Untraceable

by Laura Griffin

  Troy dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Night, Alex. Lock up tight.” Then he went down the stairs and slid back into his car.

  Alex stood on her doorstep and watched as he backed out of the driveway. She stayed there, thinking, until the sound of his engine faded completely into the night.

  The Ferrari 360 Modena turned the corner, and Nathan watched Alex watch it go. When she finally stepped back inside, he sat in the Mustang for a few more minutes, collecting his thoughts.

  Or, more accurately, grinding his teeth over the realization that Alex had spent the day with some rich hot-shot while he’d been busting his ass trying to find her.

  He got out of his car and slammed the door. A dog barked nearby as he crossed the tree-lined street to the Hyde Park mini-mansion where Alex rented a garage apartment. Nathan had thoroughly scoped out the place earlier in the day, though why a woman who kept a brand-new Mercedes and a pristine-looking 1960 Ford Sunliner stashed in her garage should need to take a boarder was a mystery. Nathan walked around the side of the garage and glanced through a dusty window. The Sunliner alone was worth at least a few years of what Alex probably paid in rent. But maybe the rich old bird liked the company.

  Nathan hiked up the stairs noisily and wasn’t surprised when the curtain behind the glass pane shifted and Alex peeked out at him. Then the door swung open.

  She fisted a hand on her hip as he looked her over. Sometime in the past three minutes, she’d changed into—God help him—blue satin pajama pants and a tight-fitting tank top.

  He dragged his gaze back to her face. “Hi.”

  Sighing, she ushered him inside and closed the door. “Excuse me while I fire my assistant.” She turned and pulled a cell phone from the purse sitting on the breakfast table.

  Nathan caught her wrist. “She didn’t give me your address.”

  “Then how’d you find me?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. It hadn’t been easy. Alex had a vast array of privacy shields, and every bit of information he’d had on her linked back to her business address.

  “I’m not kidding,” she said. “I need to know.”

  “I used your pizza trick.”

  She crossed her arms. “I never order pizza.”

  “No, but you like Hunan Cafe.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen. She jerked the fridge open and grabbed a Coke from the top shelf. A half-empty carton of Dos Equis sat on the shelf, too.

  Nathan’s irritation returned. “Where have you been all day?”

  A look of amused disbelief came over her face. “Out.”

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I was busy,” she said. “You want a drink?”

  “No.”

  She popped open the Coke and took a sip.

  Nathan forced himself to let it go. How she spent her time was none of his business. Neither was her personal life. Or the fact that she kept her fridge stocked with beer she didn’t drink.

  He turned his attention to the apartment. A flat-screen television sat on an empty bookcase opposite a striped blue sofa. The coffee table consisted of a scuffed black camp trunk. Cardboard boxes lined the far wall beneath a pair of windows, reminding him of her office the first time he’d seen it. The place looked as though she’d just moved in, but the Chinese restaurant had orders for her dating back two years.

  “Don’t you ever unpack anything?” he asked.

  “Not if I can help it. I like mobility.” She scraped back a wooden dining chair and sat down. A sliver of black lace peeked over the waistband of her pants, and Nathan’s imagination kicked into gear.

  “So what’s going on?” she asked.

  “Did Melanie Coghan have a boyfriend that you know of?”

  Alex’s face paled. “You mean she’s… dead?”

  “No.” He frowned. “At least, we don’t know that.”

  “You said ‘did,’ as in past tense.”

  “Okay, does she have a boyfriend? I need to know if she’s seeing someone. Someone here in Austin.”

  Alex shook her head slowly. “She didn’t say anything. Not to me, anyway.”

  “You think it’s possible?”

  Alex watched him, wide-eyed. Gone was the snippy attitude. She was worried about Melanie.

  “You mentioned she’d been taking trips to Austin,” he reminded her. “You think she was meeting somebody?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It would explain a few things. It would be incredibly stupid, though. What better way to piss off her husband than to come back here and have an affair, right under his nose?”

  “I can’t think of one.”

  Alex shook her head and muttered a curse.

  “It’s not your fault,” he told her. “Whatever she was doing, she ignored your advice.”

  Alex gazed up at him, her eyes wary. “What’s this about, anyway? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “We recovered a floater from Lake Austin on Tuesday.”

  Her eyes widened. “Was it—”

  “Adult male. About five-ten, one-sixty. Dark hair. He sound familiar at all?”

  “No.”

  “We’re still working on an ID.” He stepped closer. “In the meantime, I need to know why your phone number was in his pocket.”

  “My phone number? Why would some dead guy have my phone number on him?”

  Nathan pulled a notebook from his jacket, flipped it open, and rattled off the number.

  “That’s not my number,” she said.

  “It was scrawled on a book of matches. It’s to a cellular account registered to A.L. Enterprises.”

  A lightbulb seemed to go on. “It’s Melanie’s safe phone.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s just a regular cell phone. But it’s part of her emergency kit. Or it’s supposed to be.”

  “Why is it in your name?”

