Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(11)

Another reason was that she had a case to work, possibly the most important case of her career. And a muscle-bound SEAL with a sexy gleam in his eye was sure to be a huge distraction. Elizabeth felt incredibly lucky to have been picked for this assignment, and the last thing she wanted to do was slip up.

“Come on. Lemme take you out.” He stepped closer.

Her phone chimed, and she lunged for it. “LeBlanc.”

“You hear from Moore?” It was Jimmy Torres, who was staying in the room next door. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been on his way to dinner.

“I haven’t talked to him. Why?”

Derek sauntered around the room, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“He wants a meeting.”

“Now?”

“Five minutes, his suite,” he said. “Bring your laptop. And I need Potter’s number. I’m supposed to call him.”

She glanced at Derek, who stood beside the desk, where she’d spread out her files. She ducked into the bathroom and fished through her purse for the business card Potter had given her when they’d met. She rattled off the number as she returned to the bedroom and slipped back into her shoes.

“Okay, see you in a few.”

Derek was leaning over the desk now, unapologetically reading her files.

“This our guy?” He glanced up.

She eased closer to see the photo. He smelled like soap now instead of saltwater. He’d obviously cleaned up, and she felt a twinge of guilt for rejecting his dinner offer.

“Omar Rasheed. He’s from a wealthy family in Dubai.”

“He’s in the deck.” He tapped the photo and glanced at her. “The most-wanted terrorists. We call it the deck of cards. Who’s this?”

“Ahmed Rasheed,” she said, studying the picture. “Omar’s brother. He’s dead, though. Killed in a drone strike two years ago in Kunar Province, where he’d been meeting with Al Qaeda leaders.”

“Elizabeth.”

She glanced up, and the flirty look was gone now, replaced by utter seriousness.

“You want to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

The way he held her gaze made her heart thud. She could tell by his expression that he already knew what she was going to say. So there was no use lying—not that she could get one past him, anyway.

She cleared her throat. “When Gordon told you Khalid had stopped talking, he was a little vague.”

Derek’s jaw tightened.

“He’s not talking because he’s no longer in custody.”

“Whose custody?”

“Anyone’s. We turned him over to the Afghans because he was wanted in connection with an attack in the capital. Two days later, he escaped.”

He tipped his head back. “Jesus Christ.”

“They’ve been searching for him, but no luck.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath on that. Those guys are so corrupt someone probably walked him right out the jail. What the fuck were they thinking turning him over?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did they at least question him first?”

“He wasn’t talking.”

Derek shook his head. “Unbelievable. The one living person we had in custody who could shed some light on this plot, and we let him go.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “We lost a man on that raid, Liz. He took a bullet loading out this intel.”

“I know.” She touched his arm. “And I’m so sorry. I—”

A rap at the door had her turning around. She glanced at Derek, then went to answer it.

It was Torres, wearing the rumpled remnants of his business suit and holding a McDonald’s cup.

“You ready?” He glanced past her, and his expression darkened.

“I’m coming.” She scooped up her computer bag, then gathered the files from under Derek’s nose and slipped them in with her laptop.

Derek took his cue to leave.

“Sorry I can’t talk more,” she said, stepping out of the room. “We’ll catch up later, maybe? After this case.”

He eyed her computer bag, then looked at Torres. “Yeah, good luck with that. You guys have your work cut out for you.”





* * *





Stepping into Gordon’s suite, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. Big surprise. Whether it was anger or frustration or simple nerves, Derek always managed to stir up her emotions. Had Torres noticed? How could he not? And what did he think about finding her alone in her hotel room with one of the SEALs they’d come to interview?

Maybe she should strike up a conversation and mention that she’d met Derek the previous summer. But it was really none of his business. The main person whose opinion she cared about was Gordon, and he was well aware that she knew Derek, because he’d been in charge of the murder investigation in which Derek’s SEAL teammate was a suspect.

Everyone was gathered around a table, and Elizabeth claimed a chair beside one of the Washington agents, Gordon’s expert in all things technical. He had his laptop open and looked to be setting up a secure Internet connection. He glanced at Gordon.

“We’re good to go, sir.”