Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(54)

Elizabeth rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was tired, ticked off, and lightheaded with hunger. She jammed her phone into the charger, and it chimed before she even put it down.

“LeBlanc,” she snapped.

“Whoa,” Lauren said. “Somebody’s pissed. What happened?”

She dropped her keys and purse onto the table. “Derek’s being an ass.”

“Hmm. Guess that means you didn’t find him?”

“No.”

“You think he found the Snitch?”

“Yes.” She didn’t mention that he’d not only found it but also attached it to Potter’s vehicle just to piss her off. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto the chair. “Did you get my text?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’ll fill Gordon in about the stripper. I’m guessing you’re avoiding him since our SEAL friend is still at large?”

“You guessed right.” She went into the bathroom and turned on the water. “And thanks. I owe you one.”

“Get some sleep,” Lauren said. “You sound stressed.”

Stressed didn’t cover it. She was so worked up she wanted to hit something, and the thing she most wanted to hit wasn’t available. She splashed water on her cheeks and tried to cool off. She glanced at her reflection. She looked frazzled and cranky, and the humidity had done a number on her hair. She was tired to the bone, and what she needed was a hot shower and a pizza, but she would have given a week’s pay for an ice-cold beer.

She turned the shower to scalding and thought about the crushed granola bar at the bottom of her computer bag. She’d ignored it for weeks, but right now she was famished enough to eat it. She walked into the bedroom and gave a startled yelp at the sight of Derek leaning casually against the wall.

How’d you get in here? was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit back the words, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She glanced at the drapes. He’d gotten past the sliding glass door somehow. Or maybe not. He could just as easily have gotten past the front door, or sweet-talked the desk clerk, or shimmied through a damn vent if he wanted to. In his world, there wasn’t a place or a person that was off-limits.

“Looking a little tired, Liz. Rough night?”

“You shouldn’t be here.” She crossed the room and checked the peephole. The sidewalk was empty, so she hoped no one had seen him.

“You get an agent over to Lexi’s?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

She snatched her jacket off the chair and hung it in the closet. She pulled off her mud-caked shoes and chucked them beside her suitcase.

She returned to the bathroom, and he had the nerve to follow her right in as she turned off the shower. She fumed at him through the cloud of steam.

“Gordon wants you in custody,” she said. “I’m supposed to arrest you on sight.”

He smiled. “What’s stopping you?”

She whisked past him, but he shot an arm across the doorway, blocking her.

“I promise not to resist.” He slid his free hand around her and tugged the handcuffs from her waistband. He held them up in front of her.

She ducked under his arm and crossed the bedroom, swiftly unbuckling the belt that held her holster. He had a thing about women with guns. She knew that. And she wasn’t going to stand here feeding his little fantasy while he laughed at her.

He sauntered over. “You’re ticked off.”

“You’re observant.” She set her Glock and holster on the dresser.

“You think I’m being an ass.”

Damn him. When had he slipped in here?

He stepped closer. “I got you in trouble with your boss, didn’t I?”

She folded her arms. He took another step until he was inches away, the handcuffs still dangling from his fingers. He held them up.

“Go ahead. Cuff me.”

She calmly took the handcuffs and just as calmly placed them on the dresser beside her firearm, but she couldn’t keep her cheeks from flushing as she glared up at him.

He moved closer. She flinched as he rested his hand at her hip where her gun had been, and his thumb seemed to burn right through the fabric as he traced her hip bone.

“Come on.” His voice was low. “What are you afraid of?”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re egging me on, and I’m not afraid of you, so get that through your thick head.”

He eased closer, close enough that his thighs brushed hers, close enough that the solid mass of his chest was right in front of her.

“Know what, Liz?” He dipped his head down, and his breath tickled her temple. “I think you’re lying.”





Chapter Fifteen





His mouth crushed against hers, hot and demanding. He tasted like the other night—like bourbon—and she knew he’d been out drinking with a stripper while she’d been driving around the city searching for him. Knowing it should have made her want to smack him, but her hands were too busy sliding over his shoulders and tangling in his hair. This was a bad idea. She knew it, but she couldn’t push him away. In fact, she was pulling him closer.

After hours of chaos and frustration, he was actually here. She should follow orders and take him into the office for paperwork and interviews, but she wasn’t taking him anywhere. She wanted him alone. She wanted him in her bed, under her, with his mouth all over her and his hands everywhere and his three-day beard scraping her skin. He changed the angle of his kiss and went after her with a fierceness that shocked her and thrilled her all at once.