Untraceable (16 page)

She scooped her hair into a ponytail and squeezed the water out. Then she swept the curtain aside, but he caught her around the waist.

“Not so fast.”

“It’s all yours,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m finished.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He pulled her against him and kissed her neck.

“I thought you said we were running late.” She turned in his arms and stroked her hands up into his hair again. She seemed to like his hair for some reason, and he took advantage of her distraction by shifting her back against the tile wall and kissing her neck some more.

“That’s if we stop for breakfast,” he said, and skimmed a hand over her stomach to rest at the top of her thigh, just to taunt her. “I’m happy to skip the diner, spend some time here.”

She let him slide his hands over her hot, slick skin, and after a few minutes, he wasn’t the only one willing to sacrifice food and caffeine. She closed her eyes and made one of those little noises that drove him crazy.

“Come on,” he whispered in her ear, and she clutched her arms around him. He kissed her mouth, her throat.

She jerked back suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“No.” He kissed her again, but she pulled away.

“Stop, I’m serious. I heard a voice.”

A voice.

Nathan reached over and twisted off the water. He strained to listen, but didn’t hear anything.

Still, his gut was filling with dread. “Where’d you park?” he asked her.

She blinked up at him. “Down the street. Why?”

Shit.

He swept the curtain aside and jerked a towel off the rack.

“What?” she asked. “Your neighbor was having a party, so—”

“Stay here,” he said, and shoved a towel into her hands.

Her brow furrowed, and he realized he’d scared her.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said. “Just wait in the bedroom, okay?”

Nathan grabbed a towel for himself and slung it around his neck before snatching his jeans up off the floor beside the bed. He jerked the bedroom door shut behind him, just as heels clicked across the marble foyer.

He rounded the corner and nearly bumped into Nicole.

“Morning.” She rose up on tiptoes to kiss him, then backed up to look at his wet chest. “You’re running late today.”

“You should have called.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop bitching. I brought you breakfast.”

He took her elbow and steered her back toward the kitchen. “You should have called, Nikki.”

He got her all the way to the kitchen before she shook his arm off and gaped up at him. “Oh my God. Are you
with
someone?”

“Yes.”

He saw her jaw tighten. Her gaze darted to the living room behind him, and he hoped like hell Alex wasn’t standing there in the hallway watching this conversation. He walked into the laundry room and tossed his towel on the washer, then grabbed a dirty T-shirt from the basket on the floor and yanked it over his head.

“I apologize,” Nicole said when he turned around. Her voice was cool, but her eyes were fiery. “You’re right, I should have called.”

She wore a tailored black suit and heels, which meant she probably planned to be in court later. He noticed the cardboard coffee cups on the table, and felt a pang of guilt. Goddamn it, he never should have kissed her good night at the hotel. This was his fault for putting his tongue in her mouth and thinking she wouldn’t take it as some big signal that their on-again, off-again sexual relationship was back on.

“Nicole—”

“Forget it.” She picked up her stylish black handbag and strode out the back door, yanking it shut behind her.

Nathan turned around to see Alex walking into the living room. She wore jeans, sneakers, and the T-shirt she’d shown up in yesterday. Damp curls fell around her shoulders.

She didn’t look at him as she pulled a key from her back pocket and they pretended not to hear Nicole’s BMW backing out of the driveway.

“Want to take your car?” he asked.

She gave him a blank look, and he knew breakfast was off.

“That was my ex-wife. Nicole.”

She held up a hand. “Not my business. I’ve got to get going, so—”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t care.”

She crossed her arms. “Why should I care? Your ex-wife stopped by your house. So what?”

“Okay.” He searched her face for some kind of emotional reaction. He didn’t find one. Maybe she really
didn’t
care. Maybe she was the first woman he’d ever known who didn’t have a jealous bone in her body.

But then her gaze settled on the coffee cups, and her eyes sparked.

“I’ve got to go.” She turned and headed for the front door, and he followed her.

“I’ll call you later.”

“I’ve got a busy day,” she said over her shoulder.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, then.”

She flipped the bolt and walked out. “Tomorrow’s busy, too.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” He followed her down the sidewalk. Where the hell had she parked? The street must have been packed last night.