  “I give all my clients a safe phone. Or at least this kind of client. They’re supposed to use it only in an emergency. It’s part of this kit I tell them to put together in case their cover gets blown. They keep some cash, a phone, a simple disguise, like maybe a hat and wig. I also suggest they keep a prepaid gas card, any prescriptions—whatever they need to take off at a moment’s notice.”

  “But why is this registered to you? Why not a prepaid cell phone?”

  “Mostly, they use prepaid phones. This is just for emergencies. And I have the number, so I can track them, if I need to. The phone companies have gotten wise to pretexts from PIs, so it’s gotten harder and harder to gain access to other people’s phone records. This phone is in my name, so it makes things easier.”

  “And I’m assuming you tried this with Melanie?”

  “The very first day,” she said. “The last call bounced off a cell tower in Florida months ago. I’ve left messages on it and Melanie’s prepaid phone, but the mailboxes are full now. I don’t think she’s retrieved anything. I figure she took the battery out. Or maybe Coghan got rid of it somehow. Even the GPS wasn’t working.”

  “Interesting. And how would you know that, exactly?”

  She cleared her throat. “I sort of have this friend in emergency dispatch. I explained the situation and convinced her to ping Melanie’s phone.…” Her voice trailed off as Nathan stared at her.

  “What?” she asked defensively.

  “Nothing. It’s just, shit, here I am thinking you need a warrant, or at least a badge for that.”

  “Hey, if you don’t want to know the answer, don’t ask the question.”

  He shook his head, exasperated.

  “There’s something more, isn’t there?” she asked. “Something’s bothering you.”

  Everything about this case bothered him. Alex being mixed up in it was top of his list.

  “We haven’t IDed this floater yet,” he told her, “but we think he may have had a gang affiliation.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I can’t disclose the details.”

  “Nathan,
I need to know what’s happening.”

  He watched her for a moment, debating whether to trust her. “This is confidential,” he said finally.

  “Okay.”

  “Whoever strangled this guy cut off some skin before dumping him in Lake Austin.”

  She cringed. “Why?”

  “Tattoo removal. We see it sometimes with gang murders. You kill off a rival, take away his symbols. It’s kind of like the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to the rival gang.”

  “But if you can’t see what was there, how do you know it was a tattoo?”

  “We don’t. It’s just a possibility. Course with this link to Melanie, and to you,” he added pointedly, “we realize it might not be that simple. We’ll know more when we get an ID. Unfortunately, the whole department’s slammed right now. We’re in triage. My lieutenant just ordered me to lay off this John Doe homicide and tackle stuff that’s more solvable.”

  “But I thought gang killings usually involved guns. Didn’t you say he was strangled?”

  “Maybe someone didn’t want any noise. Or any slugs recovered. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe this has nothing to do with gangs, and someone’s simply trying to make it harder for us to identify this guy. His fingertips were in bad shape, so even if he’s in the system, it’s going to be tough to get an ID.”

  Alex shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. He could tell she was worried, which was good. Worry might make her careful. But it was the guilt on her face that really bothered him. He slid his hand up her arm and rested it on her shoulder. She glanced up.

  “Stop doing that,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Thinking this is your fault. Melanie was a grown woman. She made her own bad decisions.”

  “You think she’s dead.”

  “Maybe,” he said. And at her worried expression, he couldn’t help giving her a sliver of hope. “Or maybe she’s just avoiding you. Could be she’s involved in something shady, something that drew her back to town.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, anything’s possible. Sounds to me like she never told you the full story about why she left.”

  Alex shook her head and glanced away. She looked so pretty sitting there, and sad, too.

  It was time to go before he did something stupid.

  He dropped his hand from her shoulder. “You need to be careful,” he said sternly.

  “Me?”

  “Whatever this is, it involves you now. And until we get a handle on it, you need to watch your back.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Alex drove through Nathan’s neighborhood and was struck again by how domestic everything looked. People were out walking dogs, pushing strollers, and collecting Sunday papers off the sidewalks. Why did he live here? He couldn’t have very much in common with these people anymore. Alex pulled up to the curb and wondered if the white Saturn that kept appearing in front of his house had generated any gossip yet.

  Nathan answered the door in jeans and a rumpled white T-shirt. She smiled at his bed head.

  “Sleeping in?”

  He stepped back to let her inside. “What time is it?” he asked, and his voice was husky.

  “Almost nine.”

  He went straight for the kitchen, and she trailed behind him through the living room. “Looks like you pulled an all-nighter.”

  “Got in at six,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He went to a cabinet and pulled down a yellow tin of coffee. He put a new filter in the coffeepot, then dumped in half a dozen heaping scoops. He added water and switched on the power.

  Alex glanced at his bare feet. The cuffs of his jeans were stained with something.

  “Double homicide.”

  She snapped her gaze up to his. He’d noticed her noticing the blood. He must have come straight home from work and fallen into bed.

  “Guess I’m going to have a tough time talking you into a run this morning,” she said.

  He leaned back against the counter and looked her over. His attention lingered on her bare legs.

