Unspeakable (27 page)

She looked at him, and he started to get uncomfortable. Did she think he was hitting on her?

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s a very generous offer.”

He was definitely uncomfortable now that she’d gotten all formal like that. She probably
did
think he was hitting on her.

“I’ve been taking lessons,” she went on. “You know those tapes? But it would probably go faster with a real teacher. I’d appreciate the help.”

Cinco’s phone rang, saving him from more gratitude. He handed the binoculars to Elaina and fished the thing out of his back pocket.

“Chavez.”

“Yo, it’s me. You’re staking out that apartment, right?”

“Yeah,” he told Troy.

“Word is, there’s something about to go down.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Cinco asked.

“Maynard. Is Elaina with you?”

“Yeah.” He glanced over at her. She looked disinterested, but she was definitely eavesdropping.

“I want you to watch her back.”

Cinco caught a glimpse of someone in the side mirror. The FBI guy. Weaver. “She’s right here. You want to talk to her?”

“No. Just keep an eye on her.”

“Will do.”

They disconnected just as Weaver walked up to the window. Cinco noticed he’d been pretty stealthy, too,
probably trying not to be seen by anyone in that apartment.

“I come bearing gifts,” the man said, and handed Cinco a cell phone. “Elaina, that’s for you. Programmed with the same number you had before in case your mysterious friend wants to get in touch again. Scarborough is about to call and give you instructions.”

Cinco passed her the phone.

“Instructions for what?” she asked.

“He’ll explain.” He looked at Cinco. “I have a present for you, too. You’re invited to the party. Come in your favorite Kevlar.”

Elaina’s eyes widened. “But where—”

The phone in her hand rang, cutting her off.

“That’ll be Scarborough,” Weaver said. “He’ll explain everything.”

Elaina stood beside the minivan, blinking sweat from her eyes as she stared at the map Scarborough had spread out on the hood. It showed a satellite image of Noah Neely’s apartment, which was just around the corner from the alley where the tactical team had gathered.

“We got a corner unit, one entrance, two north windows, one south, and no balcony.” Scarborough drew an arrow with his pencil. “Loomis and his team go in here, south stairwell. You guys hit the door, get everyone under control. Where’s Chavez?”

“Sir?”

“You said there’re two males inside at this time? Noah Neely and somebody else?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I want the second four-man team covering the
north stairwell leading to the parking lot.” Scarborough scanned the faces around him, pausing briefly on Elaina. She wondered if she looked as hideous as she felt. Her stomach churned, her skin felt clammy, and the Kevlar vest seemed to be flattening her lungs.

Scarborough’s gaze veered back to Cinco. “Landlady says the unit next door is vacant, but the rest are occupied. Any intel on the neighbors?”

“A woman walked up several hours ago with a toddler,” Elaina put in. “I didn’t see them leave.”

Scarborough lifted his radio unit. “Anyone entered or left the premises, last six minutes?”

“Negative,” said the agent on point.

“Okay, I want Callahan on that door.” He tapped the map with his pencil. “That’s Unit 23. Make sure no one pokes a head out to see what’s going on. This needs to be a straight in-and-out job. We grab him up, take him in for questioning.”

“And the friend?” someone asked.

“We’ll talk to him here, run his ID. He checks out, he’s free to go. Here’s our man, people.” Scarborough held up an enlarged mug shot. “He recently failed a piss test, and his probation officer said he wouldn’t be surprised if he was tweaked out on something today, so expect the unexpected.” He passed the picture of Noah Neely around, but he didn’t need to. Neely was memorable. The waitress in Matamoros had remembered him. Elaina had remembered him from the marina. A park ranger and a bird-watcher from Laguna Madre National Wildlife Refuge had remembered him, too, which was why they were here right now. Both witnesses had picked his picture out of a photo lineup and reported seeing him on a
hiking trail the day after Valerie Monroe went missing. That trail was less than a mile from where the last set of remains was found, remains that just this morning had been positively identified as Valerie’s.

Elaina studied Neely’s mug shot, although she’d memorized it days ago. His hair looked ropey and dirty. He had bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils. More than anything, he simply looked wasted. He didn’t seem like someone capable of kidnapping and savagely murdering six women. But psychopaths didn’t necessarily walk around with swastikas tattooed on their foreheads.

