Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(69)

“Typical setup for a drive-by,” he said. “Which is probably intentional.”

“The motel was hit recently in some sort of drug thing,” Elizabeth said. She pictured the bullet hole in the office window. Their tangos had probably noticed the same thing when they were considering ways to eliminate yet another eyewitness without attracting undue attention.

Derek was gazing down at her, his brow furrowed. “How long you been here?”

“I’m fine.”

“You need a break.”

The elevator opened again, and Torres stepped off. He glanced at Derek, then Elizabeth, as he walked over.

“Passed the boss in the lobby,” he told her. “You have orders to go home, get some rest.”

“I can stay.”

Torres squeezed her shoulder. “I’m on. You go. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“We’ve got mine,” Derek said.

“Go,” Torres repeated. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

She cast a glance at Lauren’s sister, who was still on her cell phone. Then she followed Derek to the elevator. The doors swept shut, and she stared down at her feet, at the black leather flats that she’d rinsed off in the hospital bathroom because they’d been smeared with blood. She still wore her bloodied slacks, too, but the jacket she’d used as a bandage was back at the crime scene. Or maybe in a trash can. Or maybe it had been bagged up by the evidence team.

She looked up to find Derek watching her in the mirrored doors.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

The doors slid open, and they stepped out into the same lobby she’d rushed through only a few hours ago. Another set of doors, and then they were standing together in the muggy night air. The streets were dark and deserted. All was quiet except for the distant wail of an approaching ambulance.

“What’s the theory?” Derek asked, leading her across the street.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re bound to have one. What is it?”

He led her away from the parking garage, and she spotted his truck on the street beside a fire hydrant. They climbed in.

“We believe they’re eliminating eyewitnesses,” she said. “What I don’t get is why. Why not just stage the attack and get it over with?”

He gave her a grim look.

“You think they’re biding their time,” she stated.

“I think they’re waiting for something. Something specific.” He pulled into the street and stopped at an intersection. It was nearly midnight, and traffic was light. “Where to?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He hung a left. “You hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.” The last place she wanted to be right now was a noisy bar. “I guess just take me back to the hotel.”

“You got it.” He took a right and headed for the freeway.

She looked at him. “I’m sorry if this sounds bitchy, but please don’t get the wrong idea about this.”

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t think we should sleep together again.” Somehow everything that had happened made it easier to say it, to just get it out in the open. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I happen to think it’s a great idea, but it’s your call.”

She turned to look out the window, bracing herself for the guilt. But it didn’t come. She actually felt relieved that she’d taken it off the table.

They drove without talking as the lights of Houston rushed by. Her stomach clenched as she thought of Lauren being loaded onto the gurney and whisked away in the ambulance. She’d felt so helpless, so utterly useless, staying behind to answer questions. She’d felt even more useless pacing the hospital waiting room.

She rested her forehead against the window and let the truck’s vibrations numb her as she closed her eyes. Her eyelids burned. She combed through the events in her mind. She went through them systematically, looking for any detail she’d missed, anything she’d omitted when she gave her report.

The truck slowed, and she opened her eyes as Derek pulled into the familiar parking lot.

Elizabeth zeroed in on her room. She pictured Lauren sitting cross-legged on her floor, surrounded by case files and cartons of Thai food. Derek whipped into a space, and she felt a wave of nausea.

“I can’t go in there.”

He looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t. I—”

“No problem.” He thrust the truck back into gear.

“I’m sorry.”

“I get it. Stop apologizing.”

He pulled out of the parking lot, then headed back toward the freeway.

She eyed his phone in the cup holder and felt sick again. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t rest tonight. She should go straight back to the hospital and wait for news.

“There’s nothing you can do there,” Derek said, clearly reading her mind. “Your boss is right. You need a break.”

She turned to look out the window as he got back onto the freeway. “So where are we going?”