A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “Not much.”

  “You want me to come with you, but you won’t tell me what you have?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way there.”

  “Sorry, can’t do it. I’ve got a full afternoon.”

  “All right.” Nathan crossed his arms, mirroring Alex. “Let’s try this another way. Where’s your Saturn?”

  Sophie’s gaze snapped to Alex, but her boss’s expression gave nothing away.

  “I told you,” she said. “In the shop.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Look, just tell me what’s going on. What’d you get?”

  “Ride down with me, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “You’re being childish.”

  “I’m being childish.” He shook his head. “You’re the one playing games here. I thought this was a joint effort.”

  She scoffed at him.

  “Come with me to the lab. We’ll get on the same page with this thing. I could use your input.”

  “My input?” This ticked Alex off for some reason. “Since when do you want my input? You just want to babysit me. Forget it. I’ve got things to do.” Alex stepped toward Sophie and the Mercury, but Nathan blocked her path.

  “That girl’s bad news, Alex.”

  “I need to go.” She stepped around him and held out her hand to Sophie. “Keys.”

  Sophie gave her the car keys. She would be driving her Tahoe, and Alex would drive the rental car. Sophie dug through her purse, pretending not to notice the way Nathan had taken Alex’s arm and turned her around to face him.

  “Please listen to me.” His voice was low and urgent now. Sophie would have had an impossible time refusing him. “You need to let this go. She’s on her own now.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Alex, I mean it. You’re gonna get hurt.”

  “If the guards give you any trouble, just drop Mia’s name. Or Troy Stockton’s. He’s on their board. I’ll put in a call to him—”

  “I don’t want you to put in a call,” he said. “I want you to forget whatever shit you’re up to and let Melanie take care of herself for a change.”

  Alex slid into the Mercury and slammed the door.

  Sophie climbed into the Tahoe. She’d barely pulled into traffic when her cell phone sang out.

  “Did you tell him about Melanie?” Alex demanded.

  “No. Maybe he figured it out for himself. He is a detective.”

  Alex cursed.

  “Do you really know Troy Stockton?” Sophie couldn’t resist asking.

  “Huh?”

  “Troy Stockton? The author?”

  “Oh. Yeah. He’s a friend of mine.”

  “He looks like Brad Pitt.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alex said, as Sophie navigated the Friday lunch traffic. “Oh, crap.”

  “What?”

  “I just got an e-mail from Melanie,” Alex said. “She’s giving me a number where I can reach her tonight.… Dammit!”

  “What?”

  “It’s a five-oh-four area code. Where is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Five-oh-four. Is that Dallas?” she asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Dammit, I knew this was going to happen. She’s gone and changed the plan. What is she thinking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If I ever see her again, I swear I’m going to kill her myself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Nathan didn’t know all that many lab rats, but the ones he did know were nothing like Mia Voss. He kept glancing at the name embroidered on her lab coat to remind himself she was an actual doctor.

  “So you’re trying to build a forensic triad?” she asked, eyeing the paper bags Nathan had lined up on the table beside her microscopes.

  “Not exactly.” A forensic triad would be evidence that linked a victim to a crime scene to a suspect. “This case is a little more complicated than that, unfortunately.”

  She tucked her hands into her coat pockets and watched him expectantly.

  “The blood on the handkerchief, that’s my suspect,” he said. “I need you to come up with a profile.”

  “When was the sample collected?”

  “This morning. My DNA’s probably mixed in, too, by the way.”

  Her eyebrows arched.

  “Guess you’d say I collected the sample surreptitiously.”

  “In that case, you can give me a buccal swab for exclusionary purposes.” She stepped closer to read the label on the second bag. She donned a pair of eye shields and pulled some latex gloves from the box on the counter. “This one’s a wire? I’m not a ligature expert. We’ve got someone who is, though.”

