Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(29)

She glanced around the courtyard, probably second-guessing her decision to come here.

He still couldn’t believe she was here. The feds on his street were starting to make sense now. Derek had told him that when he’d dropped in on Hailey at her parents’ condo, she had her own private security detail. So the feds hadn’t been tailing him. They’d been tailing Hailey, who’d been tailing him. He’d bet the white Toyota down the street was her rental car.

Damn, it was weird to see her.

“How’s your arm?” he asked.

“Fine.” Her smile was tight this time. Maybe she didn’t want to be reminded about her ordeal. Although he doubted a minute went by that she didn’t think about it.

“How are you?” she asked.

The look of concern on her face made his chest tighten. She was worried about him? He wasn’t the one who’d come home in a cast. Or a pine box.

“I’m doing all right.” He thought of his alcohol-fueled sex binge. “Most days, anyway.”

“That’s good to hear.” She looked down at her lap. “So there’s something I need to tell you. Two things, really.” She touched her hand to her neck and cleared her throat. “Sorry. This is harder than I thought.”

Luke waited. Dread pooled in his gut as he thought about what on earth she could have traveled hundreds of miles to tell him. Even if she’d come out here to see a girlfriend, she’d still gone to the effort of finding him at home.

She met his gaze. “First, I want you to know how sorry I am. About Sean Harper.”

His throat burned. “Thank you.”

“You two were close, I take it?”

He nodded.

She looked down again. “I could tell. Everything you did in the helicopter . . . the way you talked to him. I’m sure it was comforting to him to hear your voice right then.”

As he bled out, she meant. Luke had been elbow-deep in Sean’s blood, and by the time they’d loaded him onto the medevac plane, he’d barely had a pulse.

She looked across the courtyard at a pair of abandoned scooters. “I keep thinking about that day—the first day—about how if we’d taken another route, or left earlier, or had one more car in our convoy, none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t.” He put his hand on her knee, then quickly pulled it away. “You can’t think like that. Take it from me. You can’t think like that, or you’ll go crazy.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she said, “The other thing I wanted to say is thank you.”

He didn’t respond.

“What you guys did for me . . . what you did—”

“It’s my job,” he said, and it came out too harshly, because she looked stung. “I mean, you don’t have to thank me. It was—” My pleasure to rescue you? If he said something that stupid, he should be strung up from the nearest tree. “It was my privilege to be able to help.”

Which sounded only slightly less idiotic. She was staring at him now, no doubt thinking he was a total asshole, and he didn’t blame her.

“So . . . how long are you in town?” he asked.

She bit her lip as she looked at him, and he prayed she was going to get off the serious stuff. He wasn’t good at shit like this. It was no secret that his bedside manner sucked. It was even a joke in the teams—his bedside manner consisted of bedding as many women as possible in any manner he could.

And if she’d been able to read his mind right now, she’d probably run straight back to La Jolla.

“My plans are kind of up in the air,” she said, looking away. “I was thinking a long weekend.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.”

The silence stretched out, and the only sound was the faint noise of a TV in one of the nearby apartments. She stood up, taking her cue, and he felt a mix of relief and disappointment as he stood, too.

She was leaving. This was it. He’d probably never see her again. Something clawed at his stomach, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what to say or how to keep her in the courtyard of his slummy apartment for even a minute longer.

“Well . . . ’bye, then.” She held out her hand, cast and everything. “It was good to see you.”





* * *





Elizabeth sat on the floor of her hotel room amid case files and cartons of Thai noodles. After a marathon team meeting, they’d downshifted into sweatpants and carryout food.

“I still can’t believe I’m here.”

Elizabeth glanced over at Lauren as she picked at her noodles. “Why?”

“Do you realize we’re working for Gordon Moore? I can’t understand why he put me on this team.”

Elizabeth set her carton aside. “He works in mysterious ways.”

“You, I get,” Lauren said. “You’ve worked for him before. But why me?”

“Because you’re an expert on the Saledo cartel, and they play an important role in this. And because you’re a great agent.”

She snorted.

“What?”

“I won’t argue,” Lauren said, “but really, come on. Let’s get real. I’m a good agent, yeah, but this task force already has a token female.” She reached for Elizabeth’s carton. “You finished with that?”