Scorched (35 page)

She glanced back at Derek and he looked amused.

“That was your cop face.”

She raised her brows at him.

“I recognize it.” He smiled. “You used it on me back in Utah.” He set his glass on the bar. “What, worried you might have to haul those guys in for disorderly conduct?”

“I’m not hauling anyone anywhere tonight unless they hold up a bank in front of me.” She sipped her drink again. “I’ve filled out enough paperwork today to last me a year. Next topic. How did you know about this place?”

“Buddy of mine told me about it.”

“Who, Gage?” She leaned her elbow on the bar and
rested her chin on her fist. He gave her one of those smiles, and she noticed he had nice teeth. It was the sort of thing her mother would notice.

“This might come as a shock, but Gage isn’t my only buddy. Mike Dietz told me about this place.”

“Oh my God.” She sat up straighter.

“What?”

“That was
textbook.
Your gaze just darted up and to the left when you said that.”

He gave her a curious look. “That drink’s going to your head.”

“It is not.” She laughed. “You are
lying
about your friend Mike Whoever-He-Is. Admit it.”

“What are you talking about? Mike’s from Oakland. Took me here last time we were up visiting. Damn, when was that? Back last fall sometime.”

She downed another sip, feeling a rush of unexplained pride for nailing him. “Nice try with the details, but you are
such
a liar. You’ve never set foot in this place before tonight.”

A slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and she slapped the bar.

“I knew it! How did you do that? On the way over here, you were like a homing pigeon. What was that? Three blocks? Four?”

“Five.”

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Pretty good bet. Anywhere there’s a hospital, there are bound to be people blowing off steam after a rough day, right? There are plenty of watering holes around here.”

“And you chose this one because . . . ?”

“It looked halfway decent.” He set down his glass, and she noticed it was nearly empty. “And I figured if we walked too far, you’d change your mind and leave me hanging.”

She shook her head. She picked up the toothpick and plucked another olive off the end. “I can’t believe you lied to me.” She gave him a stern look. “Again.”

“I can’t believe you fell for it. Again.” He eased closer. “Pay attention, Liz. It’s all in the delivery. You plan to tell a lie, you have to sell it.” He clinked her glass again, but it was empty now. The attentive bartender stopped by, and he signaled for another round.

Elizabeth watched him and a warm buzz settled over her. She glanced at her watch. She really needed to leave now. She’d hardly eaten today and the liquor was starting to get to her.

Fresh drinks were delivered and she took a sip, watching him over the rim of the glass. When he wasn’t being infuriating he was really attractive. And nice. And she really should go. Elizabeth put down her glass and looked at him. She knew what she
should
do, but didn’t want to. She was actually enjoying herself.

A wave of guilt crashed over her. How could she enjoy anything today of all days?

“Uh-oh.” He pushed her glass closer to her. “Drink up. I sense a confession coming on.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve got that look.” He smiled. “I’ve been the recipient of a few booze-induced confessions, and you definitely have one on the tip of your tongue.”

She picked up the new toothpick—this one was green instead of red—and nibbled another olive.

“Spill it. I’m good at this.”

“I don’t have any confessions. I just—” She closed her eyes. “Let’s just say it was a shitty day.”

She glanced up at him. His expression was serious now and she looked down at her glass.

“I’ve never seen a man die before. It was—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and glanced up at him. What on earth was she saying? She was talking to a
combat veteran.
She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Hey.”

She looked down at his hand, which now covered hers on the bar.

“Don’t do that to yourself. He deserved what he got.”

She looked away.

“Man stepped in front of a truck. That’s way
better
than he deserved, if you ask me. He killed himself.”

“If I’d
arrested
him successfully, he’d still be alive.”

Derek shook his head, and she watched him, wanting him to talk her out of her depression over this. She couldn’t get that sickening thud out of her head.

“Trent Lohman had one of the best law-enforcement jobs in the world. He was part of an elite group. He blew it.”

She looked at him, and part of her knew he was right. But she still felt guilty.

Derek leaned closer. “He carried a badge and a gun. People trusted him, respected him. He deceived and manipulated people, probably right up to the end.”

Elizabeth drew back.

“Am I right?”

She fiddled with the glass, turning it on the bar.

“What’d he do, try to talk you out of it? Try to cut you in on his deal?”

She cleared her throat.
He called my bluff,
she wanted to say. But she didn’t say that because she didn’t want it to be true. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe she really would have arrested him if he hadn’t run. She definitely would have tried. Would she have succeeded? She wasn’t sure. And that was what haunted her. All that training—months and months of it—and when the stakes were high, she hadn’t even been able to make a simple apprehension.

She closed her eyes. To her complete mortification, she felt tears forming. He patted her hand, and some of the tears leaked out.

“God.” She laughed nervously and swiped her cheeks. “I’m sure this is exactly what you wanted to do tonight. How’s that leave working out for you?”

“Yeah, it’s been eventful.”

“Driving to Utah,” she said. “Running through alleyways. Spending hours locked in a car with Frost.”

“Hey, Vernon and I are pals now. He didn’t tell you?”

“Really?”

“Nah, not really. He hardly said a word to me all morning. And I have to say, I would have much rather you’d been the one to slap those cuffs on. But, all in all, my leave hasn’t been bad. I’ve gotten to end it having drinks with a beautiful woman.”

She snorted.

“What?” He pretended to be offended.