But she was done making excuses. She walked right up to the Monte Carlo red Ford Sunliner parked across the street. It was long and shiny and, with its distinctive body style, a hundred times cooler than his Mustang. She shoved a key into the door.

“Where’s your Saturn?” he asked, stunned.

“In the shop.” She jerked open the door with a squeak and slid behind the wheel. Original upholstery, too.

“Isn’t this your landlady’s?”

“It’s mine.”

In the back of his brain, he heard the faint crack of a whip. He could fall hard for this girl.

If she ever spoke to him again.

He leaned an arm on the window while she shot him an annoyed look.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right? She doesn’t usually drop by like that.”

“Not my business.”

“Yeah, it kind of is your business. We were in the middle of making love.”

She glared up at him, and he could tell she didn’t like his terminology. Jesus. She was determined to belittle it as much as possible.

“I
will
call you,” he said, getting pissed now.

“Fine.” She pulled at the door, but he braced his hand against it.

“This is the last time I’m going to say it, Alex. I apologize.”

“Drop it,” she said. “Now do you mind? I need to get to work.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Alex was late, and she was counting on a trayful of grande lattes to smooth things over. She could have been here sooner, but she’d needed some time to collect herself before she could walk into her office and pull off some semblance of normal.

But nothing was normal. Even a change of clothes and a second shower with her own, non-Nathan-scented shampoo had done nothing to ease the knot in her stomach.

Alex took a deep breath and shook it off. It didn’t matter. She hated relationships. And if she made room for one in her life right now, she’d have to deal with the void when it went away.

Alex strode up to the door of her business and tapped her knuckles on the glass. Sophie emerged from behind Alex’s closed office door, and her face brightened when she spotted the cardboard tray.

“Oh my God, you read my mind.”

Alex stepped into the office and handed Sophie a cup. From behind the closed door, she heard the murmur of female voices.

“Courtney’s here already?”

“She’s been here almost an hour,” Sophie said. “And she’s incredible. I’m going to have to hire her before my next round of head shots.”

Alex crossed the reception room. “Draw those mini-blinds, would you?” she asked over her shoulder.
You never know who might come knocking.

She should have been prepared for the scene inside her office, but she wasn’t. And Sophie was right. Courtney
was
incredible.

“Wow,” Alex said. Behind her desk, in the big leather swivel chair, was a completely transformed Melanie Bess.

Courtney shot Alex a look. “You’re late.”

“I stopped by Starbucks.” She set the tray of drinks on the desk.

“You’re forgiven.”

Which wasn’t exactly surprising. Besides being a personal friend, the tall, auburn-haired stylist was one of Alex’s former clients. She belonged to a subset Nathan had labeled “basket-case women,” although she no longer fit that description, thanks in part to Alex. Courtney had turned her life around and recently managed to land a job at Austin’s hippest salon.

Alex fixed her gaze on Courtney’s latest masterpiece. “
How
did you do that?”

Melanie cast a sheepish look in Alex’s direction. “You like it?”

“Yes.” She stepped around the desk for a better view. Gone was the pasty skin, the dark circles. And yet—thanks to Courtney’s skill—she didn’t have that base-face look that Alex despised. Also gone was the choppy black hair, replaced with a light brown pixie cut that seemed completely natural. And unnoticeable, which was the entire point. Melanie needed to blend in with the crowd, not stand out. And—unbeknownst to Courtney, Sophie, and Melanie herself—she was having a new passport photo taken this morning.

“We made a mess of your bathroom,” Courtney said, applying coral lip liner to Melanie’s mouth. “But nothing a little Lysol won’t take care of.”

“I’ll do it,” Sophie said.

“What did you do to her eyes?” Alex leaned in for a closer look.

“White eye pencil,” Courtney said. “On the inner rims. That combined with the eyelash curler really wakes her up. Makes her look younger. My older clients love it.”

Alex filed it away. She hardly ever wore makeup. But her mother had told her that might change, right along with her metabolism, when she hit thirty.

“Did you notice the eyebrows?” Sophie propped a hip on the desk and sipped her coffee.

“Yeah, something’s different.”

“I altered the shape,” Courtney explained. “Gives her face a different look. Subtle, but effective.”

Alex nodded her approval.

