“Besides that.” She stepped into the bathroom, home to the remaining four on the top five list for prints: faucet handle, shower handle, toilet flusher, and toilet seat, a high-probability area for male prints.
The bathroom had one of those one-piece shower stalls. This one had rust stains near the drain and was surrounded by chipping caulk where it didn’t quite meet the wall. Nothing had been left behind on the shelf, not even a microscopic bar of soap for the next Happy Trails guest.
Elizabeth stepped back into the sink area and glanced around. On the linoleum floor, she noticed a row of copper-colored droplets. She crouched down for a closer look. Then she stood and examined the sink again, where she spotted a copper-colored smear on the faucet handle.
A memory hit her, and she was inside a cramped apartment in Fairfax, Virginia, two years after her father died, during what her mother called “the lean years.” She could see her mother primping in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready for a date as Elizabeth looked on, brimming with resentment.
Why do you have to wear all that pancake stuff?
Her mother had bristled. You think you’re always gonna look like that, Miss Priss? Just wait till you hit forty.
Those had been the days before Richard. Before Glenn. The days of coupons, and ramen noodles, and home dye jobs in the bathroom sink. Her mother’s color had been Clairol Light Ash Blonde, and it smelled faintly of ammonia—just like this motel room.
Elizabeth’s stomach suddenly felt squishy. She crouched down and studied the droplets, along with the strand of long hair caught against the baseboard.
Her throat went dry.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up at Torres. “I can’t believe I missed it. We all did.”
“Missed what?”
She stood up and glanced around, panicking. How had she, of all people, been so blind? How many clues, how many possible leads, had she overlooked?
“The mystery accomplice,” she said. “The driver. The one who bought the Chevy and murdered the college student and picked up Rasheed in Del Rio. The one who’s been here, laying all the groundwork for all this.”
“What about him?”
“I think it’s a woman.”
Chapter Seventeen
Derek left another message for Cole as he sped out toward the firing range. If anyone could help him out right now, it was the team’s best sharpshooter. But he wasn’t picking up. Odds were, he was already on a plane.
In another shit development, Derek’s entire team had been called back early. They’d been ordered to report for duty at 0800 Thursday, less than two days away. They were going OCONUS—out of the continental United States—and although the CO hadn’t given details, Derek knew this was no training mission. If everyone’s leave was being cut short, it meant something bad was heating up in some terrorist haven.
The timing sucked. Something was already heating up here in Houston, one of the country’s largest cities, which also happened to be home to damn near every member of Derek’s family. The body count was rising, and Derek was a thousand-percent certain the Houston sleeper cell was gearing up for something big. And while Elizabeth seemed confident that her task force could handle it, Derek wasn’t so optimistic.
The feds had world-class investigative resources—he’d give them that—but the problem was their tactics in the field, where it mattered most. Even if they managed to make a few arrests, Derek had no confidence whatsoever that they’d conduct the kind of intensive interrogation needed to uncover a plot in time to put a stop to it. The way things had been going lately in Washington, some pencil pusher would probably make sure anyone the task force did arrest had a goddamn lawyer at his side before they asked him a single question. So unless the task force managed to bag up every last member of the terror cell or figure out their selected target, then the attack was on.
And from what Derek could tell, the feds didn’t have a clue what that target was. Which was a slight problem. A little gap that needed to be filled. Right along with the names and locations of the four known tangos, who might only make up a small portion of this cell.
As for reporting back to base in forty-two hours, Derek wasn’t happy about it.
The other reason he wasn’t happy was Elizabeth. His sudden departure would only prove what she’d been saying earlier—that he was never here, that he was always jetting off on some training mission or some top-secret op.
And she was right about that. He was gone a lot. But he saw no reason why that meant he couldn’t see her tonight. If anything, his abbreviated time made spending tonight with her even more urgent.
He thought of all those months he’d spent away from her. He’d wanted her for so damn long that after she’d blown him off last winter—and she’d hate this—he’d made getting her to sleep with him a personal conquest. He’d been determined, and his determination had gotten him what he wanted.
Only it wasn’t what he wanted now. Not completely. Not after last night.
He pictured her pushing him onto his back and taking control. He pictured the look on her face as she let go of all those tightly held inhibitions. She’d blown away his wildest fantasies. It was amazing. But it was a problem, too, because now instead of some fantasy, he had the real thing to think about, and he couldn’t do what she claimed she wanted, which was leave her alone.
Just forget it. Yeah, right. He wasn’t forgetting anything. And as soon as this next op ended, he was hauling his ass straight back to Texas. Or maybe he’d even fly. He’d do whatever he needed to do to see her again.
But that was getting into relationship territory, which she’d said she didn’t want, at least not with him. She’d made that clear. He wasn’t relationship material, probably because he wore greasepaint and boots to work and jumped out of planes for a living. Maybe she wanted a relationship with some doctor or lawyer or some suit from her office. Someone who was around consistently and didn’t go wheels-up at a moment’s notice. Maybe someone like Jimmy Torres or even Gordon.
Would she sleep with Gordon Moore? He had no idea, but just the thought was enough to make him crazy. The idea of her sleeping with anyone while he was gone made him completely batshit.
But did he really want a long-distance relationship? He honestly didn’t know. He knew he wanted Elizabeth alone tonight, so much it was burning a hole in his gut. Seeing her again was his objective, and he planned to clear any obstacle she tried to throw in his path.
Derek slammed on the brakes as he nearly flew past the turnoff to the firing range. He hooked a sharp turn onto the gravel road as his phone rattled in the cup holder. It was Cole.
“You get the callback?” Derek asked without preamble.
“I’m headed out tomorrow.”
“Driving?”
“Flying,” Cole said.
“Listen, any chance you’re at the range right now? I just pulled in.”
“I’m at my sister’s place. Why?”
Derek turned into the parking lot and found a space. The crowd was sparse, with it being a Monday—just some guys who looked like off-duty cops, maybe getting in a few mags before the swing shift.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Derek said. “If I needed to get my hands on a Krinkov, a Super-Shorty twelve-gauge, and an AAC Honey Badger, who would I talk to?”
Silence on the other end.
“That’s some serious hardware,” Cole finally said. “A Honey Badger fully automatic?”
“Yeah. You know anyone around here?”
“I know a few guys, but you’d be looking at some coin. That’s quite a list.”
“I don’t want to buy it. I need to know who might have sold it recently.”
“How recently?”
“Last few weeks,” Derek said. “I have a feeling the buyer came into a nice payday.”
Cole got quiet. Then he asked, “Is this about the tango who took a dive off that roof?” There was a touch of jealousy in his voice, and Derek knew that if there was something going down, Cole wanted to be a part of it.
“I need the name of someone local,” Derek said, answering the question indirectly.
“Shit, I don’t like the sound of that, but lemme ask around, see what I can get.”