“He should have given me a heads up as soon as he got wind of this, when there was still time to change the plan. He didn’t.”
“Please let it go, Ric. I don’t want you mad at your brother because of me. You two seem close.”
He watched her. For the first time since she’d sat beside him, she was acutely aware of the robe she had on and the way he was looking at her.
She scooted closer to him on the sofa. She had no idea why she did it, except that he was there, and all of the logical things she’d been telling herself about shielding her heart from him seemed irrelevant now. She wanted that intimacy back from the other night, even if she could only have it for a few hours.
“I saw the Sig in your purse.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “He give you anything else?”
His voice had an edge, and he wasn’t just asking about firearms. But she decided to take the question at face value.
“He lent me a shotgun. Said it’s the best home-security weapon because it doesn’t require much aim.”
“Where is it?”
“My hall closet.”
He got up and walked to the closet. She watched him take the gun out and check to see if it was loaded.
“Extra shells?”
“Box on the floor,” she said. As if she’d ever need more than one. She’d had this argument with Scott that morning, but he’d insisted.
Annoyed now, Mia cleared Ric’s dishes and dumped them into the sink. On the counter was a brown paper bag. She peeked inside and opened one of the foil-wrapped bundles.
He’d sneaked into her house with a bag of tamales.
When she went back into the living room, he was on her couch again, checking messages on his phone. She sat on the sofa arm and watched him.
“I brought food if you want some,” he said.
“I don’t like to eat right before bed.”
He looked up. “You’re going to bed?”
“Well, it’s after eleven. Why? How long are you going to be here?”
“I’m spending the night.”
She laughed at his audacity. “Oh, really? And where are you planning to sleep?”
“I’m not. I’m here to work, not play.”
She jerked back, stung. Those few glib words told her exactly what he thought of their night together. Very little.
She stood up. “Good night, Ric. There’s a blanket in the closet if you get cold.”
The State House was dark and quiet. Light spilled into the hallway from one of the offices, and he heard low voices coming from inside.
Lane sat at his desk in the wrinkled remains of the suit he’d probably worn to some fund-raiser today. The jacket had been tossed onto the back of his chair, and the lieutenant gov and his spokeswoman were engaged in a quiet debate about something. The man stepped through the door, and Lane surged to his feet.
“Where have you been?”
He stood in the doorway and waited silently until Lane mumbled something to the woman. She tucked her legal pad under her arm and cast him a curious look on her way out.
When she was gone, he closed the door and crossed his arms. “Don’t call me at home again. Ever.”
Lane put his hands on his hips and had the nerve to look pissed. “Where the hell were you? I’m going out of my mind here.”
“Taking care of business.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And?”
“And it’s almost taken care of.”
“Almost? When will it be taken care of?”
“Soon.”
“You said that days ago! What the hell happened?”
Ric Santos happened. Bitterness lodged in his throat as he saw him again through binoculars, slipping through Mia Voss’s back door.
“I’ll get it done,” he said with confidence. He’d come up with a new strategy, and nothing could get in his way this time.
Lane clutched the hair at his temples and looked like a man about to lose it. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
Enjoying Lane’s distress, he calmly walked over to a credenza lined with photographs. Probably planted by some consultant who thought they’d look good on the news.
Too bad Lane didn’t get the irony. With his control over the legislature, the Lite Gov—as his security detail called him—had more power than the real one, who was mostly a figurehead. Politically, Lane was a man to fear. A powerhouse.
And right now, Lane was at his mercy, which made him the single most powerful man in the state. With one phone call, he could turn Lane’s life and his family’s lives and all of their political ambitions to dust.
He glanced at the man with contempt, a man some said had hopes for the White House. Squashing him now would be an act of patriotism, more so than anything he’d ever done for his country.
Problem was, by destroying Lane, he’d be destroying himself, too. Their connection went back further than he liked to remember—back to the days when he’d still had a conscience about this shit.
Lane was watching him anxiously, as if he was going to say something to put all of his fears to rest.
He let him squirm.
Turning his back on the politician, he surveyed the wall of photographs. One showed his kid in a baseball helmet, his hands choked up on the bat. The boy was maybe eight, ten. About the age his own daughter had been when he’d first crossed the line.
He’d been thinking about that case a lot lately. Fifteen years ago, but it was still fresh in his mind. It had been a known pedophile suspected in a kid killing. Scumbag was guilty as sin, but they’d had nothing, so he’d planted the dead girl’s sock in the guy’s car.
One sock. That was it. Justice was done, and he slept easier knowing he’d made the world safer for his daughter.
The things people did for their kids.
“Well?” Lane demanded.
He turned around and pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket. “Well what?”
“What’s the plan?”
He lit the cigarette and took a drag, then nodded at one of the pictures beside him. Lane and his wife at a college graduation ceremony.
“You know, your kid’s a piece of shit,” he said, and Lane’s gaze narrowed. “What’s your plan about that?” He flicked his ash on the Oriental rug. “Two DUIs out in California. A drunk-and-disorderly here in Austin. Who’d you pay off to get that to disappear?”