Courtney finished off the face with some light brown blush, accentuating Melanie’s cheekbones and further reinforcing the new look. She snapped the compact shut and stepped back to admire her efforts. “Not bad.”

“It works,” Alex agreed.

Melanie smiled nervously as Courtney rummaged through her shiny silver makeup case.

“I almost forgot.” Courtney pulled out a circular container of flesh-toned makeup. “Your scars. Here, bend your head down.” Courtney stepped around the chair and dabbed makeup over the circular pink burn marks on the back of Melanie’s neck. Coghan had put those marks there, according to Melanie. Some sadistic thing he liked to do during sex.

When Courtney was finished, she dropped the concealer into a Ziploc bag that was already filled with makeup.

“This is for you,” she said, handing it to Melanie. “Just remember everything I showed you.”

“Thanks.” Melanie glanced worriedly at the bag in her hands. “Um… how much do I owe you for all this?”

“It’s on me.” Courtney latched shut her makeup case and looked at her watch. She turned to Alex. “I’ve got to run.”

“Are you sure?” Melanie cast a tentative look at Alex, and Alex knew she was thinking about her outstanding bill with Lovell Solutions.

“It’s okay,” Courtney said, grabbing her kit, her coffee, and her keys. “I owe Alex a few favors.”

“Speaking of favors.” Alex cleared her throat. “It would be really helpful if you wouldn’t mention to Will—”

“I was never here,” Courtney said. And Alex breathed a sigh of relief because, in addition to being a former client, Courtney also happened to be married to Nathan’s partner.

Courtney turned to Melanie. “You watch out for yourself, all right? And if you want to make this work, take my advice and do whatever Alex tells you.”

Alex smiled slightly, remembering how Courtney had had very little luck following that advice herself.

“I will,” Melanie promised.

And Alex hoped to hell that, this time, she meant it.

As strange as it was, sometimes Nathan just couldn’t look at a dead body on an empty stomach.

“Fuckin’ bad way to go,” Webb said, and turned to spit on the pavement.

Nathan glanced up at him from where he was crouched near the corpse. “Hey, you wanna take that shit over there? Away from the crime scene?”

Webb fixed him with another hard stare and swished his chaw around.

Nathan stood up and stepped over a puddle of what looked like urine. He crouched down again and took a closer look at the vic’s face. Mid-twenties. Hispanic. And with a bloody wound around his neck that reminded Nathan of the victim they’d pulled out of Lake Austin just a few weeks ago. Baling wire, the ME had concluded. But it was all conjecture because, as with this guy, the killer had taken the murder weapon with him when he’d split the scene.

A line of ants marched from the gaping neck wound all the way up the victim’s throat and into his nose and mouth. Nathan’s stomach twisted. He wished he’d managed to get more than a few sips of coffee into his system before heading over here.

He’d been called out not long after Alex had left, and he’d spent the entire drive over reviewing last night in his head. It occurred to him now—probably because she wasn’t around to distract him with sex—that she’d been acting funny when she’d first shown up. She’d been in a great mood. Tired, but cheerful. Then she’d gotten emotional when he told her the rumor he’d heard about Melanie. And then—strangest of all—she’d seemed happy again. Happy enough to want to spend the night with him.

Her behavior was puzzling, now that he thought about it. And Nathan had never been one to leave a puzzle alone. Something weird was going on, something he felt certain had to do with Melanie’s case. He needed to figure out what it was.

A gust of air whipped through the alley, stirring up the putrid smell of death and piss and garbage. Nathan glanced around the vicinity, looking for something he might have missed when he’d first walked up.

“What did the club owner say?” he asked Webb, who had arrived right after the patrol officer.

“Not much. Just that there was a stiff in the alley when he was leaving the place about six twenty this morning. Cocktail waitress inside claims she served the guy a Miller Lite at one thirty, then he skipped his check.”

“You tracked down the waitress already?”

“Wasn’t hard. She was working overtime in the club, if you know what I mean.” Webb leaned against the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley they were standing in. Nathan didn’t bother telling him to quit touching shit within the crime scene perimeter. Webb was two years from retirement and made no effort to hide his contempt for all the rules and regulations that had come along with the flashy new forensics available now. Nathan would have taken Will Hodges over Webb any day of the week, but the kid was out sick today, puking his guts up with some stomach bug.

