Tracers 02 - Unspeakable

by Laura Griffin

  The noise grew louder. “Not a lot of horsepower,” Troy said. “Sounds to me like a skiff.”

  “That means we’re faster, right?”

  “Yeah, but he’s smaller, lighter. He can go places we can’t.” As soon as he said this, a tiny white light blinked into view. Troy made out the shape of a boat with a light at the bow and a person-shaped lump at the stern. It was too dark to see the person clearly. What Troy did see were a couple of fishing poles glinting in the moonlight.

  Was this their guy? Or just some night fisherman looking for a place to cast a line?

  The boat slowed and veered left, and Troy muttered a curse.

  “What?” Elaina asked.

  “He’s turning into the marsh.”

  Elaina’s pulse raced as Troy glided slowly through the ever-narrowing channel, using only the moon as a guide. He’d even turned off the navigation system to ensure the greenish glow wouldn’t attract attention.

  “You think he can hear us?” she asked.

  “Not as long as he’s moving.”

  The skiff slipped in and out of view as it meandered through the cattails deeper and deeper into the marsh. They’d made a mistake by taking Salt Shaker. But she’d thought this was going to be a race, not a game of hide-and-seek.

  Did he know they were here? Was this some sort of ambush, or was he simply going about his sick work, business as usual, completely unaware that he was being pursued?

  “Close in on him,” Elaina said. “If it turns out to be nobody, we need to get back on the bay.”

  “I’m trying,” Troy said, and she took a closer look at her surroundings and realized he was doing his best to close the distance without running aground and losing valuable time getting out to push.

  They moved across the glimmering water, the speedboat’s motor a low-pitched rumble. Above it, Elaina heard the distinctive hum of the skiff.

  Elaina’s phone vibrated in her hand. Ben’s number. She knelt low in the boat and answered it.

  “Talk fast,” she said.

  “Got the coordinates. I’ll text them over.”

  “Did you look them up?”

  “Lito Island wildlife refuge,” he said. “In the heart of the swamp.”

  Elaina’s pulse skittered. That was exactly where they were right now.

  “Okay, call Weaver and Cinco. Give them the coordinates, and tell them I need backup at that location right now.”

  She disconnected just as the noise up ahead of them changed pitch. Troy responded immediately, cutting his motor off mere seconds before the other boat went quiet.

  Some clouds moved in front of the moon, and everything went black.

  Elaina glanced around frantically. The only light she could see was the arc of the causeway bridge and the flickering smokestack of the refinery across the bay.

  Something touched her arm, and she jumped.

  “You hear that?” Troy whispered.

  She listened intently. She heard nothing but a chorus of insects and water lapping softly against the boat. She could see nothing, not even Troy, who was standing only inches away.

  And then she heard it—a quiet splash. Followed by another. It was him. And he was getting out of the boat. A slight rustling in the reeds up ahead, then nothing.

  Elaina imagined him dragging Jamie out of that boat. He imagined him laying her out on some thorny patch of weeds.

  “We need to follow him.” She clutched Troy’s arm. “Let’s get out. Quietly.”

  Without a word, Troy swung himself over the side of the boat and lowered himself into the water. She felt his grip on her arm, and he helped her position herself on the side. His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her down. Water immediately filled her boots.

  The moon peeked out from the clouds, offering a stingy bit of light. She glanced around but saw no boats, no people. Just endless marsh.

  “Where’d he go?” she whispered.

  “No idea.”

  “We need to split up.” She looked around again and used the causeway to get her bearings. “You go north, I’ll go south. He doesn’t know we’re here, so one of us should be able to sneak up on him.”

  “I want you with me.”

  “We’ll cover more ground this way,” she said. “We have to find him now, Troy. He could be starting—”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. But don’t break cover, you hear me? And if you see him, shoot to kill.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Elaina waded through the swamp, on alert for even the slightest noise. The terrain had changed from mud to water and back to mud again, which was unnerving. The air smelled of sulfur and rotting leaves. And it was black. Pitch. She no longer had Troy’s touch to anchor her, and she would have traded anything for a pair of night-vision goggles.

