Untraceable (4 page)

“And you figured you’d sweet-talk me into letting you work for me.”

“I guess so.”

“Doing what?”

“Well.” Sophie straightened her shoulders. “I have a minor in photography.”

Alex’s eyebrows arched.

“I figure you take a lot of pictures? Of, you know, people cheating on their wives? Stuff like that?”

“Actually, most of my clients are insurance companies,” she said. “And I take my own pictures. What else you got?”

Sophie darted her gaze around the office. She noticed the piles of papers, the overflowing trash can, the software manuals stacked on the floor beside an empty Dell computer box.

“I’m good with computers,” she lied. “And I’m
super
organized. I love to file.”

Alex laughed at this, and Sophie realized she’d gone too far.

Still, she seemed to be considering it.

“You must really want a job,” Alex said.

“I do.”

“How old are you?”

She thought about tacking on a few years. But this woman was a PI. “Twenty-three,” she answered.

Alex looked her over again, and her gaze lingered on Sophie’s French manicure. “Look, Sophia—”

“Sophie.”

“I actually
do
need an assistant. But I run a lean operation here. The wages are low, the hours suck. And I know PI work might sound glamorous, but it’s really pretty boring. I doubt you’d be up for it.”

Alex’s candor only made her want the job more. She could almost
feel
it within her grasp, when just minutes ago, she’d thought she’d blown it.

“It sounds perfect,” Sophie told her. “I want to live in Austin and pay my bills. You need an assistant. I’m not looking for a career or anything—just a day job.”

“That your Tahoe?”

“Huh?”

Alex peered around her. “On the street there. Is it yours?”

“Yes.”

“You mind using it for work?”

She had it! “Not at all.”

“Good. I’ll need the keys.” Alex held out her hand. “And your license, too. I need to run a background check.”

“I don’t—”

“Look, I’ve got to be somewhere ten minutes ago. I’m not about to leave you here with eight thousand dollars’ worth of office equipment unless I have some collateral. You want the job or not?”

“I want it.”

“Good. Then you can lend me your car. I’ll call you from the road, fill you in on everything else while I drive. Answer the phone and be ready to take notes.”

Sophie felt like she was stepping off the edge of a stage into thin air. A total stranger was going to hire her for a job she couldn’t do and drive away in her car. It was crazy.

She dropped her keys into Alex’s hand.

It wasn’t as if business could get any worse, Alex mused, as she headed across town in Sophie Barrett’s Tahoe. Why not hire an underqualified, overdressed office assistant?

Alex was ninety-nine percent sure she was going to regret this decision, but the thought of spending yet another day melting in the Saturn had pushed her over the edge.

The Tahoe had possibilities. The Tahoe had black-tinted windows, a spacious backseat, and plenty of room to spread out a computer during endless surveillance gigs. And best of all, it was registered to someone besides Alex, so that if anyone—say, Craig Coghan—should happen to see it around, he wouldn’t link it back to Lovell Solutions.

Alex turned into the parking lot of Coghan’s gym and maneuvered the hulking SUV between two cars. She spotted the white Dodge pickup on the opposite side of the lot.

Right on schedule. Looked like the guy’s routine hadn’t changed since Alex had run surveillance on him back in the fall. If he remained true to form, he’d spend another twenty minutes here at the gym before reporting in for work at APD. Like most cops Alex knew, Coghan’s schedule tended to start out predictable, then get increasingly chaotic as the day wore on, meaning that if Alex hadn’t caught up to him by lunchtime, it was a good bet she wouldn’t find him until he returned home for the night.

Alex tucked her hair into a baseball cap, entered the gym, and rode the elevator up to the second floor, where the workout room overlooked downtown traffic. She darted her gaze around. Glass, mirrors, and Spandex as far as the eye could see.

“Can I help you?”

She turned her attention to the guy sitting at the reception counter behind a stack of towels. “Hi, there.” She smiled. “I wanted to inquire about a membership here.”

