Elaina peeled off her navy suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair as the bartender made her way over.
“What can I get you?”
Elaina scanned the row of bottles lining the back wall. Her attention got hung up on the one shaped like an agave plant.
“A Sprite, please,” she said.
“I’ll have a Dos Equis.”
Elaina turned around at the voice. Her heart swelled inside her chest and she had to force herself not to jump off the stool and throw her arms around him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Troy claimed the seat beside her and dropped something onto the floor. A black backpack. With a boarding pass sticking out of the side pocket.
“Heard a rumor you might be staying here.”
“You were eavesdropping on me and my dad.”
“Guilty.” His green eyes skimmed over her, taking in her disheveled hair and wrinkled blouse. “Long day?”
“Very.” She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. But instead, she just stared at him, soaking in the familiar sight of his jeans and cowboy boots, soaking in his sun-brown skin and muscular forearms. He looked completely out of place at this stuffy hotel filled with business executives and government bureaucrats.
Their drinks came, and he took a long swig. Elaina tipped her glass back and noticed the way his attention lingered on the bruises still circling her neck. Something sparked in his eyes.
He rested his beer on the bar. “How’d the interview go?”
“Good,” she said. Then she sighed. “Long. It lasted five hours. I think I met every member of the BAU.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds fun.”
“It’s a fascinating group. I really hit it off with the agent in charge.”
Troy held her gaze for a long moment. “Did they offer you the job?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t take it.”
Her heart gave a kick as she watched him watching her with so much intensity. He was the only man who’d ever looked at her that way, and it made her warm everywhere.
She cleared her throat. “Why not?”
“Come back to Brownsville. With me. We need you way more than Quantico does.”
She stared at him. “‘We’ as in… my boss? Loomis? Chief Breck?”
“Yes.” He nodded resolutely. “Every one of them needs you, more than they realize. You scare the hell out of them.” He paused. “But mostly it’s me.”
“You need me.” She gazed up at him, unable to believe he was sitting here telling her this. “Why?”
He covered her hand with his, and she glanced down and saw that his knuckles were still bruised from the other night.
“You haven’t figured it out yet, Elaina?” He smiled slightly. “You’re a profiler.”
“Figured out what?”
“I love you.” He picked up her hand and kissed it.
I love you. He’d really said it. And now he was sitting there, watching her, searching her face for some kind of response.
He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His finger trailed down her neck, over her bruises, and then he took her hand again.
“I think I’ve loved you since the first night, when you threatened to slap me with a lawsuit.” He shook his head. “And then that next day, you told me you were off limits, and I was pretty much done for.”
Elaina felt a grin spreading across her face. “I didn’t take the job,” she said.
“Really?” he looked wary now.
“I need more field experience. And anyway, I’ve got some unfinished business down in Texas.”
She slid off the stool and reached up to comb her fingers into his hair, and she pulled his head down and kissed him, right there in the hotel bar.
“Come upstairs,” he said against her mouth.
“You’re rushing me.” She eased back and looked up at him. “I haven’t even had a chance to tell you that I love you, too.”
“I already knew that.” He kissed her. “Just making sure you did.”
Turn the page for a sneak peak
at the next heart-pounding Tracers novel
from Laura Griffin
UNFORGIVABLE
Coming soon from Pocket Books
Mia Voss needed a fix. Badly.
On a normal day, she would have stood strong against the temptation. But nothing about today had been normal, starting with the fact that it was January seventh and ending with the fact that for the first time in her life, she’d actually been demoted.
Her stomach clenched as she turned into the Minute Mart parking lot and eased her white Jeep Wrangler into a space near the door. Her cheeks warmed at the still-fresh memory of standing stiffly in her boss’s office, gazing down at his weasel-like face as he’d sat behind his desk, meting out criticism. At the time, she’d been stunned speechless, too shocked by what was happening to defend herself. Only now—six hours too late—did all the perfect rejoinders come tumbling into her head.
Mia jerked open the door to the convenience store and made a beeline for the freezer section. If there was ever a night that called for Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk, it was tonight. For the first Thursday night in months, she wasn’t stuck at the lab. For the first Thursday night in years, the only items demanding her attention were a sappy chick flick, a cozy blanket, and a pint of butterfat. Tonight was wallow night. Mia slid open the freezer door and plucked out a tub of Super Fudge Chunk. She tucked it under her arm, then grabbed a Chunky Monkey. As long as she was sinning, why not sin big? It was a motto that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, but she continued to follow it.
“Doc Voss.”
She jumped and whirled around.
A bulky, balding man in a brown overcoat stood behind her. He crouched down to pick up the carton that had rolled across the aisle, then stood and held it out to her. “Good stuff, isn’t it?”
“Uh, thanks.” She stared at him and tried to place his name. He was a cop, she knew that much. But he wasn’t someone she’d seen around in a while, and she couldn’t pull a name from her memory bank.
“Not as good as mint chip, though.” His droll smile made him look grandfatherly. “My wife’s favorite.”
She noticed his shopping basket—two pints of mint chocolate chip and a six-pack of beer.
His gaze drifted down to her fur-lined moccasins, and a bushy gray eyebrow lifted. “Slumber party?”
Mia glanced down. For her quick trip to the store, she’d tucked her satin nightshirt into her jeans, pulled on a ratty cardigan, and slipped her feet into house shoes. She looked like an escapee from a mental ward, which of course meant she’d bump into someone she knew from work. Nothing like reinforcing that professional image. Yes, today was shaping up to be a banner career day.