  “I’m mostly interested in the DNA,” Nathan said, as she unsealed the bag and carefully lifted out a thick length of wire. It was bent and twisted at the ends, and the middle was coated with dried blood. “I’m assuming the blood belongs to the victim,” he said. “What I want to know is, can you get anything else off this thing? Maybe some skin cells, or even traces of blood, from when the killer pulled the wire around the victim’s neck.”

  She examined it critically. “It probably depends on whether he wore gloves. If he didn’t, I can most likely get something. Ligature strangulation requires some force. How old is this evidence?”

  “Five years.”

  She sighed. “Well, that’s good and bad. The good part, five years ago, we didn’t have such a problem with the CSI effect. Criminals didn’t used to be so knowledgeable about gloves and condoms and leaving behind trace evidence.” She carefully tucked the wire back into the bag. “The bad news is, things deteriorate over time. I’ll do the best I can.”

  Nathan nodded respectfully. Mia knew her stuff. He’d bet she did well in front of a jury, too. She was the antithesis of the nerdy, long-winded scientists he’d seen bore jurors to tears during murder trials. The girl-next-door look probably made her seem trustworthy.

  “And what’s in the little sack?” she asked.

  “Scones.”

  “Scones?” Her face brightened.

  “Chocolate almond. From the coffee shop downstairs. Just wanted to thank you for squeezing me in like this on a Friday afternoon.”

  “I love chocolate almond scones.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  Ten minutes later, Nathan eased his dinged Taurus through the Delphi Center’s electronic gate. His phone went off, and he dug it out of his pocket. APD. This would be his lieutenant calling to ream him out.

  “Hey, Dev,” the caller said, and Nathan recognized the voice of Garza over in Auto Theft. “I got a hit on that Blazer. The one you put on our hot list.”

  “You’re kidding.” Nathan had been sure the vehicle was a dead end when he’d gone up to Greene’s Automotive and found out the Blazer had been “stolen” the day after it arrived for repairs.

  “A sheriff’s deputy spotted it up in Killeen,” Garza continued. “It’s at a salvage yard up there. I’ve got the info here, if you want to take a look.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Just give it to Hodges, would you? I’m still in San Marcos.”

  “He’s out sick today.”

  “Shit, I forgot.”

  “Yeah, everybody’s out. First Hodges. Now Webb and Coghan.”

  “Coghan’s sick?”

  “Nah, Webb and Hodges are sick. Coghan had some family emergency. Took off about an hour ago.”

  The back of Nathan’s neck prickled. “Where’d he go?”

  “I don’t know, man.” Garza chuckled. “Maybe he went to go get his nose fixed. Heard you belted him pretty good over at the courthouse. What was that about, anyway?”

  “Nothing. Hey, just leave that info on my desk, okay?”

  Nathan dialed Alex, but she didn’t pick up. He tried her work number and got Sophie.

  “She’s not here,” the woman said cheerfully.

  “When do you expect her in?”

  “I do
n’t know. Maybe Monday? I think she’s gone for the weekend.”

  “Gone where?”

  She paused for an instant, but it was enough.

  “Where is she, Sophie? I need to get ahold of her.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, and he pictured her lying through her pretty white teeth. “She just said she’d be gone for a few days—”

  “Is she with Melanie?”

  “Melanie who?”

  Nathan’s phone beeped. APD again, damn it. He took the call.

  “What’s this shit I’m hearing about over at the courthouse, Devereaux?” This time, it was Lieutenant Cernak. “You and Coghan trying to get us on the news? You have any idea how many reporters—”

  “Coghan threw the first punch.” And yeah, Nathan knew exactly how many reporters had seen it. Three. He just hoped one of them would get curious enough to start sniffing around Coghan.

  “I’m warning you, Devereaux, you’re on thin ice. I don’t need this shit right now—”

  “I’m taking a personal day.”

  “A what?”

  “A personal day. Or two. I’ll be back in on Monday.”

  “You’re supposed to be on all weekend! Hodges is out. Webb’s out. I’m fresh out of sympathy passes, so get your ass in here before I suspend it.”