  “I could probably be persuaded.” He held her gaze for a long moment, and her cheeks warmed. The pot gurgled and hissed beside him.

  She turned around and opened a cabinet. Dishes. She opened another one. Cups. She pulled two down and poured coffee, even though the pot had barely started brewing. She passed him a half-full mug and took a sip from the one in her hand.

  “Whoa.” She made a face. “It’s strong.”

  “It’s the chicory,” he said. “Plus you didn’t let it finish.” He downed his in one gulp, then plunked the cup on the counter. “Gimme a minute, and we can go.”

  He disappeared into the back of the house, and she stood in his kitchen, sipping coffee and questioning her decision to show up here unannounced on a Sunday morning. It felt a little too… something. Intimate, maybe? She put her mug in the sink and went to the front door to wait.

  Nathan appeared a minute later in shorts and running shoes.

  “How far?”

  “Four-point-six miles,” she answered, leading him down the sidewalk.

  “You clocked it already?”

  “MapQuested it. We’re going to Mount Bonnell. If we take Mesa from here—”

  “I know where Mount Bonnell is.”

  She heard the amusement in his voice and glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  “You’re funny,” he said.

  “Let’s go.”

  She set a brisk pace, determined to redeem herself from the last time, when she’d had to hide the fact that she’d been sucking wind the whole way.

  He switched places, so he was running on the outside and she was closest to the sidewalk. His protective streak again.

  She cast a sidelong glance at him, admiring his straight posture and the way his T-shirt stretched taut over his chest. He caught her looking.

  “I don’t remember you being in this kind of shape,” she said.

  “When?”

  “When we worked together last fall.”

  “It’s Hodges.”

  “What?”

  “Will Hodges, my partner. Guy’s a fitness nut. Figured I needed to kick it up a notch or he’d make me look bad.”

  “I’ve met him before,” Alex said. “How old is he, anyway? He looks pretty young.”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “You’ve got a decade on him.”

  “Not quite,” he said, and she sensed she’d touched a nerve.

  “You’ve got almost a decade on me, too.” She smiled and picked up speed, and of course he responded to the bait. Men were so predictable.

  Because of their ridiculously fast pace, they reached the trailhead in almost no time. He led the way up the uneven stone steps. For a while they hiked in silence, passing a few other people out soaking up the morning. It was a popular trail, and it ended at the highest elevation point in the city.

  Alex spotted a large boulder on an outcropping of rock just off the path. “Let’s sit down.”

  She rested against the rock and glanced around. The sun cast sharp shadows over the hillside, and a chilly breeze stirred the trees. Alex closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the sweet, piney air. “I love this smell.”

  “Mountain cedar,” he said. “Lot of people can’t stand it. Gives them allergies.”

  “I like it.”

  “Spoken like a native Texan.”

  “I’m not from Texas.”

  He propped his shoe on the rock and looked down at her. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, but he wasn’t winded. Alex took another deep breath. Hot guy. Another scent she liked.

  “So what do your parents think of you chasing down deadbeats and insurance cheats?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Seems like they’d want you home in Urbana.”

  She glanced over at him. She’d never told him much about her background, and she wondered if that slip had been intentional.

  “They prob
ably wouldn’t mind.” She shrugged. “I didn’t ask them, really. I just left.”

  “Why? I hear Urbana’s a nice town.”

  “It is.”

  “But?”

  “It’s too, I don’t know… settled, I guess.”

  “Chicago too settled, too?”

  “Not really.”

  “San Francisco?”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “What’s your point?”

  “You move around a lot. Come on.” He jerked his head toward the trail, and she fell into step behind him.

  For a while, they hiked without talking. The trail grew narrower, and the trees and scrub brush thinned out as they neared the top.

  “So let’s hear it,” he said.

  “Hear what?”

  “What you need today.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you came to see me because you love jogging.”

  “Maybe I like your company.”

  “Maybe you need a favor.”

  “Have you always been this cynical?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, you’re right,” she said. “I need a favor.”

  He didn’t break his stride as they moved up the increasingly steep hillside.

  “I went back and canvassed the neighborhood over on Moccasin Road.”

  “And?”

  “And I talked to some people who noticed a Honda sedan and a Chevy Blazer at that cabin in the weeks before the fire.” Alex struggled to keep up with him as she talked. “One woman said she saw the Blazer in a ditch just off the road around ten on the night of the eighteenth. There was a red tow truck there. A pickup, too. Maybe it was Coghan’s.”

  “She get a tag number?”

  “No.”

  “On any of the vehicles?”

  “No.”

  “What color was the truck?”

  “She couldn’t remember for sure. Something light.”

  “Lot of pickups in Texas,” he stated, and for some reason his tone of voice ticked her off.

  “I’m aware of that. But wouldn’t there be an accident report or something? Maybe someone called the police?”

  “I can look into it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t respond. He was probably annoyed that she kept peppering him with requests. But at this point, she didn’t really care. Nathan was her best contact at APD, and she needed help.