A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “What is it you want him to commit to?” Sophie asked reasonably. “It’s a little early for a marriage proposal, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I just want something. We’re spending all of this time together, and he hasn’t even brought over his shaving kit. He’s got a toothbrush on my sink. That’s it. I’m ready to spend my life with him and bear his children, and he’s at the toothbrush stage.”

  Sophie watched her thoughtfully. “Why don’t you talk to him about your feelings?”

  “Because he doesn’t talk! That’s the problem. I don’t know about his daughter or his family or why his first marriage broke up. I don’t know anything.”

  Sophie got a guilty look on her face.

  “What is it?” Mia demanded. “You know something. Tell me.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I heard a rumor about his ex.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I figured you knew about her.” She looked apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was a big mystery, or I would have said something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, this is from Vince. We were talking that night, after you and Ric left the bar? And he mentioned that Ric’s wife cheated on him. And not only that, but it was with another cop.”

  Mia’s heart sank. “That’s awful.” She felt a spurt of anger. “God, how could she do that to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And then Mia’s anger was replaced by frustration. Why hadn’t he ever told her that? Was he embarrassed? He must have felt so betrayed. She wished she’d heard this from him, not through the grapevine.

  “You seem pretty stressed out about this,” Sophie said. “Why don’t you talk to him tonight? Clear some of this up.”

  “I’m not seeing him tonight. It’s his weekend with his daughter.” She hadn’t seen him since Friday morning, when he’d kissed her good-bye at her door and promised to call Sunday night. She’d smiled and watched him go, hoping that he hadn’t been able to read on her face how much those few words had hurt her feelings.

  Sophie started to say something, but Mia’s phone chimed. She took it from her purse.

  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered, and then answered it. “Hi.”

  “Hey, you free for lunch?” Ric asked.

  “Um, yeah.” She checked her watch. “I thought you were tied up all weekend.”

  “Ava’s busy, so I’ve got a few hours. Meet me in the parking lot. I’m just pulling in.”

  “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Two minutes later, Mia slid into his pickup and stowed her purse on the floor. He took her arm and dragged her over the console until she was sprawled across his lap. He kissed her hungrily.

  When he stopped, she smiled up at him. “Wow, what was that for?”

  “Missed you last night.”

  She settled back into her seat as he backed out of the space.

  “Okay if we leave your Jeep?” he asked. “I can bring you back after lunch.”

  “Sure.” She pulled on the seat belt and felt her stress melting away. The sun was bright. The sky was clear. And instead of spending a beautiful afternoon doing laundry, she had a few stolen hours with Ric.

  She turned to look at him as they made their way to the highway. They’d spent only one night apart out of the last seven, and she’d missed him much more than she should have.

  He glanced at her. “Don’t look at me like that if you expect to get lunch.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want to come sit in my lap again.”

  “Not happening. I’m too hungry. Where are we going?”

  “To a park.” She thought he looked wary now instead of happy. “You okay with sandwiches?”

  “Sure.”

  “Turkey and cheese?”

  “Sounds great.” She saw a deli bag in the backseat. He’d already been to the store.

  “How was work this morning?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Oh, I was going to call you. We got those results back from Camille Lane’s coffee cup.”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “I never told you this, did I? It all happened last Saturday, right before everything else. It totally slipped my mind.”

  “You sound excited,” he said. “Tell me what Camille Lane’s coffee cup has to do with anything.”

  “Mitochondrial DNA. It’s passed down through the mother’s side.”

  His eyebrows tipped up.

  “I’ll spare you the details, but basically, we can show that the blood droplet found on Laura Thorne’s shoe is from someone maternally related to Camille Lane. In other words, Kurt Lane fits, but his father doesn’t.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “Yes. And I know you already got him to submit a blood sample, but this gives you a sneak preview of what it’s going to prove. Odds are very good that it’s going to be Kurt Lane’s DNA on that shoe.”

  “Nice work,” he said, but he didn’t look quite as excited as she’d expected. He looked distracted. Feeling uneasy now, she turned and watched the scenery fly by as they neared San Marcos. They reached one of the parks on the banks of the river, but instead of turning there as she’d expected, he kept driving until they reached a smaller park near the center of town. He pulled into a crowded parking lot and found a space.

  Ric grabbed the deli bag, and they got out. Mia stood for a moment, closing her eyes as the sun warmed her cheeks. She stripped off her jacket and tossed it into the pickup. For the first time in weeks, it was warm enough for just a sweater. She felt like her soul was thawing.

  The park was packed—families picnicking, kids playing soccer, a few flying kites. A trio of teenage boys darted by, throwing a Frisbee, and Ric picked up her hand and tugged her out of the way.

  “Come here.” He pulled her under the shade of a giant oak tree and dropped the deli sack onto the grass there.

  It was too close to the parking lot to make a good picnic spot, and she looked at him curiously.

  He let go of her hand. The grave expression on his face sent a chill through her heart.

  “I have something to tell you.” He looked at the ground and seemed to be choosing his words.

  Mia’s throat tightened. Had he brought her there to break up with her?

