“Forget it.”
“I could get a warrant.”
“I doubt it.”
She folded her arms over her chest and glared up at him. How could he be so hardheaded? How could he really know what the men working for him were capable of? Many were ex-military. They’d been trained in lethal tactics. What if one of them had a screw loose and was now back home unleashing his rage? And here was Liam, stubbornly guarding his privacy.
Tara shook her head and picked up her jacket.
He clamped his hand over her wrist. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my motel.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Like hell.” She jerked her arm away. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
He stared down at her, jaw twitching.
He seemed to be battling with himself, and she knew she was the reason. Her showing up here had activated his protective streak, but then she’d promptly pissed him off.
“I’ll go with you,” he said calmly, with obvious effort.
“I don’t need—”
“Don’t argue with me, God damn it! Someone almost killed you tonight!”
The blast of anger made her step back.
“Shit.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry.”
“I need to go.” She moved for the door, and he caught her arm again.
“Wait. Would you please just let me drive you home?”
SHE LET HIM follow her.
He trained his gaze on the bumper of the old Ford, going over everything in his head and cursing himself for acting like an idiot.
She’d shown up at his house shaken and bleeding, and he’d fucking yelled at her. Granted, she’d picked a fight with him, but that was just a knee-jerk reaction to what had happened. She was like him. When attacked, she went on the offensive.
He thought of the look in her eyes when she’d come to his door. It was a combination of fear and outrage and, worst of all, helplessness. He’d seen the same look in the eyes of men in combat after their outpost had been shelled by some invisible enemy hiding in the mountains. Liam had been through way more of those firefights than he wanted to remember, fights that had taken the lives of some of his friends. So he understood the fear and the fury and the need to lash out.
The neon sign for Big Pines came into view. She turned into the lot, and Liam followed. He pulled into the space beside her and buzzed down the passenger window.
“Stay here a minute,” he said.
He got out and did a scan of the area. It was after midnight, and the parking lot was cold and silent. Full, though. The murder of a well-known politician had brought the media out, and several reporters were in it for the long haul, from the looks of it.
Liam scanned the highway and the woods beyond. He surveyed the Waffle Stop across the street, searching for anything unusual, but the restaurant was closed up for the night.
Tara sat in her Explorer looking impatient.
“Okay, let’s go.” He slipped out his Sig and followed closely as she walked to her door. He held out his hand for the key card, and she passed it to him with an eye roll. He entered the room, then ushered her inside. “Wait here,” he ordered.
She stood by the door as he did a quick sweep of the place, checking closets and curtains. The room didn’t have a balcony, which was good, but he didn’t like the crappy window locks. He checked the bathroom. Her toiletries were scattered across the counter. A pair of running shoes sat beside the shower, and a white sports bra dangled from the towel rack. Liam checked behind the shower curtain and examined the rusty lock on the little window. He wasn’t happy with it, but the window itself was too small for anyone to squeeze through.
Basically, the place was a dump.
“We good now?” she called from the bedroom.
“More or less.” He joined her beside the door. “Your room’s not great. Far as safety, I’d give it a four.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “This one comes equipped with an armed federal agent. Any bonus points for that?”
“Maybe.” He stepped closer. She was still a mess, but her eyes had calmed down. “Depends if you know how to shoot.”
“I kick ass.”
He didn’t doubt it.
Liam eased closer. “I can stay.”
She gazed up at him with those pretty blue eyes, and he felt a sharp pang because he already knew the answer. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
He pulled her against him. She stiffened at first, but then her arms went around his waist.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“Earlier.”
She smelled like his soap now, and he wished like hell she’d change her mind. And he cursed himself because if he hadn’t been such a hothead earlier, they’d still be at his house right now, maybe even in his bed, where she’d be safe and warm and he could do what he’d wanted to do for days now, which was fuck her blind. But instead he’d blown it.
She pulled out of his arms and reached to open the door. Message received.
“Call me if anything happens,” he said.
She opened it wider.
“I mean it, Tara.”
“I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Waffle Stop was packed with locals and reporters, and Tara had to wedge herself into a space at the counter.
“The usual?” Crystal asked, plunking a mug in front of her.
“Sounds good.”
The waitress filled her cup, then tugged a check from her apron and slid it in front of the trucker beside Tara.
Tara sipped the coffee, which was hot and strong and exactly what she needed on a bitter January morning following a restless night. As the caffeine seeped into her bloodstream, she felt her senses perk up.
With all the press in town, the servers behind the counter were a whir of motion, spinning from customer to customer and clipping orders to a wire beside the kitchen window. Tara watched the cook there—Donald Price, a.k.a. Donny—who made a mean cowboy omelet and also happened to be on Ingram’s short list of suspects. He stood at the griddle now, and Tara observed him through a veil of steam. He loaded a plate with eggs and frizzled ham, then slid it through the window and slapped the bell.
