Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(35)
“Take it slow.”
“Torres, he’s on Richmond, proceeding west,” she reported. “I repeat, west toward the Galleria.”
Elizabeth watched the car, hardly able to believe it. But it was real. It was Omar Rasheed, and she wasn’t mistaken about it. She hung back now, watching with panic as the Chevy sailed through an intersection and the light turned yellow.
“Shit!” She slapped the steering wheel.
“Relax. He’ll catch the next one.” But Derek’s tone wasn’t relaxed at all as the Chevy became a distant dot amid a river of taillights.
The light changed. Elizabeth gunned it.
“Don’t get burned,” Derek warned as she veered around a delivery truck. The car ahead hit the brakes, and she swerved, cutting off a pickup and earning an angry honk.
She navigated through traffic, trying to keep her nerves under control while her mind raced. Where was he going? Whatever happened, she couldn’t lose him. But she couldn’t get burned, either.
She felt Derek’s tension beside her as she sped through the next intersection, trying to keep him in sight.
“He’s heading for the Galleria,” she said tightly. The largest mall in Houston, in the entire state. And it was Saturday.
“Light’s about to change,” Derek said.
It turned yellow, and she stomped on the gas. They sailed through the intersection. She fought traffic for several minutes, gripping the wheel and trying to keep the blue Chevy in view.
“Elizabeth? You copy?”
“Torres, he’s nearing the mall—”
“Turning north,” Derek cut in.
“He just turned north—”
“What street?” Torres asked.
“No idea. Southeast of the mall.” She shot a look at Derek and knew he was thinking the same thing. What’s he doing at a shopping mall?
Horns blared as she swerved around a minivan and made a sharp right. She glanced around.
“Where’d he go?” She scanned the cars, the parking lots. No sign of the Chevy. She slowed, looking from left to right as her heart galloped inside her chest. Beside her, Derek muttered a curse.
“I’ll circle the block,” she told him. “He didn’t just disappear.” But even as she said it, she felt a sharp pang of disappointment. The streets around the shopping center were clogged with traffic, including SUVs and delivery trucks. He could easily have gotten lost in the shuffle.
“LeBlanc?” Torres sounded impatient.
“Now I don’t see him.”
“There.” Derek braced a hand on the dash.
“What? Where?” She tapped the brakes.
“Two o’clock. He’s on foot. Pull over.”
“I’ll park.”
“No time.”
He shoved his door open. She jabbed the brakes, and he jumped out.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“I’ll take Rasheed. You find the Chevy.”
“But—”
“Get your bomb squad on that car, Liz. It could be rigged.”
* * *
The mall was crowded with teens and tourists and stroller-pushing moms seeking shelter from the heat. Thousands of unsuspecting civilians during peak hours.
Derek spotted the subject riding an escalator to the second floor, which looked out over an ice rink. Rasheed had his phone pressed to his ear. Keeping to the shadows, Derek watched him. Rasheed cast a furtive look over his shoulder, and Derek ducked into a shop. It sold men’s shoes, fortunately, and he pretended to be looking at some Nikes as Rasheed ascended out of sight.
Derek slipped out. Using the crowd for cover, he caught the escalator and got the man in his sights again. He was off the phone now. He made his way through the mall slowly, constantly checking over his shoulder, and everything about him was a red flag. Derek didn’t like his body language or his paranoia, and he definitely didn’t like his leather jacket in July.
Derek watched, taking in every detail, from his slow gait to the shift of his head. Was he looking for someone? Casing the place? Was this a dry run?
Or was the mission here and now?
Rasheed glanced over his shoulder again as he approached the railing. He leaned his arms against it and looked out over the rink, where kids and adults were slip-sliding across the ice. He reached into his jacket.
Derek reached for his gun.
* * *
Elizabeth rushed through the door and was hit by a wall of cold air. She cut through Neiman Marcus, weaving through makeup counters and perfume-wielding models as she hurried for the main mall.
She whipped out her phone just as it chimed.
“Where are you?” she demanded.
“East end of the skating rink,” Derek told her. “Where’s the car?”
“Torres spotted it in the southeast parking lot. HPD has a bomb dog there, but it hasn’t alerted on anything. We’ve got SWAT on the way.” Elizabeth cut through a mob of teen girls chattering and texting on their phones. “Damn it, this place is packed. Do you have him?”
“He’s hanging out by the ice rink, second level. Just put on a red baseball cap.” His tone sounded ominous.
“What, you mean he bought it in a store?” She was race-walking now, scanning the crowd for the red cap while trying not to draw attention to herself.