Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(46)
“How’d you know he’s a SEAL?”
“Are you kidding? Look at the man! He’s completely ripped.” Lauren grinned. “And he’s packing heat, too, in case you didn’t notice. You didn’t tell me you knew him personally.”
Elizabeth stepped up to the vending machine. The last thing she wanted to do was show up for the meeting talking about this. “I don’t. It’s not like that.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” She fed in a bill and pounded out a Coke, which she hoped would cancel out the alcohol on her breath.
Lauren’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do you have beard burn?”
“Shit! I do?”
“Oh, my God, you are doing him!” Lauren smacked her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I want details!”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re sleeping with a SEAL, and there’s nothing to tell. Right. Obviously, you have no concept of the Mojave Desert that is my current love life. Give me something juicy. Pretty, pretty please?”
Elizabeth popped open her drink and took a sip to cool her throat. She pressed the can to her chin. Beard burn? Good Lord.
Lauren was still watching her.
“What do you want me to say? There’s nothing really going on, except . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to describe it.
Lauren beamed. “I’m so happy for you. God, what’s it been, eighteen months? Two years since you had a boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. It’s not like that at all.” She guzzled more Coke.
“What’s it like, then?”
“I don’t know. Casual.”
“Casual.”
“As in we barely even know each other.”
“Hey, listen, I’m thrilled for you,” Lauren said, not buying a word of it. “Just be careful.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean he’s a SEAL. From what I hear, those guys are pretty busy these days, right?”
She was right. And a sour ball formed in Elizabeth’s stomach just thinking about it.
“I’d hate to see you get hung up on some spec ops warrior who’s gone all the time,” Lauren continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—indulge and everything. Get with the man. I sure as hell would. Just don’t for fall for him.”
“I’m not.”
“Not unless you have an emotional death wish.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are you?”
The sound of Derek’s voice sent a jolt through her, and for an instant she was back in her hotel room with his hands all over her and her bed just inches away.
But then she snapped back to reality, which consisted of the windowless cubbyhole where she’d spent the past four hours watching blurry footage of the shopping center’s thirty-two entrances. And those were only the public ones.
She sighed. “I’m back at the mall.”
“Got a pen handy? I have a lead for you.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Doesn’t matter. You ready?”
“Wait, hold on.” She grabbed a pen and paper as Lauren mouthed, Who is it?
Derek, she mouthed back, and Lauren’s eyebrows tipped up.
“A maroon Nissan Sentra, four-door, dented front bumper,” he said.
“What is that?”
“Ameen’s vehicle.”
“What? Where’d you get this?”
“That’s not important. But it’s good as of yesterday.”
Elizabeth’s pulse skittered. She looked at Lauren, who was obviously wondering what he’d said to get her all worked up.
She hit pause on her surveillance footage and stood up. After a quick glance around, she took the call into the break room, which was empty at the moment.
“Okay, back up.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “Where are you?”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“Wait! Don’t go. Where did you get this? Have you actually seen him?”
“Not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“I talked to someone who recognized him,” he said.
“Oh, my God, where?” She glanced out the door. Where was Gordon? She should put him directly on the phone.
“I’m not there anymore. And anyway, I’m tied up with something else now.”
“But we need to know your source.”
“Keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch.”
“Hold on! Derek?”
But he’d already hung up.
* * *
Derek could see Elizabeth’s ambush coming a mile away, but he walked right into it, partly out of curiosity and partly because her mouth was so fresh in his mind he could practically taste it.
He pulled into the narrow parking lot and found an empty space facing a row of pine trees. Elizabeth’s rental car was parked near the trailhead, and she stood beside a wooden post, stretching her hamstrings. She wore short black running shorts and a tight pink shirt that could have inspired an entire BUD/S class to tackle a twenty-mile beach run.