“Kurt is sick.”
“No kidding.”
“We’re sending him away soon for treatment.”
He shook his head. “Whatever works,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t. They both knew it.
There was a coffee mug on the corner of the desk, and he dropped the cigarette into it. He got up in Lane’s face and poked his chest hard.
“Don’t call me again.”
Hatred flared in Lane’s eyes, and the man realized he’d been wrong. Lane did get the irony. He knew exactly who had the power here.
“Get your job done, and I won’t have to,” Lane said tightly.
“I’ll get it done.” He crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. “You can count on it.”
CHAPTER 20
Mia found a Santos brother in her kitchen the next morning, but it wasn’t the one who’d been in her dream. Rey stood at the coffee maker in a crisp white shirt and a tie. He had a gun on his hip and a BlackBerry pressed to his ear.
“I heard,” he was telling someone. “But what about the barbecue tongs?”
Mia’s hand froze as she reached for a mug. Rey knew about the tongs?
“All right, thanks … Yeah … Okay, will do.”
He clicked off as she poured some coffee. She skipped the cream today because she needed an extra jolt.
He watched her take the first gulp, and she wondered if she looked as tired as she felt. She’d slept restlessly. Her hair had been uncooperative that morning, so she’d stuck it in a ponytail before throwing on a sweater and some faded jeans. Now she felt underdressed beside Rey’s neat business attire.
&
nbsp; “What’s new on the case?” she asked.
He hesitated, probably reviewing what she’d overheard before deciding how much to tell her.
“We got some results back,” he said. “From the cigarette wrapper and the barbecue tongs collected at the incinerator.”
“That’s interesting, because I thought the tongs were being processed by the Delphi Center, not the FBI.”
“You might have noticed that we’ve taken over this case. Our agents are leading the joint task force. Other law-enforcement agencies are still playing a role, but we’re trying to coordinate efforts.”
Mia rested her cup on the counter. “I’ve been involved with a lot of murder cases, but I’ve never seen quite this level of interest from so many agencies.”
Rey watched her. He looked guarded, just like his brother.
“Are you ever planning to tell me who this mysterious suspect is? Why is everyone protecting his identity?”
“Not protecting his identity,” he said. “Protecting the investigation. We don’t want any leaks compromising the case we’re trying to build.”
An uneasy feeling settled over her. There was something very unusual about all of this, but she wasn’t getting it.
“What about the tongs?” she asked.
“Prints came back to a twenty-three-year-old who has a record of check fraud.”
Check fraud. Not what she’d expected.
“He also happens to have a job in the stockroom at Sloan’s Hardware. The store carries tongs like that, which would explain why his prints were there.”
“Any chance someone at the store might remember who bought the tongs?”
“We’re looking into it. They sold nearly a hundred this year, though, so we’re not optimistic.”
“And the cigarette wrapper?” she asked.
“Nothing in the system. We were going on only a partial, so getting a match was iffy.”
Mia watched him talk, struck once again by how much he looked like his brother. This was an older, more polished version, but their voices were similar, and so were their mannerisms. He had Ric’s intensity but his was slightly better hidden.
Mia realized that she had an opportunity here—a few moments alone with someone who knew Ric better than anybody—and she’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.
“Can I ask you something?” She sipped her coffee and wasn’t surprised when he simply gave her a neutral look. She set the mug down. “What happened with Ric and his wife?”
“Sandra?” He looked surprised but covered it quickly. “You should ask Ric about that.”
She tipped her head to the side and gazed at him. There was a barely perceptible softness in his brown eyes that told her he knew that Ric was keeping her at arm’s length.
“It was messy,” he said.
Okay, three words weren’t much, but they were a start. She decided to go with a hunch she’d had. She didn’t know where it had come from, maybe Ric’s reaction to her staying at Scott’s.
“Did she cheat on him?”
Rey looked at her and took a sip of his coffee. A few heavy moments ticked by. She’d gotten a yes without him actually having to break his brother’s confidence.
He set the cup aside and folded his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you talk to him?”
“I’d love to, but—” She cleared her throat, feeling more pathetic than ever. “He seems to have this inability to, I don’t know, open up about anything personal. With me, at least. Maybe I’m the problem.”
“You’re not.”
From across the kitchen, her phone chimed inside her purse. She stared at Rey, trying to read the meaning behind that answer. The phone chimed again, and she walked over to dig it out of her bag. Vivian.
“How’s it going over there?” Her sister’s voice sounded relaxed, and Mia hoped she was enjoying her early spring break trip with Sam.
“Okay,” Mia said. “How are you guys?”
“I won’t use the word b-o-r-e-d. But if I have to play another game of Old Maid, I’m going to need therapy.”
“I thought you guys were going to spend your time on the beach?”
“It’s been raining nonstop. Listen, I’m serious. How’s it really going? What’s happening with the investigation?”
“Refill?” Rey held out the coffee pot.
