Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(2)
They turned into an alley, and Grace glanced around, startled. “Um, the hotel’s on Brazos Street?”
“Shortcut.”
His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, and Grace’s skin went cold.
She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Actually, just drop me off here, thanks.”
He turned into an even darker alley beside a parking garage. Grace’s throat went dry as he rolled to a stop.
She lunged for the door, but it wouldn’t open. Her heart hiccuped as he turned in his seat and reached back.
Pain blazed through her, and she reeled sideways. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She tried to lift her head.
Another jolt fired through her body, this one bigger and brighter, like grabbing a live wire. White-hot pain seared her. She couldn’t move or hear, but she tasted blood and smelled her clothes burning.
And then there was nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, only black.
CHAPTER 2
It was a beautiful wedding, as weddings went. Quaint country church. Polished wooden pews. Antique stained glass, with thick beams of light shining through. But the best thing about it was its brevity. Barely an hour after the first organ notes, Sara Lockhart was standing under an oak tree at the Magnolia Bistro ordering a glass of wine.
“Buy you a drink?”
Sara glanced up as her lab assistant stepped over.
“Thanks, but it’s an open bar,” she said.
“I’m kidding.” Aaron turned to the bartender as Sara collected her wineglass. “Shiner Bock.”
The bartender popped the top off an icy bottle, and Sara stuffed a tip into his jar. Careful not to snag a heel, she led Aaron across the cobblestone patio to a patch of shade under an awning.
“So, where’s the happy couple?” Aaron swigged his beer.
“My guess? Still stuck at the church taking pictures.”
Sara sipped her wine and looked Aaron over. At six-two, he was a head taller than she was. His spiky hair had been tamed with gel today, and he wore a navy suit that hung loose on his lean frame.
Aaron was Sara’s assistant at the Delphi Center Crime Lab, where they worked in the forensic anthropology department, fondly referred to as the Crypt. Aaron typically wore jeans and T-shirts or dusty coveralls if they were out in the field.
“What?” he asked.
“You clean up nicely.”
“You’re surprised?”
“Not at all. I’m just not used to you in a suit.”
“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”
She looked down at her short black wrap dress. She’d heard it was bad luck to wear black to a wedding. But it had been this or the gray suit she wore to court, and she couldn’t bring herself to show up to a party looking like an attorney.
She glanced up. Aaron was watching her steadily, and she reminded herself that they were coworkers. No flirting. Of course, that applied to every man she knew here, so she was in for a dull evening unless she wanted to mingle with the groom’s friends. Which she should. Definitely. The whole point of coming was to meet people.
The conversation lagged, and Sara eyed the door, wishing for the bride and groom to appear. The sooner they arrived, the sooner festivities could commence in earnest, and the sooner she could sneak out.
A buzz emanated from Aaron’s pocket. He looked relieved for the interruption as he pulled out his phone.
“Sorry. Mind if I . . . ?”
“Go ahead.”
He stepped away to take the call, and Sara turned her attention back to the courtyard filling up with guests. Even with the misters going, it was hot. Texas-in-July hot. Most of the men had already tossed their jackets over chairs and rolled up their sleeves.
From her meager slice of shade, Sara scanned the patio. Mason jars filled with red, white, and blue snapdragons dotted the tables. In a nod to the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, every centerpiece included glittery red-and-blue sparklers. Sighing, Sara wished again that she could leave soon. It wasn’t the heat or the standing-alone part that made her uncomfortable; it was the wedding. The nuptials. The promise of wedded bliss, forever and ever, amen. After running out on her own wedding and dealing with the aftermath, she felt cynical about the entire ritual. Usually, she kept her feelings buried, but today’s festivities had brought everything bubbling to the surface. Subtly, she checked her watch. She wanted to chug her chardonnay and take off, but she forced herself to stay put and paste a smile on her face as she watched the crowd.
A man caught her eye from across the courtyard. Mark? Mitch? He worked in the DNA lab, but they’d never been introduced. And crap, he was coming over.
Her phone chimed, and she whipped it from her purse. “Hello?”
“Dr. Lockhart?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m—” Noise drowned out the voice as the bride and groom made their big entrance. Brooke looked radiant in her fitted ivory gown, and cheers went up from the crowd as Sean pulled her in for a kiss.
“Sorry,” Sara told the caller. “Just a sec.”
She ducked around the side of the restaurant and found a narrow walkway near a back door. Through a window, she saw waiters and cooks rushing around the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, go ahead.”