  She remembered the blackout room at the Academy, where her defensive tactics instructor would make them spar in the dark. Use your senses, he’d told them. See with your mind, not your eyes.

  Elaina tried to use her senses now, but all she felt was fear. Water squished inside her boots. She tried to move soundlessly. In her right hand was her Glock. Her left hand was empty, and she held it out in front of her, although the chances of bumping into anything tall out here were pretty nonexistent. She moved one foot in front of the other and kept her senses on alert.

  Her shin slammed into something hard. Pain zinged through her, and her body hurtled forward as her feet stayed planted. Her left hand landed on something soft.

  A body?

  Fear spurted through her. She groped frantically and realized she’d crashed into a boat. It was smooth and metal, and on the floor of it was a silent, motionless body.

  Please, please, please. She felt an arm, a shoulder, a neck. Her right hand gripped her gun as the other searched desperately for a pulse.

  The body shifted. A slight groan.

  Elaina breathed a sigh of relief. And in the distance, an unmistakable plop.

  She froze. Her heart pounded. Her skin tingled right down to her toes. The sound was northeast of her, about sixty feet out. The length of a volleyball court. She processed the information objectively, but the fear was an icy claw that closed around her heart and made even the soles of her feet itch.

  She listened. Another plop. The sound was closer, clearer. But something struck her about it. It wasn’t footsteps. More like a rock, being tossed from a distance.

  The skin between her shoulder blades prickled, and in her mind’s eye she saw him.

  Just as a powerful arm snaked around her neck.

  Troy moved through the darkness, alert for any sound, the slightest hint of movement.

  A yelp, somewhere behind him. He whirled around. Splashing. Thrashing. The sounds of a struggle.

  He cocked his gun and sprinted toward it.

  She was underwater. Giant fingers closed around her throat. She kicked. She flailed. She clawed and punched at the arms holding her down. She’d dropped her weapon. He was on top of her, drowning her. A wave of panic brought a rush of water straight up her nose.

  Pop!

  The noise echoed through the water, and suddenly the weight was gone, and she was up, breaking the surface, gasping for air.

  A motor roared nearby. A spray of water doused her and she sucked in gasoline fumes. She coughed and sputtered, and then an arm was back, around her shoulders this time, and she clawed at it like a demon.

  “Elaina, breathe!”

  Troy. She choked and gasped and tried to cling to him, all at the same time. He lifted her by the armpits and dragged her to higher ground, then dropped her onto a mound of sand. Just a few inches of water. She’d nearly drowned in just a few inches of water.

  “Where—” she wheezed, unable to even finish the thought.

  “I shot him, and he took off.”

  He got away.

  And then another thought hit. My Glock.

  And then a worse thought smacked into her. Jamie.

  Elaina scrambled to her feet. “Sh
e’s in that skiff. We have to go after them!”

  “Are you sure you’re—”

  “Yes! Where’s your boat?”

  He grabbed her hand. “This way.”

  They sprinted and splashed and stumbled through the cordgrass until they reached the channel where he’d left the speedboat.

  Only he couldn’t find it.

  “Shit!”

  And then in the first bit of luck they’d had all night, the clouds drifted, and everything brightened, and he whirled around, hungry for information.

  “There!” he said, dragging Elaina behind him. Was she all right? He didn’t know. But she was on her feet, and that was good enough for him, at least right now. When she reached the boat, she practically threw herself aboard.

  The boat had drifted into a sandbank. Troy waded around to the bow and shoved it into deeper water. Then he rushed to the stern, gave a hearty push, and hopped inside. He twisted the key, fired the engine to life, and glanced at Elaina.

  “Hold on,” he ordered, and hit the throttle.

  In the distance, he heard the faint hum of the fleeing skiff. No running lights this time. Troy flipped his on, illuminating the channel in front of them. He followed the curves and bends of the waterway, hoping he wasn’t steering them into a dead end.