“You SEALs are tenacious.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smiled and took a sip. She was feeling a little better, actually. Her shoulders were starting to loosen, and she felt warm all over. She knew it was the Tanqueray. But it was also the man. He was way too cocky and an outrageous flirt, but somehow he made her feel better.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

“Nice?”

“I mean, besides the obvious.”

He leaned an elbow comfortably against the bar. “What’s obvious?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know, you’re very cynical about men.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch.”

“No, it’s good. I should get you to talk to my little sisters. The bullshit-detector gene totally missed them. Scares the hell out of me.”

She smiled. He’d just admitted he’d been bullshitting her this whole evening. At least that’s what she thought he’d just admitted. Her brain felt a little fuzzy. Actually, a lot fuzzy.

She leaned down and picked up her purse from the floor and pulled some money out.

“You don’t want to finish that drink?”

“I’ve had enough.” She stood up and caught herself on the bar. He grabbed her elbow but didn’t make a big deal about it as he pulled out his wallet and left money on the bar. Nice tipper. It was right up there with good teeth on her mom’s top-ten list.

Go home, Elizabeth.

She made it to the door with impressive poise and stepped out into the damp night air. A view of the bay
was visible between two buildings, and she noticed the lights of the bridge poking up through the fog.

The fog comes on little cat feet.

“What’s that?”

She glanced up at him. Had she said that out loud? It was definitely time to go if she was reciting poetry. She glanced up and down the street.

“Where’s your car?”

She looked up at him.

“Not that I’m not suggesting you drive anywhere.” He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the direction they’d come from.

“So you’re just wondering . . . ?”

“I like to gather as much intel as possible at all times.”

A little warning bell went off in her brain.
So he can close in on the target.

“Think I’ll cab it,” she said.

“Where’re you staying?”

Good question. “Uh—”

“I’m over at the Dragon Inn.” He nodded across the street at a rundown-looking motel.

“Yeah, right.”

“Seriously.”

She glanced at the motel again. It was a tall and narrow brick building with a tall and narrow sign out front in red neon.

“You are not staying there.”

“Sure I am.”

“It says ‘No Vacancy.’”

“I got their last room.” He stepped closer, and his broad shoulders blocked out the streetlights. Elizabeth’s heart started to pound as she gazed up at him. The
breeze whipped into her jacket and pressed her blouse against her skin, but she felt the heat of him right in front of her. He reached down and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Want to share it with me?”

Her throat went dry. Before her brain could form a response, he leaned down and kissed her mouth, very lightly.

She didn’t move. She gazed up into those dark eyes and felt a magnetic
pull.
She imagined what that three-day beard would feel like against her bare skin, and her heart started to pound even faster. But then she imagined him getting up in the morning and leaving without a backward glance.

“Come on,” he whispered, and through the haze she felt that pull again. “Say yes.”

CHAPTER 23

Kelsey’s eyes opened at the sound of the phone, but she’d already been awake. For the past hour, she’d been lying there with Gage’s arm draped over her waist, waiting for the inevitable number to appear on the clock.

Gage sat up and switched on the lamp. “Where is that?”

“My purse.”

He dragged her purse off the chair and pulled the phone out. He looked at her. “Ben.” She reached across him but he answered it. “Yeah.” He looked at her again. “She’s right here.”

Kelsey gave him a reproachful look as he handed her the phone and got out of bed.

“Hi, Ben. What’s up?”

“Sorry to wake you.” He sounded miffed. “Some interesting developments this morning.”

She looked at the clock. It was 5:20, so that meant 7:20 at the Delphi Center. He was in early.

“I did a phone dump and a credit-card check for Trent Lohman.”

“Trent Lohman’s dead.”

“I know. I talked to Gordon Moore. But listen to this. You want to hear what his second-to-last credit-card purchase was before his death?”

Kelsey sighed. “What?”

“An economy-class plane ticket for July fourteenth that goes from Washington-Dulles Airport, through New York–LaGuardia, and then on to Hong Kong.”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to orient herself. “That’s in two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that makes sense, right? Did Gordon tell you about the Hong Kong bank account? He was probably going there to get his money.”

“Yeah, I know, but you want to hear his final credit-card purchase?”

“What’s the problem?” Gage asked, zipping his jeans. He folded his arms over his chest and propped his shoulder against the wall.

“Something about Trent Lohman,” she told him. Then to Ben: “What was the purchase?”

“This transaction was yesterday morning. He bought a first-class plane ticket for the red-eye flight from San Francisco International to Washington’s Reagan International Airport.”

“So?”

“It was the last seat on the plane. He paid an arm and a leg for it and it has him landing in Washington this morning at 7:19
A.M
.”

“Yeah?” She still wasn’t following.

“Kelsey, think about it. It looks like he planned to spend the next two weeks on the East Coast. Not only that, but in the very city that Mark and Gordon and
everyone in Homeland Security seems to think is Ramli’s target location for an anthrax attack. And not only
that,
he planned to be in three major East Coast airports during that time frame. But where is he
not
going? Where is he so eager to get away from that he buys an outrageously expensive ticket so he can hop on a red-eye?”

Kelsey was fully awake now.

“You want to know who else made last-minute plans to hop a red-eye last night?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Marissa Ramli and her daughter, Leila. They took the eleven-forty
P.M
. to Chicago.”

“What’s in Chicago?”

“Who knows? That’s not the point. The point is—”

“You think everyone’s looking at the wrong coast,” she said. “You think his target is San Francisco.”