  He met her gaze. “The last few weeks have been pretty tough. The week before this was actually—” He looked down again and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Well, it was miserable. You were spending all that time with Black. You wouldn’t talk to me. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done was drop you off at that guy’s house.”

  She started to say something, but he held up his hand.

  “Let me finish.” He cleared his throat, and she forced herself to wait. “I was worried about you. The investigation was upside-down. And I was practically climbing the walls with jealousy.”

  Mia’s heart pounded. He picked up her hand, and the impossibly tight knot in her chest loosened.

  “But none of that was anything compared with how I felt Saturday, when I was driving out there and I knew someone wanted to hurt you. And when I was looking for you in the dark and I heard you scream, I felt—” He paused. “It was like someone had yanked my heart out, because you needed me and I was too late.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him. She laughed suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just—” She rubbed her nose, which was running now thanks to what he’d said. “For a man who doesn’t say much, you’re doing pretty well.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. Keep going.” She swiped the tears off her cheeks.

  “Well, that’s about it. I wanted you to know. And as soon as you’re done crying, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Mia froze. “We’re not here for a picnic?”

  “We are. But then I thought we’d catch Ava’s soccer game.”


  “Right now?” She glanced around, panicked. “Is she here? Oh my gosh! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now. She’s over there practicing with her team.”

  “Ric, I’m a mess! Look at me! What is she going to think?”

  He smiled. “She’s going to think you’re great, like I do.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “And she’s going to love you, because she loves me, and she knows you make me happy.”

  “How does she know that?”

  “Because I told her.”

  Mia smiled up at him and gave up holding back the words. “I love you,” she said, and her heart lifted, because he didn’t look wary anymore. Or even surprised.

  “I love you, too.” He cupped her face in his hands. “And I want us to be together. I’m not much on painting and cabinets, but I can do other things for you. I think I can make you happy, Mia.”

  She went up on her toes and kissed him. “You already make me happy.”

  Turn the page

  for a sneak peek at

  SNAPPED

  the next heart-stopping

  Tracers novel

  from

  2010 RITA Award–winning author

  Laura Griffin

  Coming soon from Pocket Star Books

  Parking on campus was a bitch and so was Sophie. Or at least, she was in a bitchy mood. She was hot, hungry, and doomed to spend the better part of her lunch hour waiting in line at the registrar’s office.

  But then she spotted it—a gleaming, perfect, gorgeously empty parking space not fifty feet in front of her. The green flag indicating time still left on the parking meter was the cherry on top of her lunchtime sundae.

  “Thank you,” she sighed, as she rolled past the spot, shifted into reverse and flipped her turn indicator. She started to ease back when an old-model VW zipped up behind her.

  “Hey!” Sophie pounded her horn as the Bug driver whipped into her spot while pretending not to see her.

  “Unbelievable!” Sophie jabbed at the window button and leaned over to yell at him. “Yo, Fahrvergnügen! That’s my spot!”

  She might as well have been invisible.

  A horn blared behind her and she glanced around. Now she was holding up traffic. She shifted into drive and muttered curses as she scoured the busy streets for another scrap of real estate large enough to accommodate her Tahoe. Of course, there wasn’t one. She glanced at her watch. Damn it, she was going to be late getting back to work, and she’d long since used up her tardy passes. With a final curse, she pulled into an over-priced parking garage three blocks downhill from her destination. After squeezing into a spot, she jumped out and dashed for the exit, pressing numbers on her cell phone as she went.

  “Mia? Hey, it’s me.” She stepped onto the sidewalk and blinked up at the blindingly bright sunlight.

  “What’s up, Soph? I’ve got my hands full.”

  “Shoot, forget it then.” Sophie caught a heel on the pavement as her crappy luck continued.

  “What?”

  “I’m at the university,” Sophie said. “I was going to ask you to cover the phones for a few minutes if I’m not back by one.”

  “I’ll get down there if I can, but—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get Diane to cover it.” Diane was the assistant evidence clerk at the Delphi Center where Sophie worked, but she wasn’t exactly known for her cheery disposition. “She owes me a favor, anyway. We’re still on for margaritas with Kelsey, right? Six o’clock?”

  “El Patio,” Mia confirmed. “See you there.”

  Sophie dropped the phone in her bag and continued uphill. The sun blazed down. Her blouse grew damp. Her tortured feet reminded her of the folly of buying Victoria’s Secret sandals on clearance from a catalog and expecting them to fit. After waiting for a break in traffic, she darted across the street and felt the heat coming up off the asphalt in waves. Jeez, it was hot. Thank goodness she was signing up for a night course. At last, she reached the grassy quadrangle and enjoyed a few patches of shade as she neared the registrar’s office. Students streamed up and down the sidewalks, talking with friends and reading text messages. Sophie gazed wistfully at their cut-off shorts and tank tops. Once upon a time she, too, had lived in grunge wear. She didn’t miss the clothes so much as that time in her life when she’d had nothing more to do than go to keg parties and cut class to hang out with her boyfriend. Now both those pursuits seemed worse than trivial— they seemed wasteful. How could such a few short years make such a difference in her outlook?