“She’s a hooker?” Nathan asked, skimming his gaze over the victim’s skin for any body art. The victim had a black sun tattooed on his right hand, but that was the only thing visible at the moment. Nathan didn’t plan to touch anything, even the guy’s wallet, until the ME showed up.

“Just a guess.” Webb waggled his eyebrows. “She looked dressed to party. Said they had some after-hours thing going on inside the bar last night. A ‘private event,’ she called it.”

Nathan stood up and glanced around. About two feet from the body was a half-empty bottle of Miller.

“What’s the plumbing situation inside?” Nathan asked.

“The what?”

“Maybe the john’s broken?”

“Hell if I know.” Webb turned and spit again. “Ask Angel.” He grinned. “That’s her name. Angel. You believe that?”

“She a dancer here?”

“Nah, supposedly she’s just a waitress. But my guess is they’re all working. Probably she knows a lot more about this guy than she’s saying. Claims she doesn’t even know his name.” Webb stepped closer now and frowned down at the victim. “So how do you think it went down?”

“Looks to me like he came out here to take a leak, set his beer there by the Dumpster. Could be the restroom was full, maybe a couple in there or something.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Guy comes up from behind, wraps the wire around his neck. Creates that blood spatter there on the wall.”

“He’d have to be pretty strong,” Webb observed, squinting at the corpse. “This kid’s got to be five-ten, one-ninety. Looks like he works out, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell you what, this reminds me of that one off Highway 71. What was that strip joint they used to have out there?” Webb rubbed his jaw. “Shit, what was it called?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn, what was that place? They had three-dollar steaks. This was back five years ago. But still.”

Nathan glanced over his shoulder as the crime scene unit rolled to a stop at the end of the alley. “I was in Houston then,” he reminded Webb.

“Ah, that’s right. Anyways, it was like this. Guy gets it right behind a titty bar. Wire around the neck. Same thing.”

“What happened?” Nathan asked, suddenly feeling a renewed sense of appreciation for some of the dead weight in his department.

“I don’t remember.”

Or maybe not. “You remember a name? A suspect? Anything?”

“Naughty’s. That was the place.”

“You guys make an arrest?”

“Don’t think so,” Webb said. “I remember this, though. When we bagged the vic, he still had that wire wrapped around his neck. Messy as shit job. If it’s the same guy as now, he’s cleaned up his act.”

“What happened to the wire?”

“Who knows? Probably still sitting in the evidence room.”

* * *

The Honorable Judge Gordon Mueller liked punctual lawyers, polite defendants, and short closing arguments. He didn’t tolerate tracksuits in his courtroom, and he had a standing 10:30
A.M
. appointment with a pack of Winston Selects.

It was 10:31. Like clockwork, the doors to Mueller’s courtroom pushed open, and a stream of people filed out for a fifteen-minute break from the State of Texas versus Luis J. Perez.

The prosecution’s star witness slipped through the doors and headed for the men’s room. Nathan followed.

“Hey, Craig.”

Coghan turned around, and his surprise quickly turned to suspicion.

“Got a minute?” Nathan asked amiably, and nodded at the nearby side door. Without waiting for a response, Nathan walked through the door, just beyond the knot of reporters and bureaucrats milling beside a giant ashtray. He stopped at an empty bench and propped his shoe on it.

“Hey, what’s up, Devereaux?” Coghan frowned at his watch as Nathan bent to tie his shoelace. “I’m supposed to be in court.”

“This won’t take long.” Nathan straightened and gave the man a once-over. Shit, he hadn’t been this close to Coghan in a while. He’d been bulking up. “How’s married life?”

Coghan scowled.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Looks like we have a mutual friend.” Nathan rested his hands on his hips. “Alex Lovell? She runs a PI shop here in town.”

Coghan’s expression hardened.

“She showed up at my house last night, big old bruise on her face.” Nathan stepped closer. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Coghan’s shoulders tensed as Nathan got right up in his grill.

“Like I said, Alex is a friend of mine,” Nathan said quietly. “You go near her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Hey, go fuck yourself, Devereaux.”

Nathan shoved Coghan in the chest with both hands. He tripped backward a few feet, then lunged forward and landed a hammer-sharp blow to Nathan’s jaw. Gasps and yelps went up from the smokers.