  The lieutenant hung up, and Nathan cursed. Where was Alex? And what was she doing? He had to find out because he had a strong suspicion Coghan already knew.

  He called Sophie again. “I told you,” she insisted. “I have no idea where—”

  “Cut the crap, Sophie. This is an investigation. Alex is in the middle of it. Now, either you tell me where she is, or I’ll have you charged with obstruction of justice.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Wanna try me?”

  A strained silence.

  “I can have a search warrant for that office in about five minutes.” Another lie.

  “I don’t know, okay?” She sounded shaken now, and he knew the Bad Cop bit had worked. “All I have is a phone number.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Not even the number, really. Just the area code. It’s five-oh-four.”

  Nathan frowned. “What’s she doing in New Orleans?”

  “I have no idea,” Sophie said. “You’re going to have to ask her.”

  Alex stared through the amazingly wide windshield and wondered when, not if, this boat was going to crap out on her. She hated the Sunliner. She rarely drove it, in fact, but she’d been desperate for a ride to Louisiana, and she needed one that didn’t have a GPS on it.

  She glanced at the speedometer, which more or less worked, and estimated her travel time. Four more hours, including a brief stop for gas. Assuming the gas gauge worked. Her dad’s parting words when he’d given her the keys to this thing had been, “She drives great. Just keep her topped off.”

  Alex didn’t understand car enthusiasts. She had no idea why people collected these gas-guzzling road hogs. But hey, free car, right? When she’d received the gift on her nineteenth birthday, she’d been broke, jobless, and in no position to complain.

  The Sunliner had been with her in Urbana, Chicago, and San Francisco. And even after she’d moved to Austin and been forced to acquire a car with air-conditioning, she’d hung on to the damn thing. Why? She did not know. It took up way too much space and served no clear purpose, but she’d never quite managed to get rid of it.

  Alex rolled the window down and got a nice breeze going. She smelled wet dirt and pinesap, which made sense as she was driving through the Piney Woods of east Texas just after a rainstorm. She knew very little about this part of the state and even less about her destination. She thought of everything she knew about Louisiana. Swamps. Alligators. Mardi Gras.

  Nathan Devereaux.

  She’d kept busy this morning, but for the last several hours she’d had plenty of time to think about last night. She’d replayed every heart-pounding second from the moment she’d stepped onto his deck and his eyes had gone dark with want. She’d relived his mouth on her breast, his hands around her waist, the sharp feel of him pushing into her.

  She’d replayed the calmer moments, too—the ones when they’d lain together in the darkness, getting their breath back. She’d loved that part the most. She’d felt like they were sharing their own private cocoon, set apart from the rest of the world.

  And then reality waltzed in.

  Alex had been too flustered to do more than eavesdrop in the hallway while Nathan talked to his ex. She’d crammed her feet into sneakers and hadn’t had the presence of mind to peek her head around the corner and get a look at the woman. She regretted it now. Alex really wished she’d seen her. She had a deep-rooted desire to know what sort of woman Nathan had once decided to spend his life with.

  Alex glanced at the phone sitting silently on the seat beside her. She’d switched off the ringtone just west of Houston. She knew why he was calling. She also knew how persuasive he could be, how smooth he was with people. But Alex had no intention of divulging her plans to him, and the best way to avoid even a chance of that happening was to stay off the phone. No interrogation, no confession. And no meddlesome detectives swooping in at the last minute to botch up the plan. At least she hoped not.

  The plan was to meet Melanie at her safe spot and help her leave the country before Coghan or anyone working for him got wind of her whereabouts.

  Alex cruised down the interstate, through the dense tunnel of trees. Darkness was falling all around her.

  WELCOME TO LOUISIANA.