“Order up!”
Tara noticed the prison tats on his knuckles as he wielded his metal spatula. His face looked sullen, and she wondered whether that was his usual expression or if he was pissed off for some reason, such as being dragged into a murder investigation by Sheriff Redneck.
“What happened to you?” M.J. walked up to her seat.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“You look like you’ve been in a cat fight,” M.J. said. The trucker squeeze past her, and she took the vacated stool. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“It’s a long story,” Tara said, and then proceeded to tell it, keeping her voice low. She told her all about the padlock she’d discovered, and M.J.’s eyes bugged out when she got to the gunshot part.
“Oh my God, Tara!”
Tara rushed through the rest of it, barely touching on the part about going to Liam’s house.
“Well, that explains that,” M.J. said.
“Explains what?”
She tore open a packet of sugar and dumped it into her coffee. “When I went jogging this morning, there was a grumpy-looking Marine staked out in our parking lot.”
Tara blinked at her. “He stationed a guy there?”
“He was there. Liam.” M.J. sipped her coffee, watching Tara over the rim. “I figured, I don’t know, maybe you two had a lovers’ quarrel.”
Tara scowled. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, what was I supposed to think?”
The older waitress, Jeannie, stopped by with a plate of food, and Tara shook her head as she cut into a sausage link.
“What?” M.J. asked.
She shook her head again.
�
�Really, what are you mad about? Sounds like he’s concerned about you. So what?”
“It’s insulting. I’m an FBI agent, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“He’s a bodyguard, Tara. That’s what they do.”
“Security consultant.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I’d think you’d be glad to have him watching your back considering someone took a shot at you. Don’t you think we should get a team up there or something? See if we can recover a bullet?”
“I’m going after breakfast.” At her look of disapproval, Tara redirected the conversation. “And then I’m going to the Delphi Center, if you want to come.”
“Can’t do it today,” M.J. said. “I’m meeting with Ingram at nine.”
“He’s running late.”
They turned to see Liam standing behind them. He looked showered and clean-shaven, not at all like a man who’d spent the night in his pickup.
M.J. smiled brightly. “Good morning, Liam.”
“Morning.” He reached between them and placed a cell phone on the counter.
Tara’s pulse skipped. “Where’d you find it?” she asked, snatching it up.
“In the ravine.”
The screen was cracked and the blue outer case was missing, but the phone came to life when Tara pressed the button. Thank God for small favors. She’d expected to spend half the day getting the damn thing replaced.
Liam set his own phone on the counter and tapped open a photo.
Tara looked at him. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Picture of the slugs from last night. One was embedded in a tree trunk, the other was in the fence post.”
She touched the screen to enlarge the photo of the tree trunk. “How’d you find everything so fast?”
“Ingram met me out there with a metal detector,” he said. “He dislodged these from the wood and had them sent to the crime lab. Although chances are you won’t get much in the way of rifling marks. The slugs looked pretty mangled.”
Tara glanced up at him. His expression was calm and completely unapologetic.
Perfect. Now a private citizen, one who’d recently been a suspect, no less, was helping collect evidence in her investigation. And he’d involved the sheriff, which meant Ingram knew all about last night’s incident. Tara felt both embarrassed and undermined.
Not to mention pissed.
M.J. seemed to read her mood. She slid off her stool and smiled at Liam. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got to swing back by the motel.” She looked at Tara. “Give me a call after Delphi.”
Liam claimed the empty seat. He rested his elbow on the counter and faced Tara. “What’s at Delphi?” He reached for her coffee mug and took a sip.
“A tool-marks expert. They’re finished with the bone analysis.”
Liam gave her a questioning look.
“They were examining the marks on the bones recovered in November and comparing them with the ones on Catalina.”
At the name, he looked away, and Tara felt a twinge of regret. She probably sounded callous to someone who’d just been to the woman’s funeral.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, skimming his gaze over the restaurant patrons. He had a habit of constantly assessing his surroundings, and he never seemed to give it a rest.
“About what?” She reclaimed her coffee.
“What are the chances you could get a transfer off this case?” His gaze met hers.
“I’d say zero.”
“Doesn’t your boss like you?”
“He likes me fine, which is why I don’t plan to ask him.”
“I think you could use a change of scenery,” he said evenly.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“I think you could use a reality check.” She leaned closer. “I’m not your client, Liam. I don’t need a bodyguard, and I don’t take orders from you.”
“Not orders, advice.”
“That either.”
Liam watched her pick at her breakfast, his expression carefully blank. But she could read it anyway, because she was learning his moods. Right now was suppressed annoyance. He couldn’t tell her what to do, and it was getting under his skin.
Tara checked her watch. “I should go,” she told him, sliding off her stool.
