Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (17 page)

Liam got up and walked down the hall to the control room. Tara followed him.

“Holy crap, what’s all this?” She stood in the middle of the room, gaping at all the computer monitors as he sat down at his system and tapped a few keys.

A few moments later, he had a satellite map of Cypress County pulled up.

“This is where you monitor your security?” She was still gawking at all the screens.

“Yes. You were here?” He pointed to the firebreak along the north edge of the Corrine Timber tract.

She leaned over his shoulder and tapped the screen. “Here.”

Liam studied the image. He zoomed out to look at a larger area.

“It sounded like, I don’t know, a hundred yards away? It was hard to tell, though,” she said. “Could have been more.”

He clenched his teeth, thinking of the tear in her jacket that had been made by a bullet. An inch closer and she’d be dead.

“Luck could account for the first shot,” he said. “Maybe he aimed for your flashlight. Two close calls, I’d say he had a night scope.”

“I know.”

She stared at him, her gaze somber. She’d calmed down some, but she still looked shaken.

She’d come
here
, to him. Probably not because she wanted to talk about bullet trajectories.

He stood up and took her hand and led her back to the living room. He sat her down on the sofa beside the fire and went into the kitchen. A few moments later, he joined her on the couch with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses of ice.

She immediately picked up the bottle and poured two generous servings. She downed a sip and winced.

“Thought you liked bourbon.”

“I do,” she croaked. “I don’t usually drink it straight.”

He watched her over the rim of his glass, and her second sip went down more easily. Then she turned to look at him, and she seemed to be actually seeing him for the first time.

“Where have
you
been?” she asked.

“Funeral.”

By her startled expression, he could tell she’d forgotten. Catalina’s service had been that morning in Corpus Christi, where her family lived.

Tara sipped again, and he noticed her hands still trembled. He took her glass and set it on the table, then slid an arm around her. She tensed.

“I’ll get your good clothes dirty.”

“I don’t give a shit. Come here.” He tucked her head against his chest and pulled her in tight to stop the tremors. She felt both cold and warm at the same time—a weird combination that pissed him off. She was in shock, and he forced himself to lock down his anger.

What had happened tonight? He couldn’t tell if she was giving him the full story. And why had she been out there by herself? He’d warned her about poking around alone in the woods, but she hadn’t listened because she was so damn headstrong.

Frustration churned inside him. Frustration with her and with himself. She’d been only a few miles away, and he’d done nothing to protect her.

The shakes subsided, but still she was a ball of tension, and he could tell she didn’t like being held. Or maybe she didn’t want to like it.

She pulled away. “So, this new crime scene,” she said matter-of-factly. “We recovered two bodies.”

“I thought it was bones.”

“Skeletonized remains. The forensic anthropologist should have an estimate of the time of death by tomorrow. But we’re looking at four victims, and certain factors point to a similar MO.”

“Such as?”

She paused.

“Such as what, Tara? Spit it out.”

“I can’t discuss the details. But basically, all four victims were discovered within a few miles of here. One you knew personally.”

Liam bristled. “Are you telling me I’m a suspect?”

SHE COULD SEE
the anger simmering in his eyes. And it wasn’t just about her anymore.

“You have an alibi for the night of Catalina’s death,” she stated.

“Then what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you, look at these murders. Look at where they happened and the fact that you knew one of the victims intimately.”

She watched his reaction to the
intimately
part. She was still certain there was more to his relationship with Catalina, and his defensiveness reinforced her theory.

“You’re no longer a suspect,” she said, “but you have to admit there’s a common thread here.”

His gaze narrowed, and she could see he’d figured out where she was going with this topic.

“You said every man working for you has been through a psych evaluation,” Tara said. “I’d like to see them.”

“Not happening.”

“They’re relevant to our investigation.”

He leaned closer. “I’ll say it again. No.”

She stood up. “Why are you putting up roadblocks? Someone
murdered
a friend of yours. Along with three other unidentified women, just a stone’s throw away from where you live. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He stood, too. “Bothers me a lot, but it wasn’t one of my men.”

“How can you be sure? Those psych evals could shed light—”

“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.”

T
he 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.”