Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(7)

“Bars! Hallelujah.” She smiled up at him. “I wasn’t getting any reception down there.”

“Yeah, it’s like being in a cave.”

Her smile faltered, and she looked down at her screen. “Let me just get a message to my assistant. I need to give him a heads-up about tomorrow.”

Nolan watched her nimbly work her phone with one hand while with the other she popped the locks and opened the cargo space of her vehicle. A breeze swept over them, and he caught the scent of her perfume—something soft and feminine, totally at odds with her grimy coveralls and rugged old boots. Nolan watched her, impressed by her brisk confidence. She’d only just arrived, and already she’d taken charge of the scene. After finishing her message, she tucked the phone into her pocket and tossed her helmet into the back.

“So this recovery,” he said. “How long will that take?”

“Depends. Could be as quick as a day. Maybe two.”

Two days? Nolan bit back a curse. “Any idea how long she’s been down there?”

“The sex is unconfirmed, Detective.”

“That’s Nolan. Any idea how long the bones have been down there?”

She unclipped the pack around her waist and added it to the growing pile of gear. “Again, I can’t be sure yet, but I’d say six months, at least, possibly more.”

Six months or more. So, the remains might belong to Kaylin Baird, and then again, they might not. Nolan raked a hand through his hair.

She grabbed a bottle of water and offered it to him.

“No, thanks.”

“I won’t be able to tell you anything for certain until I’m back to the lab.” She twisted the top off the water and took a gulp, watching him. “These aren’t the sort of remains you just pick up and zip into a pouch. They’re partially buried. We’re talking about an excavation.”

“I get that.”

She gazed up at him, unapologetic about the delay. He shouldn’t have been surprised—she was a scientist.

“Look, Nolan, I understand you have a million questions. I work with investigators all the time, so I know how it goes. I’ll get you answers as soon as I can.”

He liked that she was using his first name. He didn’t like that she was holding out on him. He was one-hundred-percent certain she knew more than she was saying.

She looked at her watch, a chunky, masculine thing much too big for her small wrist.

“And now I have a question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Any chance this town has a motel?”





CHAPTER 4


“Did we cover everything?” Sara asked.

“I think so.”

“Thanks again, Aaron.” She pressed her phone against her shoulder as she rummaged through her duffel bag. “And sorry to drag you away from the wedding.”

“I was leaving anyway. Brooke and Sean already took off.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow, then. And text me if you have trouble finding it.”

They hung up, and Sara tossed her phone onto the bed with a sigh. It sounded like Aaron was leaving the party alone, which was too bad. He was one of the few people at work who had even less of a social life than she did. Aaron avoided happy hours and always seemed perfectly content to eat lunch at his desk. Sara knew the feeling.

She went into the bathroom and unwrapped the tiny bar of soap beside the sink. Despite the worn carpet and faded bedspread, the Morningstar Motor Lodge was reasonably clean, which was all she ever hoped for in a cheap motel.

She scrubbed her face and arms, then eyed her reflection in the mirror as she dried off with a towel. Her hair—which she’d so carefully styled this afternoon—was messy and windblown, and she twisted it into a knot. Her growling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten in hours, and she wistfully recalled the cocktail shrimp and wedding cake she’d planned to have for dinner tonight. She checked her watch: 11:45. If she hustled, she could probably still get a bite before everything closed for the night.

She grabbed her purse and her room key. Stepping into the oven-hot air, she counted only five other vehicles in the motel lot. The front office was dark, along with the diner next door. Sara glanced across the street and saw the grocery store was dark, too, and its parking lot completely deserted.

“Crap.” She sighed and looked around.

A dusty white pickup turned left at the intersection. It swung into the motel lot, and Sara’s nerves did a little dance.

Nolan Hess. The detective was tall and powerfully built. He had warm brown eyes and an easygoing smile, but underneath all that was an edge. The man had that hyperalert attitude that Sara always associated with cops.

He glided to a stop in front of her, and something about his arm resting on the door of his truck sent a warm flutter through her stomach.

“Settling in okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Actually, no. Is there a drive-through still open where I can get something to eat?”

“Not a one.”

“Maybe a Walmart?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. “What about a convenience store?”

“I know a gas station that’s probably open. Hop in.”

She stared at him. She’d grown up in the city, where you didn’t accept rides from strange men, badge or no. It was an ironclad rule, drilled into her by her overprotective father, who was a commander in the Coast Guard.