world except what was really on her mind.
It had been surprisingly easy. The hard part was now, looking down at her, wanting to take her upstairs so badly his skin burned, but knowing that was the very last place on earth he should be. When it came to women, he had an extremely crappy track record for resisting temptation. Typically, he not only didn’t resist it, but he went after it full-throttle.
He thought about lying to her. He could make something up about early-morning PT or a visiting relative or some other lame excuse. But something about the way she looked at him made it impossible for him to lie.
“I should get home,” he said. It was the God’s honest truth.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled slightly, but her eyes looked sad. “Well, good night, then.”
She reached up and hugged him, gently squeezing his neck, and by the time he reacted, she’d stepped away.
“Thanks for the beer,” she said.
“Sure.”
She moved toward the elevators, and he forced himself to walk away.
“Luke?”
He turned around, and she smiled.
“Thank you for talking.”
* * *
Lauren was waiting near the vending-machine alcove on the way to Gordon’s suite.
“Where’d we recover the phone?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” She caught her arm. “Not so fast. Is that the friend from Houston? Breakfast Booty Call?”
“It wasn’t a booty call,” Elizabeth said. “I told you—”
“He’s that SEAL you’ve been talking about in the meetings.”
“How’d you know he’s a SEAL?”
“Are you kidding? Look at the man! He’s completely ripped.” Lauren grinned. “And he’s packing heat, too, in case you didn’t notice. You didn’t tell me you knew him personally.”
Elizabeth stepped up to the vending machine. The last thing she wanted to do was show up for the meeting talking about this. “I don’t. It’s not like that.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” She fed in a bill and pounded out a Coke, which she hoped would cancel out the alcohol on her breath.
Lauren’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do you have beard burn?”
“Shit! I do?”
“Oh, my God, you are doing him!” Lauren smacked her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I want details!”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re sleeping with a SEAL, and there’s nothing to tell. Right. Obviously, you have no concept of the Mojave Desert that is my current love life. Give me something juicy. Pretty, pretty please?”
Elizabeth popped open her drink and took a sip to cool her throat. She pressed the can to her chin. Beard burn? Good Lord.
Lauren was still watching her.
“What do you want me to say? There’s nothing really going on, except . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to describe it.
<
br /> Lauren beamed. “I’m so happy for you. God, what’s it been, eighteen months? Two years since you had a boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. It’s not like that at all.” She guzzled more Coke.
“What’s it like, then?”
“I don’t know. Casual.”
“Casual.”
“As in we barely even know each other.”
“Hey, listen, I’m thrilled for you,” Lauren said, not buying a word of it. “Just be careful.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean he’s a SEAL. From what I hear, those guys are pretty busy these days, right?”
She was right. And a sour ball formed in Elizabeth’s stomach just thinking about it.
“I’d hate to see you get hung up on some spec ops warrior who’s gone all the time,” Lauren continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—indulge and everything. Get with the man. I sure as hell would. Just don’t for fall for him.”
“I’m not.”
“Not unless you have an emotional death wish.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are you?”
The sound of Derek’s voice sent a jolt through her, and for an instant she was back in her hotel room with his hands all over her and her bed just inches away.
But then she snapped back to reality, which consisted of the windowless cubbyhole where she’d spent the past four hours watching blurry footage of the shopping center’s thirty-two entrances. And those were only the public ones.
She sighed. “I’m back at the mall.”
“Got a pen handy? I have a lead for you.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Doesn’t matter. You ready?”
“Wait, hold on.” She grabbed a pen and paper as Lauren mouthed, Who is it?
Derek, she mouthed back, and Lauren’s eyebrows tipped up.
“A maroon Nissan Sentra, four-door, dented front bumper,” he said.
“What is that?”
“Ameen’s vehicle.”
“What? Where’d you get this?”
“That’s not important. But it’s good as of yesterday.”
Elizabeth’s pulse skittered. She looked at Lauren, who was obviously wondering what he’d said to get her all worked up.
She hit pause on her surveillance footage and stood up. After a quick glance around, she took the call into the break room, which was empty at the moment.
“Okay, back up.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “Where are you?”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“Wait! Don’t go. Where did you get this? Have you actually seen him?”
“Not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“I talked to someone who recognized him,” he said.
“Oh, my God, where?” She glanced out the door. Where was Gordon? She should put him directly on the phone.
“I’m not there anymore. And anyway, I’m tied up with something else now.”
“But we need to know your source.”
“Keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch.”
“Hold on! Derek?”
But he’d already hung up.
* * *
Derek could see Elizabeth’s ambush coming a mile away, but he walked right into it, partly out of curiosity and partly because her mouth was so fresh in his mind he could practically taste it.
He pulled into the narrow parking lot and found an empty space facing a row of pine trees. Elizabeth’s rental car was parked near the trailhead, and she stood beside a wooden post, stretching her hamstrings. She wore short black running shorts and a tight pink shirt that could have inspired an entire BUD/S class to tackle a twenty-mile beach run.
She eyed him coolly as he walked over.
“I figured you’d stand me up,” she said.
“Not a chance.”
