Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(80)

“Rasasa,” Luke said. “I don’t know if it’s a name or a place or what, but Hailey said it’s something Khalid was talking about during her captivity.”

“Rasasa.”

“Yeah, you roll the R. I think it’s a person, but it could be anything. I figured you could pass it along to the FBI. Can you reach Elizabeth?”

Derek glanced over his shoulder. The bed was empty now. “Yeah,” he said, stepping back into the room.

So much for the naked send-off he’d been hoping for. But the bathroom door stood ajar, and the shower was running, so maybe he had a chance.

“She mention anything else?” Derek asked.

“Not really.”

Derek scrubbed his hand over his face. “Okay, well, let me know if she comes up with something more.”

“I will. So are you back yet?”

“Nah, I’m still in Houston.”

“I thought you were driving.”

“I am.”

The water went off, and Derek watched Elizabeth’s perfectly wet and perfectly naked body step out of the tub.

“Listen, I gotta go.”

“Right. Got it.” Luke laughed, and Derek knew he’d figured out exactly why he was still in Houston. “Hey, don’t stick around too long. We’re wheels-up Thursday.”

“I know.”

Derek shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped into the bathroom as she was wrapping herself in a towel. She looked wary, maybe a little uneasy around him in the cold light of morning. She was typically so restrained all the time, and last night’s maelstrom of tears and emotion and lust had caught them both off-guard.

She moved to step past him, and he caught her arm.

“?’Morning.”

“?’Morning.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Not exactly the full-frontal assault he would have liked, but it was friendly.

“How’s the arm?” he asked, looking down at her bandage.

“Fine.”

Uh-huh. He’d bet it hurt like a bitch.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked, slipping out of his grasp to walk to the closet.

“Luke. Hey, does the name Rasasa mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“I don’t know.” His phone vibrated, and he tore his gaze away from Elizabeth to read a text from Cole. The message was long and rambling, and reading it prompted him to shuffle his plans for the morning. He texted back a response.

“Where’d that come from?”

He looked up. “Hailey Gardner.” He tucked the phone away. “Luke talked to her last night.”

Her eyebrows tipped up as she slipped past him again—fully dressed now, unfortunately—into the bathroom. She wore another one of those crisp white shirts with charcoal slacks. She ran a brush through her hair, eyeing him in the mirror. “I didn’t know he’d been in contact with her.”

The implication was that Derek had known and hadn’t told her. He didn’t want to get into it. “Mind if I use your shower?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Of course not.” She leaned close to the mirror and swiped mascara on her eyelashes. “I have to go, though. Gordon called from the hospital.”

“How’s Lauren?”

“Good.” She applied lipstick. Then she stuffed all her makeup into a zipper bag. “They moved her to a private room. Also, the motel clerk is awake now. Gordon’s bringing in a forensic artist, hoping she’ll be up for an interview. He wants me to sit in, see what develops.” She paused. “Are you getting on the road today?”

“That’s the plan.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she looked like she wanted to say something. He waited, but nothing came.

“I’ve got to check something out first,” he said. “Cole sent me a new lead on a gun dealer, so I’m going to follow up.”

“You should let us do it.” She lifted her gaze, and her voice was businesslike. “You don’t want to be late reporting for duty.”

“I’d just as soon handle it. Where are you going to be later?”

Someone knocked on the door, and she glanced across the room. “That’s Torres.” She pulled her still-damp hair into a ponytail, then squeezed past him again and went to the dresser.

“Where will you be later?” he asked again.

“After the hospital? Probably the office.”

She put on her belt, threading it through her holster as he eased closer to watch. When he’d first met her, the gun had been a major turn-on. Now it was mostly a reminder of what he didn’t like about her job. She thought his job was dangerous? He’d been with her a week, and she’d been knifed and shot at.

She finished buckling and looked up. “Why?”

“I’ll catch up with you before I go. Keep your phone on.”

More knocking. She grabbed her jacket off the chair and shrugged into it, watching him. “If you can’t, I understand,” she said.

He pulled her to him and kissed her hard. When he let her go, she blinked up at him. “Keep your phone on.”





* * *





It would have been a tricky interview anyway, but with Jamie still groggy, communication was difficult. Gordon seemed determined, though, and by mid-morning, he’d cut through all the hospital’s red tape and had one of the nation’s top forensic artists on-site and ready to get to work.