  The sign flew past, and Alex wondered again what had prompted Melanie to choose a safe spot in New Orleans. She could have gone anywhere. All she really needed was a storage unit—preferably a twenty-four-hour-access place—where she could keep important papers and supplies: her birth certificate, her passport, a roll of cash, a list of important phone numbers. Why had she chosen Louisiana, when it would have been so much easier to stash everything in Texas? And what did she need with that stuff anyway, now that Alex was providing her with a counterfeit passport?

  Melanie had some scheme brewing, and whatever it was, Alex planned to talk her out of it as soon as she pulled into the All Saints Motel. Because of the motel’s location right near the airport, Alex suspected Melanie’s scheme involved an international flight. But Alex was going to veto that the moment she saw her. The simplest way to slip into Mexico was by foot or by car, not by plane.

  Alex’s phone glowed again, and she glanced at the screen. Nathan. The phone went dark on the seat beside her as he left yet another message.

  She wouldn’t listen to it. She couldn’t. He had a way of talking to her and—especially after last night—she knew she was much too vulnerable to him.

  Nathan had Baton Rouge in the rearview mirror when his phone finally rang.

  But the number wasn’t Alex’s.

  “Devereaux.”

  “It’s Troy Stockton.”

  Nathan bit back a curse. “Is Alex with you?”

  “No, but I talked with her earlier, and I can tell you where to find her if you’ll give her a message for me.”

  Nathan gritted his teeth. Why the hell was Stockton involved? “What’s the message?”

  “I just heard from the guy I hired to keep an eye on those vacant houses.”

  “What vacant houses?”

  “The ones at Captain’s Point,” Stockton said. “Alex said she told you about them.”

  “She did. She just didn’t mention they were vacant. I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Neither did I. My guy’s been sitting on them for a week now, and one of them just got a big delivery.”

  “Of what?” Nathan asked.

  “Lamps.”

  The dread that had been dogging Nathan for days now intensified. “He’s setting up grow houses.”

  “Looks like.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  “Three,” Stockton said. “But those are just the
ones we know of.”

  Nathan gripped the steering wheel as the implications sank in. This operation was much bigger than he ever would have thought.

  Cartels had been moving operations north ever since Homeland Security started tightening up the border. Suppliers had begun growing product deep inside state and national parks, and also in homes within urban areas. The mortgage crisis had been a boon to the cartels. Foreclosed homes were the perfect place to hide grows, and if you could get the product right onto the street, you cut out transportation costs and extra middlemen.

  But the setup was complicated, which meant people and money. The more people and money involved in this thing, the more danger to Alex and Melanie for knowing about it.

  “Here’s something else you may want to know,” Stockton said. “A friend of mine just called me from the Delphi Center. They identified the trace substance from an envelope Melanie Coghan gave Alex.”

  “Cocaine?”

  “Meth. Along with some dolomite lime, which this guy tells me is commonly used on indoor marijuana grows. Not sure what it’s for.”

  “Stabilizes the pH of the soil.”

  “Anyway, this sounds like a serious operation,” Stockton said, stating the obvious. “Alex has underestimated what she’s up against. Someone needs to warn her.”

  Nathan veered around an eighteen-wheeler. “So where is she?”

  “On her way to meet with Melanie at the All Saints Motel out by the Louis Armstrong Airport. That’s off I-10.”

  “I know where the goddamn airport is. Does she think she’s going to be able to get Melanie out of the country? That’s a bad plan. And it’s not going to work.”

  “I don’t know what she’s doing, but whatever it is, I tried to talk her out of it. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

  Doubtful. Nathan’s gaze dropped to the speedometer, and he pressed the gas.

  “One last thing,” Stockton said. “My contact says he’s not the only one keeping an eye on those houses. There’s some kind of police surveillance. Feds, I’m assuming.”

  That would be Nathan’s guess. Probably the same guys who had been dragging the lake.

  Craig Coghan was into some serious shit. This wasn’t just a love triangle—his money, his livelihood, his entire life was wrapped up in this thing. And when he realized it was unraveling, he’d probably react like a cornered animal.