A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “I’ll have Rey take care of it,” he said, meaning his brother.

  “But how will he—”

  “He’ll take care of it.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. Mia returned her attention to her scrapes.

  Soon he turned onto another narrow highway and headed west. The country was dry, rugged. The dark green cedars peppering the hillsides were the only spots of color on the wintry landscape. Ric turned south again, then west. Barbed-wire fences lined the roads. They passed through hills and canyons inhabited by livestock and the occasional ranch house. Mia tried to calm herself by looking out at the scenery, but of course, that didn’t work. Nothing worked. For the second time in two weeks, someone had shot at her.

  The truck slowed, and she saw a black dot on the horizon. It was a Chevy Suburban pulled over beside a huge oak tree. Ric eased onto the shoulder and parked behind it. A man got out and went around to the back, where he opened the tailgate and started unloading boxes.

  “What’s all that?” she asked.

  “Provisions.” Ric opened his door, and Mia reached for hers. He caught her arm. “Stay here.”

  He left her there with the engine running, reeling from that last little blow. He didn’t want her to meet his brother. What did that mean, exactly?

  The two men transferred the boxes to the bed of the pickup, and Mia watched their movements with interest. Same height, same build. Even the telltale bulge under Rey’s jacket was the same, and she wondered if there were other Santos brothers and if all of them were cops. She thought Ric had mentioned something once about a sibling in the military.

  When the stuff was transferred, they stood talking for a moment. Rey cast a glance her way. She wished she could read his expression behind those sunglasses, but the Santos men seemed to keep their emotions shielded.

  Ric rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder and said a few final words before returning to the truck. In that one stark instant, she realized that the two were close. Very. Brothers in the strongest sense of the word. She felt a flutter in her heart and a twinge of longing.

  The door squeaked open, and Ric was back without a word. He pulled around the SUV and tapped the horn, and then they were back on the road, speeding toward their destination.

  “How much farther?”

  “Not much.”

  Within minutes, they pulled onto a dirt road that curved through some low hills. They reached a metal gate with a rusty chain securing it in place, and she was reminded of her trip to the abandoned factory. Ric jumped out to undo the lock. It was a combination lock, and he knew the code, courtesy of his Bureau connection, no doubt. Mia was tired of feeling useless, so she scooted behind the wheel and drove through the gate so that he could reattach the chain. Then she moved back into her seat, and he navigated the rest of the way to their destination.

  Mia had never seen an FBI safe house before, never even imagined one. But even the dullest imagination could have envisioned something more impressive than the modest stone building nestled at the base of the next hill. It was less than half the size of her bungalow and flanked on either side by scraggly mesquite trees. She glimpsed a tiny shack behind it that she desperately hoped wasn’t an outhouse.

  “This is it?”

  Ric rolled to a stop. “Yep.”

  They got out and started unloading gear. Rey’s brother had supplied them with some basic groceries and a duffel bag that contained God only knew what. Mia carried a carton of items, and Ric heaved the duffel onto his back. She followed him to the front door, looking in all directions for any sign of human habitation nearby. But it was just hills, rocks, and scrub brush as far as she could see. Only a lazily circling hawk witnessed their arrival.

  Ric used a shiny brass key to deal with the sturdy lock—the only hint she’d seen that this was anything other than a ramshackle cabin. He pushed open the door.

  Mia gave him a tentative glance before venturing inside. The room was dark. It smelled of must and something else that eluded her. Pine cones? A tiny kitchen dominated one end, and Mia deposited her box on the small wooden table. She took off her cap and her jacket and dumped them on top of the box as she scanned the room. Two metal folding chairs, a sink, a range attached to a propane tank. In the fading afternoon light and with just one window above the sink, the place was almost dark.

  “No electricity?”

  “Nope. This place doesn’t exist.”

  Ric dropped the duffel bag near the fireplace on the other side of the room. Then he went back out.

  Mia’s anxiety grew as she gave the house a more thorough inspection. No electricity, no fridge, no telephone. Aside from the table and folding chairs, the only furniture was a worn brown sofa near the fireplace. The door off the kitchen led to a rudimentary bathroom, at least.

  She glanced at Ric as he ferried two more boxes, stacked one atop the other, into the house. When he went back outside, Mia peeked behind the last unopened door, which had to be a bedroom.

  It was tiny and cold. No windows. A stripped-down single mattress leaned against a wall. The room looked like a closet but felt cold enough to be a walk-in freezer.

  She bit her lip and turned away. She wouldn’t complain. That they were there at all was surely a favor to Ric. And to her. She knew she should feel grateful, but she still hadn’t gotten her head around the situation.

  Someone wanted to kill her. She was hiding in an FBI safe house with a man who was extremely ticked off at her and had the effect of making her want to throw thirty-two years of prudent decision making out the window whenever she got near him. And his presence was going to make it difficult for her to accomplish the one thing she really needed to do, which was to figure out who was threatening her.

  Panic bubbled up in her throat. Mia glanced around at the little cabin and did what she always did when she felt panicked. She started cleaning.

  Jonah ignored the little bong party taking place on the balcony as he mounted the metal staircase leading to Sophie Barrett’s front door. It swung open before he reached it.

