Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(33)

She looked out the window, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. Not possible with him in the car. He was in jeans and cowboy boots again, but now he had a leather jacket on, too, probably to conceal the loaded pistol he was no doubt carrying.

“Elizabeth?”

She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, yes. We managed to trace the registration sticker.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“The Chevy’s registered to a student at Rice University,” she said. “He sold his car three weeks ago, presumably to one of our tangos.”

“And?”

She looked at him. “And a week later, he was killed in a mugging.”

“A mugging.”

“Someone accosted him outside a bar here in Montrose. Shot him at point-blank range, took his phone, his wallet. We’re investigating the case now, obviously. There’s an evidence response team at the victim’s apartment, turning the place inside out, looking for anything on this car buyer he met up with right before his death.”

Derek shook his head.

“What do you think?”

“I think they’re cleaning up loose ends,” he said, “eliminating anyone who can identify them.”

She sighed. “That’s what I think, too.”

“Also sounds to me like the car’s important. Maybe part of the plot somehow.”

She thought back to the mangled school bus and stifled a shudder. In the right location, a car bomb could wreak havoc. Should she tell Derek about Zahid Ameen? She’d thought about it. It was something he’d definitely want to know, but he was already too involved.

She looked across the street at the Galaxy Café. It had a giant moon for a logo and offered coffee and free Wi-Fi to a steady stream of starving artists and college students.

“It’s a good strategy,” Derek said.

“What?”

“Staking out the neighborhood. People are creatures of habit, even terrorists. We know one of them used the Internet here. We know one of them bought a car from a kid in school less than a mile away. This feels like their comfort zone.”

“You think? Because to me, it feels like a dead end.” She couldn’t hide the frustration in her voice. “If these guys are so smart, they won’t use the same Internet café more than once.”

She glanced at Derek, whose attention was trained on the door. She thought of his petite mother, who’d been so friendly to her when she stopped by the house yesterday. I’m sorry you missed Derek. Come back anytime. Was it just typical Texas hospitality, or did she really mean it? Elizabeth wasn’t sure why it should matter to her, but it did.

“How’s your family?” she asked.

He sent her a sideways look.

“Your parents? Your sisters? Have you had a chance to see them all?”

“They’re fine.” His tone was cautious, as though he was surprised she’d asked a personal question.

Because why would she? For days, he’d made no secret of wanting to jump into bed with her. But heaven forbid she might ask about his personal life.

She took the bottle of water from him. “They don’t mind you coming home, then immediately going AWOL on them?”

“I don’t stick around the house much when I’m in town. Makes me stir-crazy.”

She guzzled some water. She pictured him at a bar, drinking and picking up women. He probably didn’t even have to put much effort into it. From what she’d seen, women threw themselves at him wherever he went.

The thought put a sour taste in her mouth. Looking out the window again, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. God, she probably looked terrible. Not that it mattered. But she’d been sitting in this car so long every inch of her felt sticky.

“You ever going to tell me about that scar?”

She looked at him, then back at the café. “It’s a long story.”

He shifted in his seat, settling in. “Good thing we’ve got time to kill.”

He wasn’t going to let it go. She’d known he wouldn’t, but she’d been stalling. She should just tell him and get it over with before he realized how much she hated talking about it.

“It was one of our biggest cases this spring,” she said. “You might have missed it because you were deployed. There was a bombing at a university—”

“Philadelphia. I saw the story. You were involved in that?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. Would have thought the Philly office would be all over it.”

“They were, but we got pulled in because of a Texas connection. Anyway, we traced one of the suspects to San Antonio. I was following up on a lead, and one of them found me.” She fixed her gaze on the café and let the words flow out without thinking about them. “He disarmed me. Pistol-whipped me. Took me hostage. Would have killed me if someone hadn’t discovered where I was in time.”

“Name?” His voice was neutral, but his look was sharp as a blade.

“What, you want to go after him?”

His silence told her that was exactly what he wanted.

A chill snaked down her spine, and she glanced away. “Doesn’t matter. He’s locked up, and he’s never getting out.”