  The boat in the distance changed pitch. He’d reached the bay and turned on the speed. Troy glanced around, calculated the risks, and decided they had enough depth to really drop the hammer.

  “Hold tight,” he told Elaina, and he hit it.

  The wind whipped against her as they skipped across the water. She stood beside Troy, clutching the windshield. She saw the familiar lights of the refinery, but the boat was nowhere to be seen.

  Troy seemed to have a course in mind. He stared straight ahead, with laser-sharp focus, as the Supra hopped from wave to wave.

  “We’re gaining.”

  “How can you tell?” And just as she said it, she spotted the pale gray form ahead of them, about two o’clock. Etheridge had a head start, but Troy was closing the gap. Etheridge glanced back, again and again, then suddenly hunched over and reached for something. The skiff slowed.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Trying to lose us. Shit.”

  Elaina watched, confused. A jolt of terror shot through her as she realized what he was doing in a last-ditch effort to shake the tail.

  “He’s throwing her overboard!”

  Troy handed his pistol to Elaina.

  “Take this,” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “And get ready to take the wheel.”

  “What are you doing?” she yelled, but he didn’t answer, and she stuffed his pistol into her holster.

  Troy bore down on the skiff, until they were almost on top of it. Etheridge glanced back, and Elaina could see the desperation on his face as he steered his boat and tried to wrestle Jamie’s naked, lifeless body overboard, all at the same time.

  Troy grabbed Elaina’s arm. “Now!” he commanded, and yanked her up to the helm. Then he climbed onto the side of the Supra and took a flying leap.

  The skiff almost capsized. It slowed abruptly and Elaina sailed ahead. She made a frantic U-turn, and when she circled back, Troy and Etheridge were on the floor of the boat, locked in a struggle. She pulled the pistol, but both boats were bobbing violently. She had no confidence in her aim. Etheridge jerked Troy up by the shirtfront, and Elaina watched, appalled, as he landed a powerful punch to his jaw. Troy responded with a head butt, and a split second later, had Etheridge flipped onto his back. Troy pummeled his fist into the man’s face, again and again and again, as Elaina tried to get close enough for a decent shot, but with the rising, sinking swells, it was utterly impossible. Suddenly the boat rolled sideways. Both men crashed into the side and Jamie nearly rolled overboard. Etheridge scrambled to his knees and leapt on top of Troy.

  A flash of metal. The knife! The blade plunged down, and she heard an agonized cry. Good God, he was going to stab Troy to death, right in front of her eyes.

  Elaina braced her hand against the side of the boat. She lifted the gun. The blade rose up again, and somewhere deep inside herself, she found an island of calm. She aimed the pistol.

  She took the shot.

  CHAPTER 28

  Lemme guess. Just a scratch, right?”

  Troy opened his eyes to see Weaver standing beside him in the waiting room of the Brownsville FBI office. He nodded at Troy’s sloppily bandaged shoulder.

  “You didn’t even feel a thing?”

  “Hurts like a motherfucker.” Troy leaned forward on his elbows and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “Five-fifteen.”

  Troy scowled at the Plexiglas window, behind which Elaina had disappeared hours ago for a “debriefing.” But of course there was nothing brief about it, and Troy’s patience was long since gone.

  “Just called the hospital,” Weaver said. “Jamie’s awake and lucid. She’s going to be fine. Joel Etheridge is still in surgery. He may not make it.”

  “Cry me a river.”

  “If he pulls through, we’ll have an agent waiting in his recovery room, ready to read him his rights.” Weaver crossed his arms over his chest. “You know he’s married to Brenda, the desk clerk at the inn?”

  “I heard.”

  “And did you hear about his house?”

  Troy shook his head. Maynard hadn’t gotten that far when he’d called.

