Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(26)

Derek followed his friend’s gaze to the front office, where a hot-looking blonde stood talking to the range master. Derek’s heart gave a kick. Elizabeth was in one of those tailored gray suits that didn’t quite hide her Glock 17 or the handcuffs she kept tucked under her jacket.

Cole whistled. “Man, I’d like to see her handle a gun.”

The range master pointed in their direction, and she strode toward them with a determined gleam in her eyes.

“You know this girl?” Cole looked at him.

“Yep.”

“Shit, I shoulda known. So much for that beer.”

She stopped in front of them, and she had that set to her chin that got Derek’s blood going.

“Sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant. Derek smiled.

“Cole, meet Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc. She’s with the FBI. Liz, Petty Officer Cole McDermott.”

She offered him a hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He smiled at Derek. “Catch you later, bro.” He slapped him on the back and headed off.

“Impressive setup.” Elizabeth looked out at the range. “What is that, eight hundred yards?”

“A thousand. How’d you find me?”

“Talked to your mom,” she said. “Very nice lady. A little shorter than I expected. Your dad must be huge.”

The breeze played with her hair, and he noticed her scar again, the scar she’d somehow gotten at work. She didn’t want to talk about it, which told him he wasn’t going to like the story—if he ever managed to coax it out of her.

He couldn’t make her tell him. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. No, if they’d been in a relationship, he’d still be spending months at a time away from her, but at least when he came home, he’d get some relief from the relentless yearning that wouldn’t stop dogging him. As it was, he couldn’t get anything from her, not even a phone call. He’d called her up after his last deployment, and she hadn’t even bothered to return his messages.

But she was here now. And although he was ninety-nine-percent sure this little visit was about work, he’d take whatever advantage he could get and exploit the hell out of it.

“Want to do some shooting?” he asked. “I can grab us some ammo.”

“No, thanks. I’m here on business. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

He led her around to the front, where he slipped some quarters into a drink machine. He pounded out a Coke and offered it to her, but she shook her head. He took her to a low brick wall that divided the range from the gravel parking lot. Her generic white rental car looked like a toy in the sea of pickups.

She sat down on the wall. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

He smiled as he popped open the can. “Which offer is that?”

She pretended not to understand. “You said you might be able to help locate Rasheed.”

“Not ‘might.’ I said I would.” He swigged his drink. “Provided you give me some intel.”

She glanced around, clearly uncomfortable, which told him she was doing this on the down-low. She pulled a folded slip of paper from her purse. “You were right.” She handed him the paper. “About the surveillance cams. We have Rasheed getting into a 2005 Chevrolet Cavalier.”

Derek sat down beside her and studied the picture, which had obviously been enlarged. Rasheed was fairly clear, but the driver was little more than a shadow wearing a baseball hat.

“No plate?” He looked at her.

“Unfortunately, no. We’ve checked stoplight cams, ATMs, all the gas stations in town.”

“Where’d this come from?”

“A bank several blocks from the truck stop,” she said. “It’s the only camera footage we’ve been able to find. The driver navigated to and from the truck stop on side streets, avoiding all major intersections—which suggests to us that they know the area is under surveillance and scoped it out ahead of time.”

“These guys are smart. They plan operations years in advance. You can’t underestimate them.”

“I know.” She leaned closer, and he could smell her perfume or her shampoo or whatever it was. She pointed at the picture. “See this back panel here? There’s a slight dent in it. Another distinguishing characteristic is the oversized tires. Factory tires for this car are fourteen inches, not eighteen. But aside from that—”

“It’d be better to have a license plate.”

“I know.” She looked up at him. “But right now, this is it. Sixty-eight minutes after Rasheed is first seen arriving at the truck stop, he catches a ride with a blue Chevy Cavalier. I’m working one more lead, though: the registration sticker on the windshield. I sent the image to our lab techs to see if they can enlarge it.”

He looked at her. “Not a bad idea.”

“Thank you.”

Derek stared down at the picture, examining the time stamp. “Come on.” He swung his legs over the wall and led her to the parking lot. He dug a map from the glove box in his truck and spread it out on the dusty hood.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“He slipped through our back door into Texas. He knows Del Rio’s a hub for trafficking. He knows it’s under surveillance by the feds. Which means his contact knows better than to circle around town, attracting attention. I’m thinking the driver was waiting somewhere else and made the trip straight in, which gives us a seventy-mile radius . . .” He scanned the towns around Del Rio.