Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(27)

“If he drove the speed limit.”

“Safe bet. If they’re avoiding surveillance cams, they’re avoiding traffic cops, too. Bingo.” He tapped the map. “Uvalde. You should check out this town.”

“We’re already on it. But you’re assuming someone drove straight there. The driver could have waited after getting the call, then come from someplace only a few miles away.”

“I’m not seeing it,” Derek said. “Why risk exposure longer than necessary? And how about communication? Was he using a cell phone?”

“We’re checking electronic surveillance in the area,” she said, “but no leads so far. I think he may have had another way of communicating.”

“Like what?”

“There’s an Internet lounge at Buck’s.”

“There you go.”

“We sifted through everything that day, the browsing history on ten separate computers. It’s all your basic stuff—people checking e-mail, Facebook, some thinly disguised porn sites. But there was something unusual.” She leaned against his truck. “One user—who used a prepaid credit card, by the way—visited a home-improvement blog.”

“Home improvement,” Derek repeated.

“Yeah, sounds odd, right? I wrote the site address on the other side of the page I gave you. It looks like Rasheed posted a comment. Our analysts believe it was a coded message to his contact about when and where to pick him up.”

“Interesting tactic.”

“I know.” She met his gaze and seemed to realize she was standing close enough for him to see down her blouse. She eased back. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“You dig up anything—and I mean anything—about Rasheed’s whereabouts, I need you to call me immediately.”

“How about I tell you in person?” He reached over and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “That way you’ll have a chance to thank me.”

“Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”

“Yeah, but I have to be honest, Liz. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“I’m not joking here.” She looked frustrated, which was even more of a turn-on than when she looked businesslike. “If you find anything at all, I need you to call. Don’t go all cowboy on me and try to take him down yourself.”

“Cowboy?”

“You know what I mean. I’m sticking my neck out for you here, and I need your word.”

“If I find anything, I’ll let you know.” Eventually.

She looked up at him, and the little line between her brows told him she didn’t fully trust him. The woman had good instincts. She broke eye contact and pushed off of the truck. “So that’s it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m late for a briefing.” She checked her watch. “I drove all the way out here, and now I have to fight traffic back to my office.”

“So why’d you come?” He stepped closer.

“I agreed I’d try to get you something. I honor my agreements.”

“Yeah, but you could have done it over the phone.”

She looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed, because they both knew he was right.

He smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Sorry it’s not much to go on.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s more than you think.”





* * *





Luke was being followed.

He wasn’t sure how he knew, exactly, but his frog sense had been going crazy the last few hours, starting before his beach run and continuing when he swung by the grocery for pizza and beer. He’d shaken it on the way home, but as he pulled into his parking lot it was back again, that jangly feeling that told him someone was on his tail.

Luke checked his rearview. Nothing. He grabbed his groceries and got out, subtly scanning the area as he neared the building.

Gotcha.

Dark blue sedan, end of the block. He’d seen the same vehicle parked at the beach, but there had been a couple of patrol cars there, too, responding to a call, so he’d chalked it up to San Diego PD.

Luke headed for the mailboxes, which gave him a few extra seconds to scope out the car. Dark blue Taurus, late-model, antenna on the back. Two silhouettes inside, both tall. He took out his phone, tried to remember who was around. Derek and Cole were in Texas. Owen had gone to L.A. with some cocktail waitress, and Greg was with his fiancée. He called Ric Gonzales.

“Gonzo, it’s Jones. What’s your twenty?” He could tell from the noise that he was somewhere crowded, most likely a bar.

“I’m at O’Malley’s. You coming?”

No way. Luke was still feeling the effects of last night and the night before that. He’d spent the past four days getting wasted and hooking up with women whose names he barely remembered, in a pathetic attempt to forget their last mission. But it was still stuck on replay in his brain.

“Think I’m in for the night.” Luke rested the phone on his shoulder as he shifted his bags and unlocked his mailbox.

“Dude, you’re killing me. Come play pool with us. I just won fifty bucks off some jarheads. Easy money tonight.”