Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(67)

Brooke was back in the zone.

When lunchtime rolled around, she was immersed in her music, humming softly as she typed some notes on her laptop. She turned and peered into her microscope, adjusting the lens to bring dozens of spherical-shaped particles into focus.

“I knew it,” she murmured, typing her observations.

A shadow fell over her and she got an overwhelming whiff of campfire. She turned to see Roland standing behind her in filthy gray coveralls.

“You reek.” She plucked out her earbuds.

“Three-alarm fire up in Williamson County.” He took a swig of Gatorade.

“Any fatalities?”

“Negative.” He eyed her suspiciously and nodded at the evidence envelopes lined up on her worktable. “Don’t tell me you’ve done all those.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“No shit. Really?”

Brooke smiled as she entered a final observation before closing out of her document. Eight cases down. She’d hit her goal.

“What’s this you’re working on? You look smug.”

“I am. I just found a detective his smoking gun.”

“Which case?”

“The home invasion from Kerrville. Residue from the shoe print on the door matches the suspect’s boot. Here, take a look.” She stepped back to let him see, and he was so tall that he had to hunch to get eye level with her viewfinder.

“What is this?”

“Particles of polyurethane mixed with sawdust. I’d bet money this guy’s in construction. He’s got this stuff all over his boots, and it’s a perfect match with the material recovered from the victim’s door.”

“Damn. Nice work.” Roland eased back and looked at her. “You’re killing it today. What time’d you get here?”

“Five thirty.”

His gaze narrowed.

“What?”

“What are you up to, Brooke?”

“Nothing.” She switched off her microscope and removed the slide from the stage. She dropped it into an evidence envelope and resealed it, then scrawled her initials on the label with the date and time.

“Brooke?”

She turned to Roland.

“Seriously, what’s up? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve done two days’ worth of work in one morning.”

She slid off her stool and gathered up all the envelopes she’d processed. “I’m taking the afternoon off.” She replaced the packages on the cart to be returned to the evidence room.

“Why?”

“There’s something I need to look into. And trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“A secret mission? Now you definitely have to tell me.” He leaned back against the counter and waited.

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Brookie . . .”

“Whatie?”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the floater from yesterday, would it?”

She wondered what exactly he knew about it. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing much. Just that the same team that’s investigating the Samantha Bonner murder is also investigating the woman they found near the dam yesterday morning.” Roland swigged the rest of his drink and lobbed the bottle into a trash can. “Let’s see, that would be Callie McLean, Ric Santos, and your new boyfriend. What’s his name again?”

Brooke didn’t comment as she shut down her computer.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re involved with him.”

She rolled her eyes.

“So, what’s he got you doing for him, rushing evidence? Running samples for free?”

“None of the above. This has nothing to do with him.”

“Except that it’s related to his case, right?”

She sighed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Roland grinned. “This is better. Tell me about your mission this afternoon.”

“It wouldn’t interest you.”

“Why not?”

She crossed her arms. “Because it’s completely outside my job description, and I know how much you hate that. It’s also ethically questionable.”

“Sounds right up my alley.”

“And as an added bonus, it has the potential to screw up my personal life as well as my job.”

Roland smiled. “This could be interesting.”

“It could also be a disaster, and I don’t need an accomplice, so you’re off the hook.” She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay?”

“No way. Whatever you’re up to, I’m in.”

? ? ?

Sean sidestepped puddles as he walked through the alley that smelled of piss and garbage.

“Yo, Sean.”

He turned around to see Jasper approaching him. He wore street clothes instead of his typical uniform, but Sean noted the pistol bulge under his plaid shirt.

“Thought you worked the night shift,” Jasper said as he caught up to him.

“I did. I’m just checking in with Ric. Are you taking over for him?”

“Yeah, at two o’clock.”

They walked together down the alley toward the minivan where Ric was set up.