But so far, much of what Reed Monroe testified ended up true. This one was hard to ignore. He was certain this hotel’s fire was related to the cartel assassin somehow. It was just too coincidental.
Twilight faded quickly with darkness filtering in through the destruction.
“Agent Ivy?” the detective called from the parking lot, his flashlight bright in the darkening skies.
He carefully stepped over scorched debris and made his way over to the younger-looking black man in plain clothes and a gray trench coat.
“I confirmed with the bank across the street, they have surveillance video of the day. They may have an image of the vehicle we can use.”
“Excellent. I’d give my left nut for a decent face shot or license plate.”
Minutes later in the bank, he and the detective watched the security footage, with the bank manager standing behind them. From the camera’s position, the motel’s explosion was easily visible, a bright fireball blinding the shot. Shortly after, a dark sedan drove past.
The detective paused and replayed the footage over and over. No clear shot of the driver’s face crossed the screen. Nor the license plate.
They viewed earlier footage to see if the car crossed the space earlier. Another dead end.
“Wait, who’s that guy?” Jace pointed at the screen of a tall, dark figure walking into the motel lobby. There was no clear shot of what happened inside. A while later, a similar figure emerged from a side door and left. But in none of those shots was the person’s face visible, tucked away in a gray hoodie. Any other details about him were also indiscernible because the vantage point was too far away.
“That has to be our guy. He was the last one to go inside.”
“You really believe this is related to the murder in room 802 last week?” The detective pulled his phone from his pocket from an incoming notification.
“More than likely.” Sadly, he couldn’t share that he likely had the “murderer” in his custody. Not yet, anyway.
“You really think that Huerta guy was part of the cartel?” Everything in the man’s tone conveyed doubt, as he scrolled through his phone. “Not some kind of drug bust gone bad? Most of the clientele here aren’t the reputable kind.”
Monroe had told him as much. Jace had yet to see definitive evidence of Huerta’s connection to the cartel. But Cabello’s organization was very good at covering their tracks, and much of this smelled like him.
“Well,” the detective sighed at his phone. “Someone claimed the body already.”
“They released him that fast?” Jace asked. “Who?”
“The family’s pastor. Father Jorge Campos.”
He groaned. “Jesus, the coroner’s office was duped. Son of a bitch!” He grabbed his own phone and started looking up the info.
“What? It doesn’t have to be a funeral home to claim a body. It can be a pastor.”
“I strongly doubt the most famous Mexican soccer player of the nineties converted to a man of the cloth and claimed Diego Huerta’s body.” He showed his phone screen to the detective with the goalkeeper’s biography. “Carlos Cabello is an avid soccer fan. Let me guess, coroner’s office didn’t check I.D.”
The detective swore under his breath and started making a few calls. But Jace knew all of that would be fruitless. Huerta’s body was long gone by now, and they wouldn’t find who really took him. Destroying this motel was sending a message.
The cartel was in Washington State and would crucify anyone to get to Monroe.
Jace needed to get back to Cascade Creek.
Darkness covered Emilio’s drive up the mountainside to the tiny cabin. Cascade Creek proved harder to find than he anticipated, particularly at twilight. If it hadn’t been for his navigation app, he would’ve driven past the exit. The whole town slept quietly as he meandered his way up a back hill and turned off onto a gravel drive.
The cabin showed evidence of a firefight. The place would’ve been a quaint greeting-card-stereotype for a winter escape if it hadn’t been for all the bullet holes across the facade.
Proof of the first two assassins’ failure to capture the troublesome DEA agent.
The man had since fled—just as he’d done all the previous times he’d been found—but this cabin was the first place to capture clues as to where he’d gone. Time for old school tracking.
When he was sure no one had followed him, Emilio climbed out of the car and easily picked the lock on the front door. Inside, the compact room had been recently ransacked. Closets emptied, furniture moved around, but a fresh gallon of milk still sat in the fridge along with a few energy drinks.
The small wooden table in the kitchen sported square dents across the top. This was where the agent had set up his computer equipment. Monroe had quite a talent for making the cartel run ragged chasing their money around the globe, all using nothing more than an internet connection. Which ultimately led to Diego Huerta’s death and a huge bounty on this disgraced DEA agent’s head.
Emilio continued searching the cabin, finding no clues to the man’s trail. He searched through the kitchen cabinets until he came to the junk drawer.
Bingo.
A paystub. To Guy Hancock.
From Rock Road Diner.
There’s my trail.
The diner was much easier to find than the cabin. The casual box-style restaurant was the newest building on the main road out of town. The front sign’s lights were turned off, but still easily visible. Emilio drove past it until he found a way to the rear entrance. There didn’t appear to be security cameras on the building. He smiled. Quaint towns like this were so trusting.
Picking the lock on the back door was much harder than the cabin. After a few minutes, the familiar click came, and the door opened.
Into a storeroom. Small, a little dusty with a strong cardboard scent. He found his way into the back kitchen and instantly crinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of cleaning solution. A large open window at the front of the kitchen revealed the eating area, all dark with a little moonlight peeking in through the blinds. To the right was the manager’s office. Unlocked.
