Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(47)

She eyed him coolly as he walked over.

“I figured you’d stand me up,” she said.

“Not a chance.”

She stretched her arms behind her head, and he noticed her bandage. “You’re running in those?” she asked.

He glanced down at his hiking boots. He’d had some shorts stashed in his truck but no running shoes. “Sure, why not?”

“Suit yourself. You ready?”

“Always.”

She set off down the trail, and he fell into step beside her. Ninety-nine degrees, ninety-five-percent humidity. The towering longleaf pines blocked the late-day sun, but in Houston during July, nothing could cut the heat.

“I’m surprised you wanted me to meet you,” he said. “Thought you didn’t like running.”

“I don’t. But it’s a necessary evil when I’m away from my gym.”

He picked up the pace just to needle her and for a while, they ran without talking. He wondered how long it would take her to bring it up. He guessed half a mile, but by the one-mile marker, she’d proven him wrong.

“So.” She gave him a sideways glance and caught him looking at her breasts. “You had a busy morning.”

“Yep.”

“You go home to sleep at all?” Fishing, as he’d expected. She wanted his time accounted for so she could figure out where he’d gotten his intel.

“I caught a few hours,” he said vaguely.

She didn’t talk for a while, so he picked up the speed again, passing a couple with a Weimaraner.

“You know—” Her breathing was more labored now. “Your tip earlier wasn’t exactly helpful.”

“No?”

“You have any idea how many maroon Nissan Sentras there are in Houston?”

“No, but I bet you do.”

“Eight hundred and three,” she said. “And that’s in Harris County alone. Add the surrounding counties, and it’s twice that. Where’d you get this lead?”

“I’ll tell you later, maybe over beers.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she pounded along, not letting her temper show. She set a decent pace, and she was in good shape. The main problem was her stride, but she made a solid effort to keep up with him as they veered around walkers and joggers and people pushing strollers. She didn’t talk. He waited. When another mile marker whisked past, he sensed she was ready to take another stab at it.

“I know you think you’re helping,” she said, “but you’re really not.”

He picked up the pace again, and they passed a trio of joggers.

“Derek, I’m going to have to insist that you be more forthcoming.”

He smiled. “Didn’t I tell you what it does to me when you get bossy?”

“I’m not joking.” She shot him a glare. “Gordon is threatening to charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“For sharing intel?”

“For meddling in a federal investigation.” She glanced at him. “Why on earth are you smiling? You could get arrested, do you realize that?”

He shook his head. “Now, that’s something I wouldn’t recommend, Liz. How are you going to find Ameen with me in custody?”

“We are going to find him. As in the FBI, not you. How many times do I have to tell you, you are not—”

“—part of this investigation. Yeah. Got it. I came up with a vehicle today. What have you guys come up with?” He glanced at her. “Come on, let’s hear it. Last I checked, you had four new leads: the autopsy, the Chevy, the cell phone, and the mall cams. So tell me, what have you guys managed to make of all that?”

No response.

“What’s that? Nothing? Out of that mountain of evidence?”

She surged ahead of him, leaving him in the dust. He quickly caught up to her, and then it was an impromptu race to the end of the three-mile loop. Not that it was any contest, really. He didn’t have the heart to pour on the speed like he would if he was with Luke or Gonzo. He sailed past the last signpost and glanced over his shoulder at her.

She was bent at the waist, gulping down air. He circled back, and she straightened when he reached her. Wet strands of hair clung to her neck. She was flushed, panting, and pissed off at him. The Holy Trinity of turn-ons, and he couldn’t resist grabbing her hand and pulling her in for a kiss, but before his mouth connected, he got a sharp shove to the solar plexus.

“I’m trying to help you!” she snapped. Heads swiveled in their direction, and she lowered her voice. “Do you even realize how serious this is?”

“Matter of fact, I do, yeah.”

“If you don’t cooperate with this investigation—”

“I told you I’d be in touch, and I will. You just have to trust me.”

“Gordon wants to talk to you now. We need to know where you’re getting your information. What sources do you have that we don’t know about?”

He looked down at her and almost felt sorry for her. As ambushes went, it wasn’t exactly a victory. “Be patient. Let me work, okay? And then I’ll let you know.”

“Derek—”

“Good run, Liz.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for the invite. Anytime you want to work up a sweat, just give me a call.”