Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(19)

“That’s right.”

“Okay, what else?” he asked.

“What else what?”

“The purple string at the gravesite.” He watched her closely. “That’s important. I could tell by your reaction when Aaron found it and called us over.”

He was right, the twine was important, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. If she voiced her suspicions, she might throw his investigation into a tailspin, and for what? She could be wrong. She was still waiting on feedback from Cliff Underwood, as well as the cordage expert at the Delphi Center.

“I’ll get back to you on the twine.”

“That’s it?” His voice had an edge.

“I’m still checking into a few things. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

He just looked at her.

“I’ve barely had this case two days, Nolan. You need to give me some time here. We have to be meticulous. We can’t be pressured into providing incomplete—or, worse, inaccurate—information.”

He gave a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

She could tell he was skeptical. And impatient. But he had more than enough information now to move forward, and the answers she needed would be coming soon.

She hoped.

“I’ll get you more info as soon as I can,” she said. “Probably by tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then slid his glass away. “I had better get back. I need to go by the Bairds’ tonight.”

She ignored the tug of disappointment as he stood up. Of course, he had to get back now. He had work still to do and a two-hour drive ahead of him. Silently, they walked to the parking lot together. His dusty white pickup was right beside her black Explorer.

She popped her locks and lingered near the bumper. Despite their friction over the case, she’d enjoyed hanging out with him, and she didn’t want it to end. Which was ridiculous. She had work left to do tonight, too.

He eased closer, and her pulse picked up. “Thank you for giving up your weekend,” he said.

“It’s no problem. Thank you for the beer.”

He held out his hand. She shook it and felt a warm rush as his fingers closed around hers. Their gazes held, and she had the odd sensation of being pulled into him, even though they didn’t move.

He stepped back. “Keep me posted, Sara.”

“I will.”

? ? ?

Sara lived in a vintage building that had been a paper factory before it was converted to loft apartments. The place had a lot going for it—charming brickwork, a prime location, affordable rent. What it didn’t have was parking, and Sara leased a space in the lot behind the bakery next door.

She grabbed her computer bag and locked her car, eyeing the dark corners of the parking lot for anything suspicious. In many ways, San Marcos was an idyllic college town, but as Nolan had pointed out, looks could be deceiving.

She walked past the bakery and was surprised to see a white SUV roll to a stop at a meter across the street. Kelsey Quinn slid out and gave her a wave. Sara waved back as her coworker waited for a break in traffic and hurried across the street.

“Didn’t know you were back,” Sara said.

“Just got in.”

Kelsey was tall and slender. She wore jeans and a sleeveless white shirt that showed off her new tan. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a ponytail.

“How was Belize?” Sara asked.

“Restful. How’s everything here?”

“Fine. Not exactly restful, but we’ve managed to juggle it.” Sara paused, searching Kelsey’s face for clues. She wasn’t in the habit of stopping by, so something had to be up.

“Sorry to just drop in,” Kelsey said.

“Not at all. Want to come up?”

“For a minute, yeah. I won’t keep you.”

Sara tapped her entry code, ushered Kelsey into the tiled lobby, and led her to the stairwell.

“Elevator not working?” Kelsey asked, glancing at the antique cage with an ornate door.

“It’s temperamental.”

Sara’s second-floor unit was the first door on the left. She unlocked it and let Kelsey inside.

“Hey, you changed it,” Kelsey said, looking around.

“Finally got around to unpacking.” Sara dropped her computer bag on the armchair and went into the kitchen. Her place was all one room, with a long granite bar dividing the kitchen from the living area. Her bed—currently unmade—was pushed against the exposed brick wall to maximize living space.

“It’s a mess, I know.”

“You should see my place.” Kelsey set her purse on the counter and glanced around.

“I’m out of wine, but I’ve got juice, tea. Think there’s a Corona in here somewhere,” Sara said.

“I’ll have tea, if it’s handy.”

“Hot okay?”

“Sure.”

Sara took out a kettle and filled it with water as Kelsey stepped over to a shelf filled with anthropology books. She seemed intrigued by the titles. Kelsey had been over once before to pick up a report, but everything had been in boxes.

Kelsey looked at a small wooden statue of a rice god, guardian of the harvest, which had been given to Sara on a visit to the Philippine rice terraces. Sara displayed it on her top shelf beside a Virgin Mary triptych—which would have made her devout grandmother frown with disapproval. Sara was too much of a scientist to believe in superstitions, but for some reason, she liked having guardians from two totally different cultures keeping watch over her home. She found them comforting, and they reminded her of special people in her life.