The room was so much tinier than Emilio expected. More like a bathroom stall. Barely enough room for a chair and a computer and a small safe under the counter. The papers on the desk and files in the drawers didn’t give him anything to follow Monroe’s trail. Just a few more paystubs and minimal info on Guy Hancock.
Emilio snarled and shoved the drawer closed.
Back in the kitchen, he stood in the doorway leading to the dining area. He scanned the area slowly, thinking…
His gaze stopped on a picture frame on the wall. Behind the front counter, was the Employee of the Month’s smiling face. The same blonde woman from the Seattle motel’s security footage. The one beside Reed Monroe in their escape.
The name on the picture’s plaque: Skye Winters.
He smiled.
Papers in various stacks covered Lynée’s kitchen table and chairs. Multiple colors of sticky pads, highlighters, several legal pads, a half-dozen three-ring binders, and God knew what else filled the spaces in between. All this evidence probably shouldn’t be at her house, but hell, Jace had already thrown protocol to the wind several times over. Lynée was good so far, and frankly, he needed the help.
She was clearly in her element, and Jace smiled at her utterly innocent and adorable nature. But damn, wasn’t she thorough. And smart as a leather whip.
He set his bag with his laptop on a dining room chair. He was in such a rush yesterday to get to Seattle, he hadn’t taken the time to inspect the details of her house. The walls displayed lots of picture frames and canvas paintings—handmade. Books filled the multiple shelves in almost every room. More photos, lots with her and Skye, and several with her and an elderly couple he assumed were her parents.
One frame stole his attention. Lynée in a wedding gown. A simple yet beautiful satin masterpiece, with flowers woven into her hair… Her gorgeous smile…
&n
bsp; A bridal portrait.
But no photos of a groom anywhere.
“So, hey,” she called from the kitchen, holding a steaming mug. She once again wore an oversized sweater similar to yesterday’s, this one purple. “How was Seattle?”
“Cold. You’ve been busy.” He gestured to the table and avoided elaborating on her question on purpose. No one ever wanted to hear the gruesome details, no matter how powerful their curiosity. “Run me through what you’ve sorted so far.”
“Care for some coffee first?”
He shrugged out of his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “In a minute.”
She cocked her head to the side, observing him with a strange look on her face. Her hair was piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, so comfortable and playful looking.
“What?” he asked.
“When on Earth do you find time to work out?”
He placed his hands on his hips and glanced down at his frame. He wore a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, nothing fancy. Clearly, she liked his muscles. Before today, she didn’t seem interested in his physique, and now she mentioned it when he’s wearing casual clothes. The subtle opening intrigued him. “Most of the time early in the mornings. If I’m not…otherwise occupied.”
The innuendo struck home, just as he hoped it would. She blushed.
Which had him so much more curious than ever before into what made this woman tick.
She cleared her throat and downed some coffee. Then she directed her attention to the stacks of paper. “I’m putting most of my focus on the Dark Inferno game contacts Joe and Reed followed, background checks, and putting them on my timeline.” She pointed to a legal pad in front of her chair. Then she ran down the rest of the sections she’d separated out.
“Sounds good.” He moved to the kitchen to make his own coffee.
“What are you going to focus on?” She followed him.
“Whatever jumps out at me.” He poured a cup, ignoring the sugar and creamer. The first sip hit his system like a heating blanket on his soul.
She tapped her finger on the rim of her mug, obviously irritated by his vague answer. “I only ask, so we’re not double-dipping on the same topic. It would make this whole thing take longer.”
He studied the little dent on the ridge of her nose where her glasses usually sat. He’d only seen her without glasses once before, so he assumed she either only needed them for reading, or sometimes wore contacts. Did she prefer her glasses? Were contacts too much of a pain for her? Though he dared to admit he kinda liked the sexy librarian look. Which probably made him chauvinistic in some people’s opinions.
“Did you hear me?” she asked again.
“Yeah.” He shook the thoughts from his mind. “When you’re through with the game contacts, go through the rest of the files on the other hard drives. If you come across anything financial, put it to the side. I’ll need to do those.”
“What will you work on?”
He grabbed his laptop bag and moved to the living room, hoping the distance would force him to focus. “Something confidential.” He picked a spot at the coffee table.
Her heavy sigh caught his attention. Now she was frowning.
Great. Had what he been thinking been written all over his face?
Then he realized it. Damn. He’d been too dismissive with her, again.
“I’m sorry. Too direct again?”
She raised her coffee in a mock toast. “Look at that, ladies and gentlemen. He can be taught.”
He smirked at her sarcasm. “I’m not used to explaining myself. I usually work alone.” He set his mug on the coaster on the television stand. “I’ll be looking at personnel files of fellow agents, which I can’t let you see.”
“Fair enough. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She resumed her seat at the kitchen table, her hips doing a little shimmy in the chair. Like she was a kid settling down to watch her favorite movie.
