Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(67)

A call beeped in, and Sara checked the number. Nolan. She hadn’t talked to him since Monday, and it was Wednesday now.

“I might have more in my notes,” Will said. “I can listen and get back to you.”

“Call me anytime, as soon as you find anything. I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Sara clicked off with the writer and stared down at her phone, debating whether to pick up. Before she could decide, Nolan’s call went to voice mail.

Sara leaned back against the building. She took a deep breath and pressed play on the call. She’d been hoping for it and dreading it for days.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, and just the sound of his voice made Sara’s chest ache. “I wanted to get back to you on those fingerprints from your break-in. CSI didn’t lift anything usable, like we thought. Same for the door to your motel room.”

She closed her eyes. They’d known it was a long shot.

“We’re still working your case, but no suspects so far, and the timing bothers me. You should stay vigilant about your personal safety.” He paused. “I know I don’t need to tell you that, but . . . be careful, Sara.”





CHAPTER 20


Nolan was having a crap week. And not just because he’d spent most of it chasing down dead-end leads on the phantom white Tahoe.

Nolan hadn’t seen or spoken to Sara since Monday morning, when he’d left her in the motel parking lot with Biggs. Since then, three full workdays had gone by without a word. She hadn’t responded to his message, and he hadn’t called again.

He was giving her the space she wanted, showing her he didn’t want to pressure her into starting something just because they’d spent the night together.

She didn’t want a relationship. She’d made that clear. He definitely would have preferred it the other way, but he could respect what she’d told him.

Problem was, respecting it meant keeping his distance, which meant he had no idea when or even if he would see her again. And his desire to see her again had started to dominate his thoughts.

The timing was bad. He needed to be focused on the case with everything he had. Nolan had put in two straight eighteen-hour days and gone to bed dead tired, only to discover he couldn’t sleep because his bed smelled like her. He probably should have thrown his sheets in the wash, but he was too tired even to do that—which just showed how rational he was. Lack of sleep was messing with his head.

It was messing with his work, too. He’d been snipping at everyone, including Talia, who’d opted to work on her own this afternoon rather than ride in a car with him. She’d been tactful about it, pointing out that they’d cover more ground with a divide-and-conquer strategy.

Nolan didn’t blame her. He knew she was right. With no new developments in days, the investigation was stalled, and they needed any and every lead they could turn up at this point.

Nolan neared a mailbox and slowed to check the number. The name on the box said HANSEN, and Nolan followed the driveway to a weathered wooden house surrounded by a chain-link fence. On the east side of the house stood a tall pecan tree with a green Volkswagen parked under it. On the house’s west side was a dilapidated shed that looked like it might blow over in the next storm.

Nolan got out of his car, eyeing the fence and searching for a dog. He spotted it at the open front door, confined behind the screen. The dog was big and brown, and it started barking as Nolan opened the gate.

“Lucy! Cut that out!”

Nolan turned to see a woman stepping out of the shed. She wore a blue apron over her clothes and had silver curls piled in a bun on top of her head. The dog started going crazy as she walked toward Nolan.

“Lucy, stop!”

Lucy didn’t stop, and the woman rolled her eyes.

“Elaine Hansen?”

“That’s me.” She smiled. “Sorry about her. She gets excited for visitors.”

“Nolan Hess, Springville PD.”

“I know who you are. I went to school with your dad.” She took a rag from her apron pocket and started wiping her hands. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I’m here about your late husband, Todd. Specifically, I have some questions about his car.”

She looked surprised. “The Mustang?”

“He drove a Mustang?”

She laughed. “Drove? No.” She waved a hand. “That thing was up on cinder blocks the last twelve years. Todd could never get it to run.”

“I’m here about the SUV. Our records show a 2005 Chevy Tahoe registered to his name.”

“That one wasn’t much better.” She tucked the towel into her pocket and fisted a hand on her hip. “It ran, don’t get me wrong. But the transmission conked out, and after Todd was gone, I didn’t want to fool with it, not when my Jetta works fine.”

“So what did you do with the Tahoe?”

“Donated it to the church for a tax write-off. And for charity, of course, but you know what I mean.”

Nolan gritted his teeth as he took out his notebook. This was a complication he didn’t need today. If the church had sold it, it could be anywhere. “Which church is that, ma’am?”

“Second Baptist over on Oak Street.”

“Do you remember when you sold it?”