Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(52)
“Hey, there.”
She turned around, and there he was. Just the sight of him put a big goofy smile on her face.
“Hi. You found me.”
“Saw your car out front.”
He looked good—tall and broad-shouldered in a dark leather jacket that concealed the gun at his hip. He was wearing boots and those well-worn jeans she liked.
“You here for the night?” he asked.
“Yep. Back at the motel.”
He nodded at the stool beside her. “All right if I—”
“Please. Sit down.”
He took a seat as the bartender reappeared, this time with a smile for Nolan.
“What are you having?” Nolan asked Sara.
“I don’t know. House margarita?”
“Rocks or frozen?” the bartender asked.
“Frozen, with salt.”
“Nolan?” the woman asked, and Sara felt a dart of jealousy.
“Just a Coke.”
Sara looked at him. Maybe he was still on duty.
“Anything to eat tonight, ma’am?”
She shifted her attention to the bartender, definitely catching a tone with the ma’am.
“Yes, I’ll have the chicken enchiladas with a side of queso, please.”
“You got it.”
When the bartender left, Nolan turned to Sara. “Sorry, I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting.”
“On a Sunday night?”
“The task force keeps weird hours. Plus, we’ve been in touch with Dax Harper from Austin, which is putting a fire under everyone.”
“Does he really believe that teenager’s abduction is connected?”
“He does. And we’ve got the FBI involved now.”
“Who’s the agent?” she asked.
“Rey Santos. You know him?”
“Not personally, but he worked a case with one of my colleagues back in the spring.”
Sara glanced at the TV above the bar, which was playing a baseball game. She could feel Nolan watching her.
“So.” She looked at him. “I was planning to call you tomorrow.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.” She leaned her elbow on the bar, trying to appear more comfortable than she felt. “Raul’s meeting me at the park first thing in the morning.”
“He bringing his dog?”
“Yes. I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything at the burial site. And I wanted to update you on something.”
The bartender was back with a Coke for Nolan and a margarita the size of a fishbowl.
“Good Lord,” Sara said.
Nolan tapped his glass against hers. “Cheers.”
“This thing is obscene.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She picked it up with both hands and took a sip. It was cold and tart.
“How is it?”
“Perfect.”
“Good.” He smiled at her, and she felt a warm tingle that had nothing to do with the tequila. “What’d you want to update me about?” he asked.
She slid the fishbowl away and collected her thoughts. She was here to work, not flirt, and so was he.
“The victims who were buried,” she said. “As you probably know, teeth and bone are the most durable parts of the human body, followed by hair and nails. We ran some tests on the victims’ fingernails, and in both instances we recovered soil, grit, and fecal matter.”
“Okay.” His gaze narrowed. “Any chance this ‘fecal matter’ might have come from something like mulch?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just thinking about something.”
“I had one of our microbiologists analyze it. He tells me it’s bat guano. And the grit is made up of cryogenic calcite crystals.”
Nolan arched his eyebrows.
“Loose grains of calcite,” she elaborated. “You know, mineral deposits. We think he keeps them somewhere isolated, right? So he can torture them for several days before he kills them.”
“Think it could be a cave?”
“It’s possible. Or maybe a pit.” Sara tried to keep her voice even, although she was cringing inside. “What do you think?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I think . . . damn. This thing keeps getting worse.”
“You know of any cave systems around here? There was that small one in Rattlesnake Gorge, but we checked it out already.”
“No.” He heaved a sigh. “But I can talk to Tom. He knows the parks better than anyone.”
“It might not be a park.”
“Got to start somewhere.”
Nolan looked up at the baseball game, but Sara could tell he wasn’t really watching. He seemed distracted, and she hated that every time she saw him, he looked more and more stressed about the case.
He was good at his job, and it wasn’t just a job to him. She liked the way he took the initiative. She liked the way he cared deeply about his community. So many investigators she’d met over the years had let cynicism or apathy take over as a survival mechanism. But Nolan had been in this field for almost fifteen years and managed to keep his heart intact.
She studied his strong profile as she took another sip of her margarita. Everything about him was intact. He was a handsome man, and not in that clean-shaven, business-suit way, but in jeans and work boots, with his scarred leather jacket and his two-day beard. She’d never realized how much she liked the rugged look until she met Nolan.