Tracers 02 - Unspeakable

by Laura Griffin

  “Special Agent McCord.” His voice oozed disapproval.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He cocked his head to the side and watched her. “Do you know how many years I’ve got in?”

  She floundered for a response. “Years you… No. No, sir, I don’t.”

  “Twenty-three. Last ten of ’em here, too.” He tapped his knuckles on the table. “That’s three more years than your father had before he retired to write his books, you realize that?”

  Her stomach filled with dread. A vague impression she’d had since the first day she’d walked into this office began to crystallize.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but what does my father have to do with this discussion?”

  He gazed at her for a few endless seconds. “Something interesting happened right before you showed up here last fall. I got a call from Quantico. Were you aware of that?”

  Elaina opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What had her father done?

  “Someone very well-connected in this organization strongly suggested that I encourage you to rethink your career choice.”

  “That you… what?”

  “I was told to weed you out, McCord.”

  Elaina couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.

  Scarborough leaned back in the chair, watching her. “You know, some folks think this office is like the Wild West. They’re not too far off, really, when you consider some of the shit we’re dealing with. Quantico usually gives us a lot of latitude, and I like it that way. What I don’t like is some pencil pusher calling me up and telling me how to run things. And as it turns out, the call wasn’t really necessary because you’ve been doing a pretty good job of getting weeded out all by yourself.”

  He flipped open the file sitting in front of him, and Elaina noticed it for the first time. She held her breath.

  “Some notes from your field supervisor,” he said. “‘The agent is highly intelligent, has strong organizational skills, and shows great attention to detail.’”

  Elaina cleared her throat. “Thank you. Sir, I—”

  “It also says here that you’re a loner, that you’re headstrong, and that you have a tendency toward insubordination.”

  Elaina clamped her mouth shut.

  “Loomis is even less impressed than that. He thinks you’re a liability to this office and is suggesting a letter of censure in response to your behavior since you joined his task force.”

  Her mind reeled. A letter of censure would follow her around for years, making it virtually impossible for her to join an elite team within the Bureau. She heard her dreams of becoming a profiler being crushed like a tin can.

  “That’s Loomis’s take,” Scarborough said. “I’m inclined to hold off.”

  She blinked at him. “Why?”

  “Because of this lead you developed. The computer game. Loomis thinks it’s screwy as hell, but we’re dealing with a man who disembowels women for fun. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a screw loose. Anyone with a map can see there’s something to the theory.”

  She held her breath, waiting.

  “You might say your ability to think outside the box saved your ass this time.” He flipped the file shut. “The letter of censure’s on hold for now, but you’re done with the task force. I want you off that island and back at your desk by Monday morning.”

  “But I was planning to go to Coconuts tonight. To help with surveillance.”

  “Forget it—that’s his trolling ground. And we’ve got more than enough men assigned to it.”

  She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a look.

  “That’s it, McCord. You’re off the task force. Even if Loomis wanted you on his team—which he doesn’t—the unsub’s fixated on you. He’s reached out to you about his last three kills.”

  “He didn’t call about Angela,” she rushed to say. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

  “Are you sure? No odd phone calls? No notes on your windshield or slipped under your door?”

  Elaina froze. She thought of the incident with her car the other night, when she thought she’d left the lights on.

  “Maybe he’s taking a breather, then, but it won’t last long.” Scarborough pushed the file away and crossed his arms. “Anyway, he’s toying with you, and I’m not planning to dangle one of my agents out there like bait. Dismissed.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Dismissed, McCord. I’ll see you here Monday.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Mia waded through bar patrons, searching for Elaina McCord. This place was packed tonight, but the woman had to be here somewhere.

  An icy drizzle of beer landed on Mia’s shirt. She gasped and looked up to see a man grinning down at her from beneath his baseball cap.

  “’Scuse, me.” He toasted her with his cup. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

  Yeah, right.

  Mia was about to tell him off when she spotted Elaina on the other end of the volleyball court, standing beside a group of agents.

  “Hey, you want a drink?” the beer-slosher asked.

  Mia ignored him and plowed her way through the crowd. Elaina was deep in conversation with Weaver, who looked extra grim this evening, despite his don’t-worry-be-happy attire. Elaina, by contrast, was dressed kick-ass agent style in a black pantsuit and white shirt.

  Elaina pretended not to notice her, and Mia waited patiently for her to look up.

  “Is it true?” Mia asked.

  Elaina traded looks with Weaver before responding. “Is what true?”

  “That you’re off the case.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I can’t believe it! How can they take you off?”

  “They can do whatever they want,” Elaina said, and glanced at her watch. “Anyway, I need to get going.”

  She wouldn’t make eye contact, and that—more than anything—told Mia she was near the breaking point.“Wait.” Mia clasped Elaina’s arm, obviously startling her. “Just… let’s have a drink, okay?”

  “I really can’t.”

  “Just for a minute. Before you go.”