  She regarded him from behind some expensive-looking shades as she dragged a suitcase over the threshold.

  “If you’re here for a panty raid, you’re going to be disappointed. The interesting stuff is packed.”

  She paused to lock her apartment, giving Jonah a chance to look her over. She wore a clingy sweater the color of Astroturf, tight jeans, and a pair of pointy green shoes that looked beyond painful.

  “Weekend getaway?” he asked.

  “Something like that.” She turned to face him, hitching her purse up on her shoulder. “And I’ll tell you exactly what I told Ric Santos. Leave her a message, and I’m sure she’ll get back to you at her earliest convenience.”

  Jonah picked up the suitcase and headed for the staircase as a trio of stoned college kids watched from their deck chairs.

  Sophie mumbled something he didn’t catch. A few seconds later, he heard her heels clacking on the concrete behind him. “Are you always this—”

  “Helpful?”

  “I was going to say creepy. How’d you find out where I live? I haven’t had my license updated since I moved here.”

  “Nice place, by the way.” He waited for her at the foot of the stairs, then set off for her Tahoe. It was parked near a pool that could have used a truckload of chlorine. “You rent by the week here?”

  She stopped beside her SUV and fisted her hand on her hip. “For your information …” She trailed off as she stood there, glaring at him. At least, it felt like a glare. Kind of hard to tell behind the glasses.

  “For my information?”

  “Forget it. It’s none of your business. Why are you here, Detective?”

  Aha. She’d been checking up on him. The other night, it was Officer Macon.

  “It’s about Mia.”

  “I told you, she’s—”

  “Someone tried to kill her today.”

  That glossy red mouth dropped open. The shades
came off, and he was staring at a pair of wide blue eyes. “What?”

  “Someone took a shot at her.”

  “Where is she? Is she okay? What happened?”

  “She’s fine,” he said. “And she’s in protective custody.” Not officially but close enough. She was with Ric, and he was in extreme pit-bull mode.

  Sophie sagged against the side of the Tahoe and blinked into space. All of the color had drained out of her face.

  Damn, he’d shocked her. “You all right?”

  She straightened. “No, I’m not all right. I’m totally freaked out! What is going on?”

  “We’re not sure. We’re investigating. But I wanted to warn you.”

  She stared at him, and he felt bad, sort of. He hadn’t meant to shake her up so much. But it was probably for the better. She needed to be careful. Everyone around Mia needed to be careful, including Ric.

  Jonah filched the keys from her hand and popped the locks. He pulled open the tailgate while she recovered her composure. A black guitar case and a box of CDs occupied the cargo space. He moved them over to make room for her bag. Then he walked back to the driver’s-side door.

  The attitude was gone now, replaced with worry for her friend.

  “What exactly are you all doing to protect her?” she demanded. “This is the second time. Can’t you arrest someone?”

  “We’re working on it.” He stood looking down at her, although he didn’t have to look far. She was at least five-ten, and that was without the heels. The fact that she wore them told him a lot about her confidence.

  “Stay away from Mia’s place,” he said. “No more house-sitting or errands over there or whatever. And don’t meet up with her, either. Not until we clear this up.”

  “I thought you said she was with Ric?”

  “She is.” In Jonah’s opinion, she was still a flight risk. “Just watch out, all right? Stay away from her house. You shouldn’t get mixed up in this thing.”

  She continued to look at him, and he started to get uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “So, where you going?”

  The glasses went back on. “Houston. I’m singing tonight at the Coyote Lounge.” She tipped her head to the side. “You heard of it?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Well, it’s this famous nightclub in Montrose. Kind of a big deal.” She shrugged. “I’m a little nervous, to tell you the truth.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

  She smiled slightly. “How would you know?”

  “I don’t, I’m just guessing.”

  The moment stretched out, and they stood beside her SUV. He got the strangest feeling that she wanted him to say something.

  Hell, did she want him to come hear her sing? He felt tempted, if for no other reason than to get a glimpse of what she’d packed in that bag. But he knew shit about music, and he had more than enough work to do tonight.

  She pulled the door open and tossed her purse inside. “I’d better get going. I need time to change before I go on.”

  “Careful down in Montrose.” He didn’t know music, but he knew crime. “That can be a rough neighborhood, especially after hours.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She slid behind the wheel and patted her purse. “LadySmith here always keeps me company.”

  Ric came back with an armload of wood, and Mia glanced up from her bottle of Comet as he stacked the pieces beside the fireplace. It looked as though their sole heat would be coming from a fire.

  She returned her attention to the filthy sink and scrubbed harder. When it was a slightly brighter shade of gray, she turned her efforts to the cupboards and stacked canned goods. She felt Ric’s presence across the room as she went about the task, but she refused to look up. She was afraid of what she’d see in his face. He had her. And he knew it, too. Now he was waiting, drawing it out, like a wolf circling its prey.

  He went outside again for more wood or kindling or who the heck knew what, and she cast a tentative glance at the fireplace.

