Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(22)
His job was hard on the people left behind, which was one reason he’d never been much on relationships. He’d seen too many of his friends try to make it work and get burned.
Derek shifted uncomfortably. “So . . . if you’ll tell me where to take this?”
“Right this way.” Mia swiped her ID badge over a panel. The service door opened, and he followed her inside.
* * *
Elizabeth had never been a runner. It was a weakness that almost did her in at the FBI Academy.
Sit-ups, yes. Push-ups, okay. She was surprisingly decent at chin-ups. But running? Nope.
She plodded along the sidewalk beside Lauren, sucking in oxygen mixed with car exhaust from Houston’s early-morning commuters. Breathe in, breathe out. One step at a time. She focused on the scant patches of grass along the pavement, trying to imagine a more scenic route than the four-lane street lined with fast-food joints and strip centers.
She stopped at a corner and bent over to catch her breath as she waited for the light to change. She’d always hated those peppy, supercharged joggers who bobbed impatiently at intersections, refusing to break the pace.
“You got it?”
She glanced up at Lauren. She wasn’t a bobber, either, but she looked much less winded.
“It’s hot,” Elizabeth wheezed.
“Humid.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Ninety-percent humidity, which is worse than the heat.”
The light changed, and they pushed onward. She could see the hotel. Four blocks left. Her skin was drenched, and her scalp was starting to tingle.
“Hurt, agony, pain—love it!” Lauren said, quoting the signs posted along the obstacle course at Quantico.
Elizabeth stifled an obscene gesture. She imagined Derek. She’d seen him running on the beach in San Diego once, and it was a sight to behold—shoulders back, skin glistening, muscles rippling as he ate up the sand with his powerful strides. He’d made it look easy. Fun. Beautiful, even.
She reached the hotel parking lot and stumbled to a halt.
“Good run,” Lauren chirped.
Elizabeth slouched against a lamppost and scanned the lot for her boss’s Taurus. At least he hadn’t left for the office yet—a good sign.
A phone chimed, and she and Lauren reached for their fanny packs. They couldn’t go anywhere without sidearms and electronic leashes.
“Mine,” Elizabeth said, fishing out her cell. She sucked down a breath and tried to sound normal. “Hello?”
“How was your jog?”
Derek.
“How’d you know I was jogging?” She glanced around.
“IHOP across the street.”
She pivoted again. Sun reflected off the windows, and she couldn’t see him, but she spotted a gray F-150 parked in the lot.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Taking you to breakfast.”
Her stomach did a little somersault, and she glanced at Lauren.
“Your friend’s invited, too.”
“I don’t have time for breakfast. I have a meeting soon. And I need to shower.”
“And you need breakfast. Come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”
He clicked off, and Elizabeth stared down at her phone.
“Hot date?”
She glanced at Lauren. “A friend dropped by. He’s from Houston,” she added, as if that explained it.
“A breakfast booty call.” Lauren grinned. “You go, girl.”
“It’s not a booty call, it’s pancakes.”
“Yeah, right.” She started toward the hotel.
“You want to come?”
“No way.” She gave her a wave over her shoulder.
Elizabeth glanced at the IHOP and then at her hotel room. She should shower first, but . . . what if he showed up at her door and wanted to wait? The idea of being in a steamy shower with him anywhere near her was impossible. She didn’t trust herself.
She walked to the IHOP and ducked into the ladies’ room to clean up before venturing into the dining area. It wasn’t hard to spot him. All she had to do was follow the wistful looks of the waitresses milling near the kitchen.
She slid into the booth. “How’d you find me?”
He smiled. “You told me where you were staying.”
“I said ‘Home Suites.’ There are probably half a dozen here.”
“Yeah, and this one’s by your office. I told you, Liz, don’t underestimate us spec ops guys. We’re not as dumb as we look.”
She perused the menu, trying to get her heart rate under control. She was still winded. And maybe a little flustered from sitting across the table from a ridiculously hot guy wearing jeans and cowboy boots. He could have been a Levi’s ad.
“Didn’t know you were a runner,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Looked pretty good to me.”
“I nearly keeled over on mile two.” She glanced up. “Don’t laugh. Running’s never been my thing.”
But he was grinning at her as the waitress stopped by and flashed him a smile.
“What can I get y’all?”
He nodded at Elizabeth.
“I’ll have the short stack with sausage links. And coffee.”