  The admin building came into view, and Sophie marveled at the irony. Here she was plunking down her hard-earned money to attend a class she would have happily ditched just a few years ago. The perfect revenge for her “I told you so” parents. Only they’d never get the chance to say that because she had no intention of telling them she was back in school. This was her private mission, and if she failed to accomplish it, no one would ever have to know she’d tried.

  Sophie navigated the busy sidewalks, longing for a pair of Birkenstocks instead of heels. She glanced again at her watch and knew, without a doubt, she was going to be late.

  Crack.

  She halted in her tracks.

  People shrieked behind her, and she whirled around. Her gaze landed on someone sprawled across the sidewalk. A man. Sophie stared in shock at the jacket, the tie, the bloody pulp that should have been his head.

  Crack.

  Someone’s shooting! The words screamed through her brain, and she scanned her surroundings. She was in an open field. She was a target.

  More shrieks as she bolted for the trees. A staccato of bullets. Clumps of grass burst up at her; she fell back, landing hard on her butt. Before her eyes, a woman collapsed to the ground, clutching her throat. A child in pigtails howled. Crab-walking backward, Sophie glanced around frantically. What was happening? Where was it coming from? Screams echoed around her as people ducked and dove for cover.

  I’m a target.

  She rolled to her knees and lunged for the nearest solid object—a cement block at the base of a statue. She crouched behind it, gasping for breath, every nerve in her body zinging with terror.

  Where is he?

  More gunfire. More screaming. Sophie cupped her hands over her head and tried to make herself small.

  “She lent it to you? That’s the best you got?” Detective Allison Doyle scowled down at the pimply-faced perpetrator and waited. It didn’t take long.

  “She didn’t say it exactly.”

  “What did she say, exactly?”

  “Well, it was more like understood, you know?” The kid slouched against the door to his dorm room. “Like I could use it as long as I wanted, so long as I returned it.”

  “I see.” Allison nodded over his shoulder, looking at the array of loot spread out on his single bed: four iPods, two BlackBerries, and an iPad not even out of the box—which constituted the reason for her little visit to this room that smelled like gym socks and God knew what else.

  “What about the iPods?” Allison asked. “You borrow them, too?”

  A girl burst into the hallway. “Someone’s shooting! Oh my God, people are dead!”

  Allison yanked out her Glock and rushed down the hall. “Who’s shooting? Where?”

  “The quad! Someone’s killing people!”

  “Go into your rooms and lock your doors. Now! Stay away from the windows.”

  Allison raced across the lobby and pushed through the glass door. The heat hit her like the air from a blow dryer. She took an instant to orient herself, then took off for the university quadrangle just as her radio crackled to life.

  “Attention all units! Active shooters on campus! South quadrangle!” The usually calm dispatcher sounded shrill, and Allison felt the first twinge of panic. “Reports of casualties. All units respond!”

  Allison jerked the radio from her belt. “Doyle responding.” Jesus Christ. “Where is the shooter? Over.”

>   For a moment, silence. Then a distant wail of sirens on the other side of town. Allison sprinted across University Avenue and did a double take. Cars were stopped in the middle of the road, doors flung open. The engines were running, but the cars were empty.

  “Shooter’s location is unknown,” the dispatcher said. “I repeat, unknown.”

  Jonah Macon stared at the dilapidated house, where absolutely nothing had happened for the past seven hours. He hated surveillance work, and not just the boredom of it. His six-foot-four-inch frame wasn’t designed to be crammed into the back of a van for days on end.

  “If I drink another cup of this coffee, my piss is gonna turn black.”

  He shot Sean Byrne a look of disgust.

  “Nice image,” Jonah’s partner quipped, tossing his empty Styrofoam cup into the trash bin he’d made earlier from an empty Krispy Kreme box. Ric Santos had volunteered to bring breakfast this morning, and the doughnut shop was just around the corner from his girlfriend’s place.

  So now here they all were—bored, caffeinated, and jacked-up on sugar that needed to be burned off. Jonah leaned back in his seat and popped his knuckles as he stared at the video monitor.

  “Seriously, how late can he sleep?” Sean asked. “I’m about to bust in there and drag his skinny ass out here myself.”

  “Movement at the door,” Jonah said, and everyone snapped to attention.

  A man stepped onto the porch, finally breaking the monotony. Jonah’s team had been there since before dawn, waiting for their subject to kiss his girlfriend good-bye and lead them to the crib where they were ninety-nine percent sure their murder suspect was holed up. Sure enough, they watched on the screen as their subject got some good-bye tongue action before tromping down the rickety front porch steps.

  “Think he’s stepping out for a paper?” Sean asked.

  “I’m not sure he can read.” Ric eased out of the bucket seat in back and slid behind the wheel while Jonah reached for his radio to give the team down the block a heads-up.

  The phone at Jonah’s hip buzzed. Then Ric’s phone buzzed. Then a snippet of rap music emanated from Sean’s pocket.