  Mia claimed a bar stool a few spots down from Weaver, who was eyeing her curiously. They probably thought she was a little nutty, and maybe she was, after spending the past five nights burning the candle at both ends. Mia’s nerves were frayed, so she had at least an inkling of what Elaina was feeling.

  Elaina sighed. One more glance at her watch, and she took a stool. “A Coke, please,” she told the bartender.

  Mia ordered a margarita, and Elaina watched her impatiently.

  “So did you want to talk about something in particular, or… ?” She waited for Mia to fill in the gap.

  Mia watched her for a moment, and then she got it. Her fuzzy view of the taciturn special agent suddenly sharpened.

  “You don’t have a lot of girlfriends, do you?” Mia asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re extremely direct. And you don’t like to chat.” She shrugged. “It’s just an observation.”

  Elaina cast an annoyed look at the bartender, as if wishing he’d hurry up with their drinks.

  Mia reconsidered her take on the situation. Maybe this was a Troy thing. Maybe Elaina had picked up on something from her and Alex and was on the defensive about it.

  Elaina met her gaze now. “What is it you wanted, exactly?”

  Or maybe she was just prickly.

  “I wanted to see if you might try to stay on,” Mia said.

  “It’s not my decision.”

  The drinks came, and Mia stirred hers thoughtfully. “You realize you’re the only woman on this case, don’t you?”

  Elaina sipped her Coke and looked away.

  “And you realize you’re the only one who believes in this Web angle, right? If you leave, who’s going to follow up on that?”

  “That’s not my call. I’m off the team.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “This is your brainchild, Elaina. You convinced Ben. You conv
inced me. You even convinced Ric, and now you’re leaving? Why won’t you fight for your case? I think you’re on to something here, and now it’s going to fall by the wayside.”

  “It won’t fall by the wayside.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion, “at this very moment my vehicle is on its way to the lab. The unsub left me a note two nights ago—the GPS coordinates where Angela Martinez was found. Only, I didn’t realize what he’d done until it was too late to help her.”

  Elaina downed the rest of her Coke and plunked the glass on the bar. She started to reach for some money, but Mia stopped her.

  “He left a note in your car?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Finally, Elaina looked at her, and Mia recognized the emotion swimming in her eyes: guilt.

  Mia pulled a credit card from her purse. “Don’t take that on, Elaina. It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”

  Elaina snorted. “That’s crap. If I’d done everything I could, she’d be alive right now. This guy tried to give me a message, and I was too blind to see it.”

  Mia watched her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ric was right. The killer was fixated on her.

  “I think your boss is right,” she said now. “You should step aside. Your colleagues can handle this one without you.”

  Elaina glared at her. “You want to know how they’re handling it? Look around this place.” She gestured to the agents standing around in khaki shorts and deck shoes. “It looks like a freaking Land’s End photo shoot. And you want to know who they interviewed this afternoon? Cinco Chavez! I swear to God—” Elaina pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away.

  The bartender returned with a credit card and a receipt. Mia glanced down and slid the card back. “That’s not mine,” she told him. Then to Elaina: “They’re really interviewing Cinco?”

  “Yes.”

  She lowered her voice. “As a suspect?”

  “Yes! Forget that there’s no physical evidence connecting him to these crimes. Forget that he’s been in the presence of other law enforcement officers when some of the victims went missing.” She glanced around and seemed to realize this wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation. “Anyway, yes I’m definitely off the task force, and no I don’t think my colleagues will handle it. Anything else you want to discuss with me? Hey, how about our shared interest in Troy Stockton? Maybe that would be a little more comfortable. I thought he was great in bed, but the morning after sucked. What was your experience?”

  Mia gaped at her.

  Elaina took a deep breath and blew it out. From the corner of her eye, Mia saw Weaver watching them with a pained look on his face.

  “I just love girl talk,” Elaina said, sliding off the stool. “We should do it again sometime.”

  Elaina was at his house. Or Weaver. Or someone else who drove a piece-of-shit Taurus, but Troy hoped it was Elaina. Five minutes ago he’d wanted nothing more than a cold beer, a hot shower, and about ten hours of sleep, but as he trudged up the stairs, the sight of Elaina sitting on one of his deck chairs looking out over the water changed his mind. So did the little black overnight bag parked beside his door.

  She got up and walked over. “You’re home,” she said.

  She wore her hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail. Troy took in the black suit, the badge, the gun plastered to her hip. She wasn’t dressed for Coconuts, and he knew the rumor he’d heard from Maynard was true. She was off the task force, which meant that she was leaving.

  Something sharp twisted in his chest.

  “May I come in?” she asked, and her voice was loaded with politeness.

  In answer, he unlocked the door and jerked it open. Then he picked up her bag and gestured her inside.

  His house was dark, but he didn’t bother with lights. He tossed her duffel on the sofa and emptied his pockets onto the kitchen table: wallet, cell phone, tape recorder.

  She stood beside the door, looking uncomfortable as she glanced around the house.

  She took a tentative step toward him. “Where were you today?”