  “Major law enforcement junkie,” Weaver said. “He has an arsenal of weapons, a virtual spy museum full of gadgets, all sorts of police uniforms and gear. He had everything packed in duffel bags and—get this—stashed in a concrete hurricane shelter that he’d built inside his garage, complete with MREs and self-contained plumbing. Looks like he missed out on Y2K, so now he’s ready for World War Three.”

  “Sounds like a nutcase.”

  “That’s not a term we like. Just helps him build an insanity defense. Anyway, we’ll know more after we interview him, but I’d guess he’s paranoid in a serious way and has delusions of grandeur.” Weaver’s face grew more serious. “He also has an interesting library. Several biographies of Robert Hanssen. Every book ever written by John McCord.”

  Troy went still. He knew what was coming next.

  “He has a picture of Elaina, too—something he clipped from the newspaper after Breck’s first press conference. She’s standing off to the side with you and Cinco. He blew up the shot and drew a red circle around Elaina’s head.”

  Troy stared up at Weaver. He didn’t bother trying to put into words the mix of anger and fear and relief he was feeling right now.

  Troy turned away and checked the clock. He looked up and down the hallway, but still no sign of her. When he met Weaver’s gaze again, the man was smiling at him.

  “What?”

  “You could swing by the emergency room, you know. Even our toughest border cowboys get patched up every now and then.”

  Troy sighed. “Fuck you.”

  “I’m good, thanks. But it’s nice to know you’re in as pleasant a mood as Elaina was last time I saw her.” Weaver patted his arm. “And FYI, she’s almost done.”

  The agent disappeared behind a thick gray door, and Troy stood up to stretch his legs.At the opposite end of the hall, another gray door opened and Elaina walked out.

  He watched her move toward him. She looked worried and weather-beaten and beyond exhausted, and fury simmered inside him as he visualized Joel Etheridge trying to choke the life out of her.

  She stopped in front of him and gazed up with those serious blue eyes. “You waited.”

  He slung his good arm around her and pulled her close. “Let’s go home.”

  Ric trudged up the stairs to Mia’s apartment and didn’t have a clue what the hell he was doing here. He looked like shit. He hadn’t slept in days. He’d been on his way home to do just that, when he found himself turning onto her street and pulling up to her building.

  Now he sto
pped in front of her door and stared at it. He lifted his hand to knock, and it opened all by itself.

  She stepped back, startled.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She gazed up at him, wide-eyed, car keys and coffee cup in hand. She had on jeans and one of those fitted T-shirts she wore beneath her lab coat.

  “It’s six thirty-five,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Her eyebrows tipped up, and he felt the need to backpedal.

  “Actually, I do.” He rested his hands on his hips and realized his own jeans and T-shirt had passed the dirty-laundry stage about thirty-six hours ago. “I’ve been out to Devil’s Gorge. We took a canine unit.”

  Understanding dawned in her eyes.

  Ric looked away, out over the dew-covered crepe myrtles surrounding her parking lot. It was going to be another scorcher today. Yesterday had been so brutal, the search dog had nearly collapsed from heat exhaustion.

  “Anyway, I’m on my way home to clean up before I go see the families.”

  “You found both of them?”

  He nodded. “Each one was buried under a pile of rocks.”

  “I can help you get positive IDs,” she said. “Quickly.”

  “That’s one reason I’m here.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “And the other?”

  The other. He gazed down at her. And he remembered the first time he’d seen her up at that podium, lecturing a roomful of jaded homicide cops with that passion in her voice. And he knew the other reason—she reminded him why he did this job.

  He nodded at her mug. “Skim milk, one Splenda?”

  She smiled slightly. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Detective?”

  “I would.”

  She stepped back and ushered him inside. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Westin Hotel

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Two days later

  Elaina dropped her briefcase onto the floor and claimed a stool at the bar. She glanced around and decided she liked the place—for a number of reasons, starting with the fact that the bartender was a woman. She wore a black tuxedo jacket that didn’t fit her well at all, and Elaina had a flash of insight about women wearing clothes designed for men.