Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(25)

“You want my guess?”

She looked at Parker.

“He had a ride waiting,” he said. “Slipped around the corner of the building, hopped right in.”

“Why don’t we have that on camera, then?” Torres asked.

A shrug. “It’s not like we have every angle. There are blind spots.”

“Hey, hey.” Garza straightened in his chair. “Check this out.”

Everyone inched closer to look at the screen.

“What?” Parker asked.

Garza tapped the keyboard, rewinding the footage. “Upper left corner. Dark sedan.”

Elizabeth watched, holding her breath, as a dark-colored four-door car moved into view. It rolled to a stop, and a shadow moved toward it.

“That’s him! Pause it!” She leaned closer as he stopped the tape.

Torres looked at her. “Looks like we found his ride.”

Derek had been right. The lead they needed was right in front of them, caught on camera. She felt the sudden urge to call him, but of course, she couldn’t.

She studied the footage. Unfortunately, the car was angled, so no plates were visible. And the driver was nothing more than a dark silhouette. But still, they’d found a vehicle. Even without a plate, it could provide a wealth of information.

“Can you zoom in on that?” she asked.

“Not much.” Garza clicked on the corner of the screen and managed to zoom a little but not enough to see anything of the driver besides the outline of a baseball cap.

“Our technicians can enlarge it, clean it up,” Torres said.

“So can ours.”

Turf wars. Perfect.

“Why don’t you make us a copy, and we’ll both take a crack at it?” Elizabeth looked at Parker. “We’re going to need footage from every other security cam anywhere near this corner at”—she glanced at the time stamp—“five fifteen.”

She leaned closer and studied the car’s chassis. “That’s a Chevy Cavalier,” she said. “Cobalt blue, it looks like. Those tires aren’t standard. Should be fourteen-inch, not eighteen.”

Garza gave her a startled look. Men were always shocked that she knew anything about cars.

She glanced at the time stamp again. “That’s sixty-eight minutes after he slipped from the truck. What was he doing all that time?”

“Sure you don’t have him inside the truck stop?” Torres asked.

“We’ve been through it all,” Parker said. “Repeatedly. Nothing of him entering the convenience store or the bathrooms. No cams in the restaurant, unfortunately, but—”

“There’s a restaurant?” She looked at Torres. “We need to interview the wait staff.”

“Two restaurants,” Parker corrected. “This place has everything—a deli counter, showers, an Internet lounge, an arcade.”

“An Internet lounge?” Her heart lurched.

“Yeah, right by the car wash. There’re no cameras in there, though. We already checked.”

But she wasn’t thinking about cameras anymore. “Show me the Internet lounge.”





Chapter Seven





Derek wasn’t good at being on leave. He always felt restless. Twitchy. About three days in, he was usually bored out of his skull.

He’d woken up this morning at his parents’ house, staring at a shelf full of swim trophies and autographed baseballs. He’d pounded out ten miles and spent the remainder of the morning hauling boxes to the attic and changing lightbulbs for his mom. When he was all out of chores and errands, he’d loaded up his .300 and decided to hit the range.

Now he lay in the dirt with the steady pop of gunfire all around him. The smell of grass and CLP oil filled his nostrils as he peered through the rifle scope. He took a deep breath. Let it out some. Squeezed the trigger.

“Nice,” murmured Cole, lowering the binoculars.

Cole had the same problem as Derek, the same problem a lot of SEALs had. They’d forgotten how to be home. When Derek had called, his teammate had been more than happy to make the hour-long drive from his family’s place in Clear Lake to send a few rounds downrange.

Now Derek picked up the binocs as Cole adjusted his rifle and lined up his shot. He was using a .300 Win Mag, too, but his was brand-new, outfitted with an Accuracy International folding stock and a Nightforce scope. The gun kicked ass. As one of the top marksmen in the teams, Cole took pride in having the best equipment available.

Derek glanced at the range flag. “Moderate wind, full value,” he said.

Cole waited. Guys on either side of them fired, but Cole held back. Patience was a sniper’s secret weapon.

Derek watched through the glass and mentally ticked off the seconds until his friend squeezed the trigger. The bullet found its target, a fifteen-inch gong ten football fields away.

“Perfect.”

Cole smiled. “Yeah, not bad.”

They’d gone through the ammo, so they stood and collected their gear. Derek shook out his stiff legs and glanced around. It was after five, and the range was filling up with potbellied sportsmen and weekend warriors.

“So you want to get a beer?” Cole asked.

“Sure.” Derek grabbed the binocs.

“Hey, hold up. Maybe we should stay awhile.”