“McCord? You with me?”

Her gaze snapped up to Scarborough. “Sir?”

His brow furrowed. Then he turned his attention to the rest of the team. “Okay, let’s move.” And then to Elaina: “A word, McCord.”

The teams loaded into the two minivans. Elaina’s heart thudded as she stepped over to talk to her boss.

“You look like shit, McCord.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Next time you’re sick, call it in. This is a tactical operation. We don’t need a weak link in the chain. You got me?”

“Really, I’m fine, sir.” Her chest tightened as she gazed into Scarborough’s cool gray eyes and knew she’d already lost the argument. “Just a bit warm from doing surveillance.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “All right, you can stay. But hang back while the teams hit the door.”

Elaina’s heart sank, and she knew what was coming next.

“You can go up afterward and interview the tenants.
Talk to that mom in Unit 23, see if she remembers anything funny about her neighbor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And next time you’re sick, take the day. Don’t come dragging ass into the middle of an operation and putting your teammates at risk.”

He turned his back on her and climbed into the front of the nearest minivan. The side door stood open, and Elaina felt her cheeks flush as she noticed all the other agents sitting inside, looking pointedly away. They’d overheard all of it. She swallowed the bitterness in her throat and climbed in. It was packed with men and gear, but Cinco squeezed himself against the wall and made room for her. Before she’d even wedged her butt in next to him, they were moving.

Shake it off. Concentrate.
She dried her sweaty palms on her pants as the van careened around a corner and came to a halt in front of the suspect’s building. The door slid open, and everyone emptied into the street, attracting startled looks from nearby pedestrians. Elaina hustled to the side and watched the two teams set off—guns drawn—to fulfill their objective. Her chest constricted, and she knew it wasn’t just the vest. She should be with them, but once again she was on babysitting detail. The only difference this time was that Scarborough had been right to put her there.

She walked over and waited at the bottom of the stairwell. Footsteps thudded above her, and she heard a sharp rap on the door. She held her breath, dreading the sound of gunshots. Instead, she heard mumbled voices, the squawk of a radio. Minutes later, the heavy clomp of boots as the dazed and confused suspect was led down
the stairs between Loomis and Callahan. Noah Neely wore cargo shorts, sandals, and a pair of handcuffs, and he winced at the sunlight as Loomis led him to the waiting police unit.

Anticlimactic.

Like most of the other ops she’d had the privilege to be involved in.

Elaina watched the car roll away. She loosened the Velcro straps on her vest and took a deep breath. Time to haul her buns upstairs and conduct some interviews.

A girl loitering beside the building caught her eye. She wore a bikini top and cutoffs, and she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. She sucked on a cigarette and looked Elaina up and down.

A breeze floated by, and the flowery fragrance of dryer sheets chased away the fish stink. Elaina glanced over the girl’s shoulder and saw a pair of machines filled with tumbling clothes.

New plan.

She walked up to her. “Hi.”

The girl squinted at Elaina through a stream of smoke. Her expression said she’d been there, done that, and she was neither impressed nor intimidated by law enforcement.

“You live here?” Elaina asked.

She lifted a shoulder neutrally.

“Do you know that guy who just left?”

The girl smirked as she dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her cork-heeled sandal. “‘Left.’ That’s good. Looked to me like got arrested.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Bound to happen sooner or later.” She crossed her
arms over her flowered bikini top, and Elaina noticed the heart tattoo peeking out from her left triangle.

“You know Noah?”

“Everybody knows Noah. I never bought anything from him, though, so don’t get any ideas.”

Elaina leaned a hand on the railing beside the stairs. “He get a lot of company?”

She smiled slightly. “When he’s around.”

“Have you ever seen him bring any women home?”

She tipped her head to the side and looked at Elaina. “What happened to your face?”

“I got mugged.”

“Cool.”

“Not really.”

A buzzer sounded in the laundry room, and the girl glanced over her shoulder. She looked at Elaina again and seemed to decide something.

“There’s this one girl. She’s here a lot. I don’t know her name or anything.”

Elaina’s fingers itched to pull the notepad from her pocket, but she didn’t. “You remember what she looks like?”