He couldn’t help himself, he had to smile. Which he hid behind rubbing his beard. Then dug out his laptop and set up with the screen facing away from prying eyes.
“Do you like to listen to music as you work?” she asked from across the room.
Music? Did she just ask about music? He wanted to pinch the space between his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Music was a luxury he could not afford. He was normally too damn busy on calls or following leads to turn on music. But he had to learn to play nice. “Um, sure.” And frankly, if it helped her work faster, she could knock her socks off.
With a click of a remote, a few speakers around the living room softly played some pop tunes.
“Let me know if you want to hear a different station. I go through phases.” With that, she tucked those black-rimmed glasses back on her nose and buried her face in her own laptop screen.
The rest of the morning passed with excruciating numbness. Jace despised investigating fellow agents. But he had to listen to his gut. With moles and missing reports, he had to go up the chain of command from both Reed Monroe and Joe Padilla. So the first person he had to investigate and comb through his employment records was their boss, John Bordowski, from the El Paso office. A Special Agent in Charge might not have the clearance to remove files in systems, but maybe he somehow found a way. More importantly, Jace needed to determine if the man had connections in the Cabello cartel somewhere down the supply chain. That meant combing through his previous cases dating back as far as his employment records went. Finding any anomalies, complaints, or transfers that appeared out of the standard operating procedures.
Because there was absolutely nothing standard about investigating superior federal agents for working for the enemy and framing subordinates for it.
From there, he’d have to dig into their personal lives, like financial records, taxes, social media accounts, and hobbies. Some things Jace just didn’t want to know about his DEA brothers and sisters. One previous investigation revealed an agent he’d gone to the academy with had been cheating on his wife of twelve years while she was going through chemo for breast cancer. Jace had left that little detail out of his final report, but he could never look at the guy the same way again. A perfect example of why Jace refused to trust people.
“Hey.”
He looked up from his screen. Lynée leaned against the archway between the living room and hall. The collar of her sweater dipped over a shoulder, revealing a thin strap of her undershirt. Lavender.
“You’ve hunkered down further in that chair over the last few hours, and your back is going to hate you. Unless you get up and move around.”
As soon as she said the words, he noticed the tightness in his neck and lower back. “Crap. What time is it?” He checked his watch. Well past lunchtime.
“I could practically hear your stomach growling over the music.” She smiled and moved closer, handing him a glass of water.
“No, that was my conscience.”
A little V formed between her eyebrows. “Found something you didn’t like?”
“Having to do this in the first place is what I don’t like. Leaves a really bad aftertaste.” He downed the whole glass. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Digging into people’s lives makes me feel dirty. Not in a good way.”
Lynée scooted some files over on the coffee table to make room to sit. “If you feel dirty, go take a shower upstairs.”
Their gazes met.
“Seriously?” he asked. That was the last thing he expected this woman to offer. Well, second-to-last.
She shrugged. “There are extra towels in the closet. We’ll have lunch when you’re finished.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Now that she mentioned it, a shower sounded great. Just to clear his head. Not as well as a ride on his bike would accomplish, but it’d do for now.
She shook her head. “I’ll show you where it is.” Then stood.
At the same time he rose.
Their bodies bumped into each other in the small space between the table and
his chair. A strong wash of coconut scent hit his senses. His mouth watered instantly, and he realized it came from her hair. He leaned into it for a split second, just couldn’t help it.
“Sorry,” she muttered. She grabbed both of his arms to steady herself. Her grip on his bare skin was so soft but sure. Then she side-stepped him. A bright pink blush colored her cheeks. “Didn’t realize the furniture was so close together over here.” She ducked her face and started for the stairs.
He watched her move away and cursed his body’s instant response to her close proximity. He set his laptop on the table where she’d just sat and tried to adjust himself so his growing hard-on would disappear. Or at least not be as visible in his jeans. Hell, had it really been that long since his last release? Barely a brush against her body, and he was like a teenager jonesing for a tussle in the sheets.
Awkwardly, he followed her upstairs and stepped inside the bathroom as quickly as he could. Just before he closed the door, he spotted her gaze darting south, and her pink cheeks shifting to a bright red.
Aw hell, might as well own up to it. “See something you like?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She closed her mouth and turned on her heel to head downstairs.
Now, he had a really hard choice. Make it a cold shower or just finish on his own. Maybe that coconut soap or shampoo was in here somewhere.
Lynée pressed a bag of frozen peas to her cheeks. And mentally chastised herself.
She’d ogled him. Outright gawked. Only to be caught and called out for it. Now she couldn’t get her face to cool off.
When she’d gripped his arms to step around him so she wouldn’t fall, she was amazed how each of his muscles flexed beneath her fingers. Like smooth concrete warmed from the sun after a hot summer day. For a split second, as she brushed past him in the living room, an image flashed in her mind of that strong arm wrapped around her in a heated embrace, the weight of him pushing her into a mattress, his breath hot on her neck like it was in the living room. Oh, his musky cologne had hit her in just the right way.
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