She stretched her arms behind her head, and he noticed her bandage. “You’re running in those?” she asked.
He glanced down at his hiking boots. He’d had some shorts stashed in his truck but no running shoes. “Sure, why not?”
“Suit yourself. You ready?”
“Always.”
She set off down the trail, and he fell into step beside her. Ninety-nine degrees, ninety-five-percent humidity. The towering longleaf pines blocked the late-day sun, but in Houston during July, nothing could cut the heat.
“I’m surprised you wanted me to meet you,” he said. “Thought you didn’t like running.”
“I don’t. But it’s a necessary evil when I’m away from my gym.”
He picked up the pace just to needle her and for a while, they ran without talking. He wondered how long it would take her to bring it up. He guessed half a mile, but by the one-mile marker, she’d proven him wrong.
“So.” She gave him a sideways glance and caught him looking at her breasts. “You had a busy morning.”
“Yep.”
“You go home to sleep at all?” Fishing, as he’d expected. She wanted his time accounted for so she could figure out where he’d gotten his intel.
“I caught a few hours,” he said vaguely.
She didn’t talk for a while, so he picked up the speed again, passing a couple with a Weimaraner.
“You know—” Her breathing was more labored now. “Your tip earlier wasn’t exactly helpful.”
“No?”
“You have any idea how many maroon Nissan Sentras there are in Houston?”
“No, but I bet you do.”
“Eight hundred and three,” she said. “And that’s in Harris County alone. Add the surrounding counties, and it’s twice that. Where’d you get this lead?”
“I’ll tell you later, maybe over beers.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she pounded along, not letting her temper show. She set a decent pace, and she was in good shape. The main problem was her stride, but she made a solid effort to keep up with him as they veered around walkers and joggers and people pushing strollers. She didn’t talk. He waited. When another mile marker whisked past, he sensed she was ready to take another stab at it.
“I know you think you’re helping,” she said, “but you’re really not.”
He picked up the pace again, and they passed a trio of joggers.
“Derek, I’m going to have to insist that you be more forthcoming.”
He smiled. “Didn’t I tell you what it does to me when you get bossy?”
“I’m not joking.” She shot him a glare. “Gordon is threatening to charge you with obstruction of justice.”
“For sharing intel?”
“For meddling in a federal investigation.” She glanced at him. “Why on earth are you smiling? You could get arrested, do you realize that?”
He shook his head. “Now, that’s something I wouldn’t recommend, Liz. How are you going to find Ameen with me in custody?”
“We are going to find him. As in the FBI, not you. How many times do I have to tell you, you are not—”
“—part of this investigation. Yeah. Got it. I came up with a vehicle today. What have you guys come up with?” He glanced at her. “Come on, let’s hear it. Last I checked, you had four new leads: the autopsy, the Chevy, the cell phone, and the mall cams. So tell me, what have you guys managed to make of all that?”
No response.
“What’s that? Nothing? Out of that mountain of evidence?”
She surged ahead of him, leaving him in the dust. He quickly caught up to her, and then it was an impromptu race to the end of the three-mile loop. Not that it was any contest, really. He didn’t have the heart to pour on the speed like he would if he was with Luke or Gonzo. He sailed past the last signpost and glanced over his shoulder at her.
She was bent at the waist, gulping down air. He circled back, and she straightened when he reached her. Wet strands of hair clung to her neck. She was flushed, panting, and pissed off at him. The Holy Trinity of turn-ons, and he couldn’t resist grabbing her hand and pulling her in for a kiss, but
before his mouth connected, he got a sharp shove to the solar plexus.
“I’m trying to help you!” she snapped. Heads swiveled in their direction, and she lowered her voice. “Do you even realize how serious this is?”
“Matter of fact, I do, yeah.”
“If you don’t cooperate with this investigation—”
“I told you I’d be in touch, and I will. You just have to trust me.”
“Gordon wants to talk to you now. We need to know where you’re getting your information. What sources do you have that we don’t know about?”
He looked down at her and almost felt sorry for her. As ambushes went, it wasn’t exactly a victory. “Be patient. Let me work, okay? And then I’ll let you know.”
“Derek—”
“Good run, Liz.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for the invite. Anytime you want to work up a sweat, just give me a call.”
“You’re making a mistake here.”
“Oh, and don’t bother tailing me.” He smiled over his shoulder as he headed to his truck. “I’d lose you in a heartbeat.”
* * *
“He just turned left,” Elizabeth told Lauren over the phone. “Now it looks like he’s parking.”
“You want me to wait?”
“Yeah, somewhere close but out of sight.” Elizabeth glanced around as she pulled into a parking lot that had potholes the size of bathtubs. “Be sure to lock your doors.”
She parked her rental sedan at the end of a row of pickups. The neighborhood would have been sketchy even during daytime, but late at night it looked downright dangerous. To her west was a boarded-up strip center tagged with gang graffiti. To her east was a vacant lot overtaken by weeds and littered with rusted shipping containers.
Elizabeth slid from the car. Practically every pickup in the parking lot looked like it was on steroids. Derek’s fit right in. He was inside it talking on the phone, and she felt a surge of satisfaction at goosing him for a change.
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