A shrug. “Like everybody.”

“Like you?” Caucasian? Blond? Tan and skinny?

“I don’t know. Brown hair, I think. She’s not that pretty. I think he mostly likes her for her Jeep.”

“She drives a Jeep?”

“A Rubicon. Blue. Great beach car. Noah’s a surfer, so . . .” She sighed. “I’ve got to go. Too bad about your face. Maybe you should use your gun next time.”

“Thanks,” Elaina said. “I’ll have to remember that.”

•  •  •

Elaina elbowed her way through the crowd at Coconuts, doing her best not to get sandwiched between all the sweaty bodies and frothy cups of beer. She spotted Cinco at the bar, dressed in board shorts again and pretending to be a surfer.

“She here yet?” Elaina asked, taking the empty stool beside him.

“Haven’t seen her.”

“I checked the volleyball courts. Nothing.”

“She’ll show.” Cinco tipped back his beer, and Elaina tried not to cringe. “It’s her night off. And this is the place to be.”

Elaina could see why. Bare skin. Bouncing breasts. Swimsuit-clad women leaping and diving into the sand after balls. Volleyball Night at Coconuts was a pickup scene to top all pickup scenes, and it beat the hell out of whatever else was happening on Wednesdays.

Or so Elaina had heard. But then, she should probably develop another source for island info beside Brenda. The clerk at the inn didn’t seem like someone who would be clued into the rave scene that Elaina was pretty sure operated beneath the radar of most islanders, including Chief Breck.

Elaina glanced around and sighed. She’d finally taken Troy’s advice and bared a little skin in order to blend in with the crowd. The other agents out in force tonight… not so much. Elaina had spotted all five of her colleagues from the Brownsville field office—all cleverly disguised in khaki shorts, Hawaiian shirts, and deck shoes—in less than two minutes.

“Sweet Señorita, is it?”

She glanced up into the warm brown eyes of the bartender. John? Joe?

“No, thanks, Joel. Just a water, please.”

He arched his eyebrows, and she realized her mistake. She needed a prop.

“A virgin,” she amended. “And I mean straight fruit juice.” If she so much as sniffed a shot of rum or tequila or any other liquor tonight, she was done for.

Cinco was watching her, seeing too much. He knew she’d been out with Troy last night, and it was quite possible he’d been given a detailed account. Elaina’s brain flashed to the hot tub, the bed, the box of condoms on Troy’s nightstand. She felt her cheeks warm.

Did every cop on the island know? Cinco didn’t seem like a gossip, but Elaina was a realist. As the sole female member of the task force, she was bound to attract some salacious comments.

Joel slid a glass in front of her, and it was filled with something thick and red.

“My secret hangover cure.”

She glanced up at him. “Do I look that bad?”

He smiled. “I can spot a hangover a mile away.”

She sniffed the glass. Something tomatoey. Elaina’s stomach clenched. Her head started to pound. She just wanted this day over. She took a tentative sip as she searched the faces again, looking for her target.

“So’d you see the interview with Noah Neely?” Cinco asked.

“No. Did you?”

“Heard about it,” he said. “They say this kid’s a tomb.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s been in the system before.”

“
Yeah, you can tell. Took him about three seconds to ask for a lawyer. We won’t get shit out of him now.”

“You’re right.” Which was why they needed the girlfriend. Elaina scanned the female faces again. This time her attention got hung up on a very familiar man. He sat at the other end of the bar beside some blonde in a halter top. She was talking and smiling. He leaned closer to hear what she was saying, and Elaina felt a punch of jealousy so strong, it knocked the breath out of her.

“You looking for someone?”

She tore her gaze away from Troy and stared up at Joel.

“Seems like you’re looking for someone tonight. I know a lot of people around here, so…”

“Jamie Ingram,” Cinco put in, as Elaina seemed incapable of speech.

Less than twenty-four hours. Less than one
day.
And suddenly the consequence of what she’d done crashed down on her like an anvil. She had no claim on him. Not now, not ever. She’d let her guard down, and all she had to show for it was a punishing hangover and a growing sense of shame. How could she have been so stupid?

“She’s on one of the volleyball teams,” the bartender was telling Cinco. “They played earlier and won. They’ll be back in a while.”