Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(66)
“Test all you want,” Derek said, “but don’t waste time getting a bead on these tangos. Whatever their mission is, we’re getting to the zero hour.”
* * *
Lauren pulled into the convenience store a block down from the Happy Trails Motel. They’d spent the past two hours combing southwest Houston in a fruitless search for the motel clerk.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this girl,” Lauren said, rolling up to a gas pump. “Any more updates from Torres?”
“I’ll check. You want anything inside? I’m getting coffee.”
“Cherry Icee.”
Elizabeth made a face.
“What? I skipped lunch.”
“One Cherry Icee coming up.”
She called Torres as she entered the store and made a beeline for the drink section. “What’s the word on Jamie?”
“I talked to her landlady,” he reported. “She rents a garage apartment over here on Cottonwood Drive, but she hasn’t been by in a few days.”
“That’s not good.”
“Maybe not as bad as it sounds. This woman’s the busybody type. Says her tenant keeps weird hours and is in and out a lot with her boyfriend, spends the night at his place a lot.”
“Let’s hope so.” Elizabeth put a lid on her coffee and then filled a cup with red slush. “We know the boyfriend’s name?”
“Just that he’s ‘Negro’ and drives a pickup.”
“?‘Negro’? How old is this landlady?”
“About a hundred and fifty,” he said. “But she seems pretty sharp, and she basically camps out in her recliner near the window watching her street. She’s got a clear view of the driveway, so she probably would have seen if Jamie came home today.”
Elizabeth waited in line as the checkout clerk carded a kid for beer. His fake ID was so bad Elizabeth could spot it from five feet away. The woman turned him down on the beer, so he settled for a pack of cigarettes.
“Are you at the motel yet?” Torres asked.
“Almost. Jamie’s shift starts in ten minutes.”
“Hope you find her, because we’re striking out on this end.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Lauren was on the phone when Elizabeth slid back into the car and tucked their drinks into the cup holders.
“We’re just getting there,” Lauren was saying. “Her shift starts at six.” She shot Elizabeth a look. “All right, I’ll tell her.” She got off the phone and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Gordon?”
“Nope. Your SEAL. And he’s not happy that we’re staking out the motel. He says this is a crappy neighborhood.”
“How’d he get your number?”
“I gave it to him.” She smiled. “And before you freak out, no, I’m not hitting on him. He wanted it in case he needed to reach you. He said you were screening his calls this morning.”
Elizabeth couldn’t believe he’d told her that.
“Was it that bad?” Lauren asked, and Elizabeth didn’t pretend not to understand what she was talking about.
“It wasn’t bad at all. It was—” Amazing. Thorough. Exhilarating. “It was fine, right up to the point when he disappeared.”
Lauren looked at her. “Really?”
“It’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking, and I really don’t want to talk about this now, so—”
“So at least tell me what you think of his theory. That we might be dealing with a chemical weapon.”
“You’re taking a left up here.”
Lauren shifted lanes. “Well?”
“I think it’s a serious possibility,” Elizabeth said. “Based on what I know about Ameen, he has the expertise to pull it off, and if he’s planning something, it’s probably against civilians. Gordon said civilian targets are his specialty. Here, this is it.”
Lauren pulled into the lot, but they saw no sign of Jamie’s white Honda. She circled the building, bumping over potholes behind the motel as they squeezed past a Dumpster. Elizabeth noted a pair of black pickups in the Smoke ’n Toke parking lot and called Torres.
“The boyfriend’s pickup truck,” she said. “You know what color that is?”
“Sorry—yeah, it’s white. And there’s a logo on the side. I think he has a lawn-mowing business.”
Lauren parked in one of the motel’s front-row spaces facing the office. “I’ll check inside,” she said. “Maybe she got dropped off.”
“Doubtful. We’re early.” Elizabeth glanced around, but she didn’t see any white pickups. “We’re not seeing her,” she told Torres, “but we have a few minutes—wait, hang on.”
Elizabeth twisted around in her seat as a white pickup truck pulled out of the lot’s east exit. There was some lettering on the side, but she couldn’t read it.
A woman rounded the corner of the building, and Elizabeth’s pulse quickened.
“Think I see her,” she told Torres. “Let me call you back.”
She pushed the door open and tucked her phone into her pocket. The woman was five-two, plump, wearing cutoff shorts and flip-flops. Her jet-black hair was at odds with her fair skin, and her eyes looked wary as Elizabeth approached.