Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(20)

“This is what Rasheed looked like several weeks ago. And this”—he tapped the laptop again, and another picture appeared—“is what we believe he looks like now.”

Elizabeth recognized the doctored FBI photo showing a clean-shaven man in a collared shirt.

“He’s thirty-three. Comes from a large family in Dubai. He attended college in London, where he was radicalized. Then he moved to Afghanistan, where he’s made a reputation for himself by recruiting and training for Al Qaeda.”

“He’s in the deck.”

All eyes swung toward Elizabeth. She cleared her throat. “The deck of most-wanted terrorists, according to our military. We interviewed the SEAL team who raided his compound recently. They’ve been trying to take him out for years.”

“Wish they’d succeeded,” Potter muttered.

Another click, and they were looking at a close-up. Again, the surveillance footage was grainy, so it was hard to make out the details of the face.

“This may not look like much,” Gordon said, “but our biometrics experts believe there’s a ninety-percent probability it’s Rasheed.”

“He looks empty-handed,” Torres said. “If he’s armed, it’s got to be something small.”

“Where’s he going?” someone asked.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Gordon said. “Could be meeting a ride. Could be hitchhiking. Or maybe he walked to the bus depot on the other side of town, where he could have picked up the four thirty to Houston.”

“What time was this video taken?” Elizabeth asked.

“About four ten.” Gordon let that hang in the air. “Is the timing a coincidence or part of a plan? We need to find out. We also need to find out his target, and we can’t assume Houston just because of the maps recovered by our SEAL team. Keep an open mind, people. Maybe Houston is a staging area for an operation elsewhere. Or maybe it’s the location of a sleeper cell that’s now on the move. We can’t let ourselves get tunnel vision, or we’ll miss something important.”

Gordon tapped his computer. The software-generated image of Rasheed reappeared on the screen.

“Study this picture. Memorize it. He’s five-eight, one-forty. He speaks excellent English and is very familiar with Western culture. He does not look threatening, which is why he’ll blend in. But let me assure you, he is very dangerous. He’s become one of Al Qaeda’s top operatives.” His gaze met Elizabeth’s. “As Agent LeBlanc pointed out, the military believes he’s a formidable opponent, and so do we.”

Gordon looked at his assembled team. “If Rasheed did, in fact, slip through a back door, then he’s inside our borders. And you can be sure he’s here for a reason.”





* * *





After months of colorless desert, the brightness of the Texas hills seemed like a Disney movie. Derek let the summer air hum through his pickup as he steered up the tree-lined road.

His thoughts drifted to Elizabeth, as they had for most of the trip. Derek had a head for details, and when it came to Elizabeth, there wasn’t anything too small to lodge itself in his brain and drive him crazy. He remembered her shivering on the sidewalk in San Francisco. He remembered the rain glistening in her hair. He remembered the warmth of her mouth and her curves under his hands and how willing she’d felt when they’d left the bar. He remembered touching her, tasting her, and knowing heaven was just a few blocks away.

But then the booze had hit, and it was game over. She’d puked her guts up outside his hotel, which—in her book, apparently—was an unforgivable party foul. Not that it mattered to him. He couldn’t count the number of times one of his buddies had heaved up his liquor on the way home from a bar. But Elizabeth had been mortified.

It was his own fault. He’d suggested the pub. And he’d kept the drinks flowing, along with the teasing and conversation, because she’d finally seemed to relax around him. It was a side of her personality she didn’t share much, but he’d seen it then, and he’d seen it again last night, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. The chemistry was back. Yes, she was still wary, but he planned to get past that. Soon. He had ten days’ leave remaining, and he didn’t plan to waste a day of it not getting to know Elizabeth LeBlanc better, no matter what roadblocks she threw at him. He was a SEAL, for Christ’s sake. He thrived on challenges.

His phone rattled in the cup holder, and he smiled as he picked it up.

“Hey.”

“Hi, it’s Elizabeth. Looks like I missed your call? I was in a meeting.”

Her voice was all business. And she probably had no idea that he’d spent a good portion of the last twelve hours dreaming up ways to get her naked.

“So . . . did you make it home yet?” she asked.

“Almost. Decided to take a little detour first, drop in on a friend.”

She got quiet, and he wondered if she’d take the bait. Male friend or female? Was she even the slightest bit curious? Come on, Liz.

“Listen, I’m glad you called,” she said. “I wanted to apologize for rushing off last night. It was one of those things.”

“No problem. What about you? You make it home yet?”

“Ha. Not unless Home Suites counts as home. But I made it to Houston okay.”