Mia forced a smile. “More like movie night.” She glanced at her watch and stepped toward the register. “It’s about to start, actually. I’d better—”
“Don’t let me keep you.” He nodded. “See ya around, Doc.”
Mia watched his reflection in the convex mirror as she paid for her groceries. He added a couple of frozen dinners to his basket and then headed for the chip aisle.
The name hit her as she pulled out of the parking lot. Frank Hannigan. San Marcos PD. Why couldn’t she have remembered it sooner?
Something hard jammed into her neck.
“Take a left at this light.”
Mia’s head whipped around. Her chest convulsed. In the backseat was a man. He held a gun pointed right at her nose.
“Watch the road!”
She jerked her head around just in time to see the telephone pole looming in front of her. She yanked the wheel left and managed to stay on the street.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Her hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. Her gaze flashed to the mirror and homed in on his gun. It was big and serious-looking, and he held it rock-steady in his gloved hand.
>
“Turn left.”
The command snapped her attention away from the weapon and back to him. Her brain numbly registered a description: black hooded sweatshirt, pulled tight around his face. Navy bandanna covering his nose and mouth. Dark sunglasses. All she could see of the man behind the disguise was a thin strip of skin between the glasses and the bandanna.
He jammed the muzzle of the pistol into her neck again. “Eyes ahead.”
She forced herself to comply. Her heart pounded wildly against her sternum. Her stomach tightened. She realized she’d stopped breathing. She focused on drawing air into her lungs and unclenched her hand from the wheel so that she could shift gears and turn left.
Where are we going? What does he want?
Her mind flooded with terrifying possibilities as she hung a left and darted her gaze around, looking for a police car, a fire truck, anything. But this was a college town, and whatever action might be going on tonight was probably happening much closer to campus.
How was she going to get out of this? Cold sweat beaded along her hairline. Her stomach somersaulted. Bile rose up in the back of her throat.
The engine reached a high-pitched whine. She’d forgotten to change gears. Her clammy hand slipped on the gear shift as she switched into third.
Think. She glanced around desperately, but the streets were quiet. The nearest open business was the Dairy Queen two blocks behind them.
“CenTex Bank, on your right. Pull up to the drive-through ATM.”
Mia’s breath whooshed out. He wanted money. Tears of relief filled her eyes. But they quickly morphed into tears of panic because she realized his wanting money didn’t really mean anything. He could still shoot her in the head and leave her on the side of the road. She of all people knew the amazingly cheap price of a human life. A wad of cash. A bag of crack. A pair of sneakers.
She could be dead before the ATM even spit out the bills.
The cold, hard muzzle of the gun rubbed against her cheek. Her breath hitched, and her gaze went to the mirror. She remembered the police sketch of a man in a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses who for years had been on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. The Unabomber. Mia had met the artist who had drawn that sketch. As a forensic scientist at one of the world’s top crime labs, Mia had connections in every conceivable area of law enforcement. And at this moment, they were useless to her. At this moment, it was just her and this man, alone in her car with his gun pointed at her head.
Stay calm. Make a plan.
She maneuvered the Jeep up to the teller machine, nearly scraping the yellow concrete pillar on the right side of her car. Too late, she realized she’d just ruined a potential escape route.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. She thought of her mom. Whatever happened, she had to live through this. Her mother couldn’t take another blow.
It’s January seventh.
Mia’s eyes popped open at the realization. She turned to face him with a renewed sense of determination—or maybe it was adrenaline—surging through her veins. “How much do you want?” She rolled the window down with one hand while scrounging through her purse for her wallet.
“Five thousand.”
“Five thousand?” She turned to gape at him. She had that much, yeah. In an IRA account somewhere. Her checking account was more in the neighborhood of five hundred. But she wanted more than anything not to tick this guy off.
She gulped. “I think my limit is two hundred.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was wobbling all over the place. She turned to look at him, carefully positioning her shoulders so the camera on the ATM could get a view into her car. It probably couldn’t capture him from this angle, but maybe it would capture the gun. “I can do several transactions,” she said.
The muzzle tapped sharply against her cheekbone. She would have a bruise tomorrow. If she lived that long.
She turned to the machine and, with shaking fingers, punched in her code and keyed in the amount. Two hundred was the most she could get. Could she get it twice? Had her cable bill cleared? Mia handed him the first batch of twenties and chewed her lip frantically as she waited for the second transaction to go through.
Transaction declined.
Her blood turned to ice. Seconds ticked by as she waited for the man’s response. Despite the sweat trickling down her spine, her breath formed a frosty cloud as she stared at the words flashing on the screen.
That’s it, she thought. I’m dead.
She reached a trembling hand out and pulled the receipt from the slot.
She could make a break for it right here. Except her doors were pinned shut by the concrete pillars on either side of her.
She could speed to the nearest well-populated area—which was a Walmart just three blocks away. Would she get there before he shot her or wrestled the wheel away?
“Back on the highway.” The command was laced with annoyance. But not quite as much disappointment as she’d expected.
She put the Jeep in gear and returned to the highway.
“How about Sun Bank?” Her voice sounded like a croak. That bank was past Walmart. Maybe she could swerve into the lot and make a run for it.
“Hang a left on the highway.”
Mia’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Her gaze met his in the rearview mirror. Dread pooled in her stomach. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could read his intent—it was in his tone of voice, his body language, the perfectly steady way he held that gun.
“Hang a left on the highway” meant out of town. He was going to kill her.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
Tracers 02 - Unspeakable Page 31