  “Road trip.”

  “Road trip where?” Another tentative step.

  “Huntsville,” he told her. “And I need to shower.”

  He felt her behind him as he walked toward the back of the house. “Talked to Cinco,” he said, stripping off his T-shirt and tossing it on a chair in his bedroom. He turned to look at her. She’d never looked as agent as she did right now, and he couldn’t believe she was back at his house.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “Pissed.” He sank onto the bed and pulled off his boots. “It wasn’t your idea, was it?”

  “I can’t believe you’d even say that.”

  He flung a boot into the corner. Then another. “Thought maybe you sold them on your cop theory.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m off the task force.”

  “I heard.” He stood and gazed down at her. She didn’t look too broken up about it, but Troy knew better. There was a reason she’d come here. She needed something from him, and it had nothing to do with the case.

  She broke eye contact with him and stepped toward the door. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I should let you shower.”

  He walked into his bathroom, turned the shower to scalding, and spent ten minutes scrubbing away the scum of humanity that seemed to cling to him every time he set foot in that prison.

  He yanked a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist. His bedroom was empty now. He pulled on some jeans and found Elaina in his kitchen, standing before an open refrigerator. She’d taken her jacket off and rolled up her sleeves.

  “You shop like a bachelor,” she told him.

  “I am a bachelor.” He reached around her and grabbed a beer off the top shelf. “If you’re hungry, I can order a pizza.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She closed the door, and then they were standing there alone in his darkened kitchen. He popped open his beer, then leaned back against the counter and watched her over the bottle as he took a sip. Her gazed dropped to his bare chest, then slid back up again. She was uneasy here, nervous. And he didn’t mind because he knew she was struggling to keep her emotions in check, which meant she had emotions where he was concerned.

  He had emotions, too. They were bound up in a big, tight knot in the center of his chest. Mainly anger, with some lust mixed in. But mostly anger.

  She stared at him through the shadowy room. Moonlight streamed through the window above the sink, outlining her silhouette. His eyes were drawn to the badge and the gun at her hip.

  “Tell me about Huntsville,” she said.

  “I interviewed Diggins again.”

  She tipped her head to the side.

  “I needed to see where he got his information all those years ago. About Mary Beth.”

  “And?”

  “Turns out he overheard one of the guards talking about it after he was taken into custody. One of them had a buddy who worked the crime scene. That’s where he got his details.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “He told you that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Impressive interview skills.”

  He shrugged. “Tools of the trade.”

  “Still, it’s impressive.”

  He looked at her Glock, then met her gaze again. The silence stretched out. He stepped forward and she eased back slightly.

  “What are you doing here, Elaina?” He leaned a palm on the counter beside her, and she looked up at him.

  “I don’t know.”

  He moved closer and brushed the cold lip of his bottle against the place on her neck where her pulse thrummed. “Yeah, you do.”

  She shivered and closed her eyes, and he brushed the icy wet bottle against her breast. He heard her sharp intake of breath. He rubbed the bottle over her nipple, and it made a wet mark on her crisp white shirt.

  “Tell m
e why you’re here.” He held the bottle against her as he slowly, one by one, plucked open the buttons on her shirt.

  Her eyes drifted open, and she gazed up at him. He rested the beer on the counter and parted her shirt with his hands and found the pale lace bra she wore beneath all those unisex clothes. She’d put it on for him. He knew it. And it was an unbelievable turn-on.

  “You want something,” he murmured in her ear, and slid his finger up to trace the lace. “Elaina?”

  “I just—”

  He kissed her. Roughly. Because he didn’t want to hear her excuses. He wanted honesty for once. He wanted her naked and honest and open to him without all the bullshit. He wanted her. Now, before she suited up again and went back to her home and her life and her goddamn career.

  He kissed her deeper, longer, harder, sliding his hand down and dipping his fingers inside her pants, and he heard her breath catch.

  “Tell me what you want, Elaina.”

  She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. “You,” she whispered, and he touched her where she was soft and hot, and she pressed against him. “Please, I want you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Troy pulled her into the bedroom, and she was barely inside before he had her shirt off and her bra unfastened. This was happening so fast this time, and she hadn’t even been drinking.

  “Wait,” she said, fumbling with her belt. She jerked the buckle open, and saw the glint in his eyes as she took off her badge and holster and placed them on his dresser. He reached behind her and loosened the rubber band at the nape of her neck, so that her hair spilled freely over her shoulders. He eased her back onto the bed and he rested his knee on the mattress as he reached down to slip off her shoes.

  Thunk—one hit the floor. Thunk—the other followed. He moved over her, tugging on the hook of her slacks as he kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat, and made his way down her body. He stopped at her navel, and she felt the slide of fabric as he pulled her slacks off her legs. And then it was just his warm breath against her skin and the sandpaper feel of his chin as he continued down, down, until he was on his knees at her feet. He lifted her calf and kissed the arch of her foot, and she nearly leapt off the bed.