“Thanks,” she said, and he topped off her cup. “It’s coming along,” she told Viv. “They’re exploring new leads.”
“Mia.”
“Yeah?”
“Is that a man in your house at seven in the morning?”
“Actually, yes.” Mia walked to the back door for a small measure of privacy. “He’s an FBI agent. He stopped by to brief me on the case.” And to play bodyguard, but she didn’t want to mention that to Vivian. Her sister was worried enough already.
“Since when is the FBI—”
“I’ll have to explain later,” Mia said as an enormous black pickup glided up the driveway. Scott stopped right beside the back stoop and jumped out.
Mia pulled open the door before he could knock. “I’m almost ready. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yeah, love some.” Scott stepped inside and traded nods with the other alpha male standing in the room.
“What is going on over there?” Vivian asked.
“That’s Scott. He’s giving me a ride to work.”
“Scott Black?”
“I still haven’t gotten my insurance check, so he offered.”
Silence on the other end as Vivian absorbed this. Mia grabbed her jacket off the kitchen chair and pulled it on. “Viv says hi,” she told Scott, who was pouring joe into her sixteen-ounce travel mug.
“Tell her hi. You ready now?”
Mia grabbed her purse and did an inventory: jacket, phone, keys, purse, bodyguard. Did she have everything?
“I think so.” She held the door for Rey and then Scott, who turned and blocked her way when she tried to step out.
“Conversation time’s over.” He nodded at her phone. “You need to pay attention now.”
He was right. She kept trying to forget the whole reason all these people were there: someone wanted to hurt her.
“Hey, Viv?”
“Mia, what on earth—”
“I have to go now. Everything’s fine, okay? I’ll fill you in later.”
• • •
Sophie poked her head into the office, and Mia knew she was cornered.
“You’re skipping lunch again, aren’t you?”
Mia sighed. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Sophie eyed her sharply as she walked in and slung her oversize purse on the worktable. When she pulled out her red satin zipper bag, Mia knew it was hopeless.
She switched off her microscope. “You eat yet?” she asked, pulling up a stool.
“Smart Gourmet.” Sophie made a face. “You?”
Mia nodded at her half-finished soft drink. “Liquid lunch.”
Sophie sat down and unzipped the familiar pouch. Manicure time. Typically, they saved this activity for Friday lunch breaks, but Sophie obviously couldn’t wait that long to catch up on gossip.
“Are we doing French or color?”
Mia pumped sanitizer into her hands before turning them over to Sophie. “No color for me.”
Undaunted, Sophie got out her tools and lined them up on the counter. “I’ll go with French. Your hands look awful. Why do you use that stuff?”
“If you saw some of the grossness I deal with, you wouldn’t ask.”
Sophie opened a tube of cuticle softener and dabbed a dot on each of Mia’s nail beds. “So.”
Here it came.
“What’s up with the detective? And if you say ‘nothing,’ I will jab you with my nail scissors.”
“We spent the weekend together.”
“Ha!” Sophie’s face lit up. “I knew it! How was it?” She jumped up and squeezed Mia’s shoulders. “Oh my God, I bet it was so good! That man is sex on a platter.”
She sat back down and got to work on Mia’s fingernails, happy with the prospect of forthcoming juicy details.
Mia skipped most of them. “It was really …” she searched for a word. “Different.”
Sophie pursed her lips and seemed to be considering this idea as she filed and snipped. “Different as in he wanted to wear your clothes or … ?”
“Definitely not that. Just … different. From what it’s been like before. Oh, I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”
“Please try.” Sophie made a plea with her eyes.
Mia took a deep breath and groped for an analogy. “Have you ever been cliff diving?”
“No.”
“Well, I used to go at this swimming hole near my grandparents. And there’s always this moment when you’re walking out to the edge and you can’t believe you’re doing it. And then you jump, and the whole way down, it’s like your stomach is falling out. But then you hit the water, and it’s just pure impact.”
Sophie stared at her, and Mia felt her cheeks flush.
“Anyway, it was sort of like that. Intimidating at first. But then really good.”
Sophie took out the clear polish and swiped quick strokes over each of the nails on Mia’s left hand.
“So, now what happens?”
“I don’t know.” Mia’s stomach knotted as she watched her do the other hand.
“What does he think?”
“He doesn’t want a relationship. He told me that. So I guess it was a one-time thing. Here, your turn.” Mia took over the manicuring responsibilities as Sophie sat watching her.
“He’ll be back,” Sophie predicted.
“Yeah, but back for what? He doesn’t want anything serious.”
“And you do?”
Mia picked up Sophie’s hand and started filing her pretty long nails. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I did, but I do eventually, so now I’m wondering why I should let myself get down the path with someone who has commitment issues and is just going to end up hurting me.” She dropped Sophie’s left hand and picked up the right. Her French manicure was perfect. “You don’t even need this. What am I doing here?”
Sophie pulled a bottle of ivory from her purse and plunked it on the table.
“My tips need freshening, and I needed an excuse to talk to you,” Sophie said. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
A Tracers Trilogy Page 82