  How had this happened? She’d been logical. She’d been resourceful. She’d sought out the aid of every one of the smart, capable experts she trusted. And she’d still ended up on the run, scared for her life, and totally reliant on a cop who would probably arrest her as soon as look at her. Obstruction of justice, evidence tampering, lying to investigators—she was guilty of every last one of those crimes, and somehow Ric knew it.

  Mia needed those lab results. Yesterday, she’d returned to the scene of the crime—her crime—with the evidence kit Sophie had brought her. She’d recovered the barbecue tongs she’d dropped in her haste to leave. Now they were at the Delphi Center being tested for prints and possibly DNA. If someone found something, then at least she’d have a lead to offer investigators when she finally came clean about what she’d done and why.

  If she came clean. She knew it was the right thing to do, but she hadn’t gotten up the courage yet. No matter how she handled it, her confession would probably end her career.

  Mia made a neat row of canned vegetables beside the soup. Ric came through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He stacked another armload of wood, then crouched down and began arranging logs in the hearth. She heard the hiss of a match and the crackle of fire.

  Mia ran out of groceries to organize. She collapsed the boxes they had come in and tucked them into a corner in case they needed them later.

  “What are you doing?”

  She turned around. He was leaning against the back of the sofa, watching her. His jacket was gone now, and his stance was relaxed. But the glint in his eyes told her he was waiting, biding his time, and that she couldn’t lower her defenses for even an instant.

  “Just cleaning up. Taking inventory.” She hesitated. “How long are we going to be here?”

  “That depends.” He stepped closer.

  “On?”

  “How long it takes me to find out who’s behind this.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You want to help me out with that?”

  She ducked around him and went to the fireplace. The blaze had subsided. She pulled newspaper from a nearby stack and wadded it up, then kneeled down and fed it into the flames.

  “I don’t really know, exactly.”

  She heard the scuff of his boots behind her as she gazed into the fire. It was brighter now, but that was because of the paper. Everything burned hot at the beginning; it was getting it to last that was tricky.

  His fingers went into her hair, and she felt the touch from the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes. Her heart started racing. She wasn’t ready for this. She talked a big game, but really, she felt terrified. She wanted to cling to him and bolt out the door, all at the same time.

  “Mia.”

  She turned to look up at him and the flames reflected in his dark eyes.

  “You have to talk to me sooner or later.” He lowered himself into a crouch behind her. “You know that, don’t you?”

  His gaze held hers. Every nerve in her body responded.

  “Later,” she whispered, and leaned over to kiss him.

  CHAPTER 14

  He pulled her back against him and went after her mouth. The kiss was hot, hard, like his body behind her. She twisted, trying to get a better angle, but he held her in place with a hand clamped over her shoulder and another splayed across her ribs. Finally, she gave up and just tipped her head back. He moved to her neck, and she felt him shift behind her until he was kneeling, too, and she was nestled against his thighs. His arms wound around her and pulled her tightly against his chest, so tightly she could barely breathe.

  “You scared me today.” His voice was low and hoarse, and he nipped at her neck. She yelped and tried to pull away, but he held her right there, firmly, as the nip became something else, something greedy. He kissed his way to the collar of her shirt and moved it aside and kissed her some more. She started to relax. With every kiss, she felt the tension seeping out of her—even as her heart sped up—until she was leaning back ag
ainst his body and clutching his arms around her so he couldn’t let go. He’d been chopping wood, and she smelled the outdoors on him and sweat and that sharp male scent that made her want to give her mind a break and let her hormones simply take over. She loved the heat of him, the feel of him, the possessive way he held her as his mouth played over the skin of her neck.

  He tugged one of his hands free and shifted her on to his lap. She watched that big hand slide up her thigh, searing her through her jeans. She let her arms fall limp at her sides, and both of his hands rubbed over the denim, down to her knees, then back up again, making her squirm and arch. Touch me, she wanted to say, but then his hands glided under her shirt to cup her breasts and pull her back against him as his breath heated her skin.

  “Take this off,” he muttered, squeezing her breasts, making her almost too dizzy to do anything. But she started unfastening the buttons. The instant she undid the last one, he pulled the shirt from her shoulders and tossed it aside.

  She was kneeling by the fire now in only her bra and jeans, and the reality of what they were about to do hit her. She felt a shot of panic. He’d said he’d been attracted to her for months, but what if the reality of being with her fell short of his expectations?

  She looked over her shoulder and saw the heat glittering in his eyes. He settled a hand on her hip and traced another slowly down her spine, making every vertebra tingle. His gaze met hers. She saw the raw need in his face, and her panic went away. No one had ever looked at her like that, ever.

  She turned to face him and scooted forward on her knees. His gaze drifted over her white bra and pale skin that had way too many freckles to account for the desire she saw on his face. She reached back, unhooked her bra, and let it slide down her arms, and when he groaned low in his throat, she smiled, because she knew he wasn’t looking at her freckles anymore.

  In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her against him. Finally, she could kiss him the way she wanted to, and she hooked her arms around his neck and did, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, tasting him, and letting the unique flavor of him fill her up. His erection pressed against her through her jeans, and she rubbed against him until she got just the response she wanted. His grip tightened.