She paid her check. Liam silently followed her through the breakfast crowd, and together they stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The morning was bright and cold. She turned to face him, and in the glare of the sunlight she could see signs of fatigue around his eyes. She felt guilty for a moment but then squashed the thought. It was his own damn fault if he was tired. He was the one who’d chosen to spend the night freezing his ass off in a parking lot for no reason.
“What time’s your meeting at the crime lab?” he asked.
“One o’clock. Why?”
He checked his watch. “Plenty of time.”
“Time for what?”
“We need to go for a drive.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
He exited the highway, and he could tell by the look on her face that she already knew where they were going. He drove over a bridge and turned at the sign for Silver Springs Park. Instead of pulling into the parking lot beside the trailhead, Liam kept going.
“You’ve been here before,” he said.
“We were down the other day for a meeting with SSPD.” She glanced at him. “You know Chief Becker?”
“I worked with him some on the threats to Catalina.”
“Before the FBI got involved,” Tara said.
“They were never really involved much.”
She tensed beside him. “Not until she died, you mean.”
He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a matter of blame but simply a fact. Threats against elected officials were a dime a dozen. The Bureau couldn’t investigate everything. And Catalina hadn’t even been elected yet. She was only a candidate, not even a particularly viable one given her controversial stance on immigration and the demographics of her district. Her opponent had won by a wide margin.
Liam swung onto a dirt road and pulled up beside a metal gate. He got out. Tara did, too. She glanced around, and he saw her home in on the shiny new chain and padlock.
She glanced at him across the hood as he slammed the door. “This must be where Alex Sears recovered the lock,” she said.
“Right over behind that rotten log.” Liam nodded at it.
“So you know him, too?”
“Just casually.”
Tara tromped over to the new chain and examined the gate. It was a low metal arm, not much of a deterrent for people or wildlife, but it kept vehicles off the road reserved for firefighters.
“Come on.” Liam stepped over the gate, and Tara followed him.
They settled into a brisk pace. Their breath turned to frost, and Tara rubbed her hands together. She was in a new FBI windbreaker, he’d noticed. Maybe she’d borrowed it from M.J., who seemed to prefer business suits. Tara was more at ease in tactical pants and assault boots, which he found pretty damn hot.
Liam walked beside her, and she matched her stride to his. “This forest was logged back in the twenties,” he said. “All the marketable trees were removed. Any leftover vegetation was burned and then the land was replanted to pine. The owner left everything alone for a while, and about ten years ago the state bought up the land, made it into a park. Fourteen hundred acres.”
They continued through the woods as Tara glanced around. “You seem to know the history of this place,” she said. “Why?”
“I run a business near here. Only makes sense to recon the area.”
They trekked for a few more minutes along the road, and then he veered onto a narrow path. Tara looked at him. “This is how he came?” she asked.
“Close as I can tell.”
They walked without talking as the woods grew denser and darker. He glanced at Tara. She looked tired. With her wild curls scraped back in a ponytail, her cheekbones sto
od out even more than usual. She didn’t wear much makeup, but he noticed the faint smudge of something she’d used to cover the bruise on her jaw.
He thought of her reaction to his suggestion that she request a transfer off the case. She’d gotten her back up over it, as he’d expected. She was stubborn, and she didn’t like people telling her what to do. Actually, they were a lot alike—which was something that both intrigued him and drove him crazy.
They walked into a clearing, and she halted. “Whoa.”
She stepped over to an area of lichen-covered stones set in neat rows. It was a man-made arrangement, but nature had reclaimed it over the years. She walked to a brick archway shrouded in vines.
She looked at him. “What is all this?”
“Used to be a sawmill here.”
She glanced around at the shell of a concrete building that was being swallowed up by nature. Liam looked around at the woods. It was a quiet spot, a place where it was hard not to think about nature and the life cycle and the relentless passage of time, all topics that had been on his mind since he’d come home from Afghanistan.
Tara walked over to a fallen log. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting thick white beams between the trees. She tipped her head back to look at the sky, and Liam’s heart gave a hard thump.
“It’s beautiful.” She looked at him. Her gaze held his for a moment, and then she crossed the clearing to a cluster of trees. She picked a leaf off and smelled it.
“This is sassafras,” she said. “Those down there are tupelos. I love how they turn fiery in the fall.”
He walked over. “You know your way around trees. You do a lot of camping growing up?”
“Ha. That would be no.” She rolled her eyes. “My mom’s not exactly the outdoors type.”
“What about your dad?”
“No idea. He left when I was two.” She stepped over an old log and looked around. A breeze kicked up, and she tugged a pair of red woolen gloves from her pocket.
Liam propped his boot on the log. “What type is she?”
She looked at him.
“Your mom?”
She turned around and pretended to be interested in the trees again.
Investigative procedures and forensics she could talk about all day long, but she resisted anything personal, which made him want to push.
Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) Page 13