“Sure.” He pulled a brochure out of a drawer and slid it across the counter while Alex stared at his enormous pecs. The kid was practically bursting at the seams.

“Your first consultation is free,” he said.

“Thanks.”

She spotted Melanie’s husband at the far side of the room, leaning on a treadmill and talking to a brunette in yoga pants. Coghan was every bit as muscular as Alex remembered him, possibly even more so. Had he been spending a lot of time at the gym since his wife left? Alex tugged the bill of her cap lower and watched him, trying to determine whether he was coming or going.

“Is that a yes?”

She snapped her gaze back to Steroid Boy. “Excuse me?”

“Would you like to schedule a free consultation?”

Coghan picked up a water bottle from the floor and started walking toward Alex. Then he turned into the men’s locker room.

“I’ll think about it.” Alex slid the brochure into her pocket and ducked back into the elevator.

She needed three minutes. Five, at the most.

She tried to look nonchalant as she approached Coghan’s pickup. The truck bed was empty except for a crushed beer can. She glanced inside the cab. No alarm, which was a pleasant surprise. Alex slipped a Slim Jim from her purse. With well-practiced movements, she slid the tool between the window and the weather stripping, caught the lock rod, and popped the lock.

It was your typical man’s truck cab—empty fast-food cups in the console, McDonald’s wrappers on the floor, a phone charger plugged into the lighter. She checked the glove box and the console. Nothing incriminating.

Alex sighed. What had she expected? Some empty gas cans, maybe? Bloody handprints on the dash? The guy was a cop, and she gave him just a bit more credit.

Alex reached under the passenger seat and felt around for a smooth metal surface. After finding one, she pulled the GPS from her purse and attached the magnetic mount box to its new hiding spot. The device was motion-sensitive and would come to life whenever the truck started moving, which would preserve its battery life. She glanced up at the row of windows facing the street. Time to clear out. She slid from the cab, relocked the door, and returned to her car.

Now she’d track him. She wanted to see his every move. Arrogance was Craig Coghan’s Achilles’ heel, according to Melanie, which meant he thought he could get away with anything. Including murder.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nathan was up to his knees in garbage when his phone buzzed for the second time in ten minutes.

“It’s yours, Dev,” his partner called from a neighboring Dumpster.

Another buzz.

“Goddamn it,” Nathan muttered, snapping off a Latex glove. He dug the phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. Alex. He’d missed two calls.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, and was answered by silence. “Alex?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just… you sound upset. Did I interrupt something?”

“No.”

“Having a bad day?”

Nathan gazed down at the putrid remnants of food and grease leaking from the trash bags. “Everything’s peachy. Why?”

“I just got a lead. On that thing we talked about last night.” Alex obviously thought she needed to be guarded on the phone with him. “I thought we’d get together later, maybe compare notes.”

Compare notes. That assumed Nathan had something to compare. He didn’t. His whole morning had been derailed by a convenience store holdup. After hours of legwork he’d turned up the terrific lead that some homeless guy had seen someone who
might
fit their shooter’s description tossing something that
could
have been a handgun into this Dumpster.

“I’m in the middle of something,” Nathan said, nudging aside an empty milk carton with his shoe.

“Well, how about dinner? We could meet somewhere and exchange information. I know a good Chinese place—”

“No,” he cut in. He was standing on top of enough rotting Chinese food to feed an army of roaches. “Anything but Chinese. And it’ll have to be late. I’ve got about ten things to do before I can knock off, so—”

“How about the Smokin’ Pig at nine o’clock?”

She’d read his mind. Or maybe she just remembered it was the place he’d taken her the night they’d first met. He’d bought her a beer. Then she’d sat there and cracked one of his cases wide open. Nathan had been impressed. More than impressed—he’d been intrigued. And he’d been meaning to call her ever since to ask her out on a date.

But he hadn’t done it, and now she’d beaten him to the punch.

Although, this meeting tonight didn’t seem like much of a date. Her voice was all business, and she wanted to “compare notes.” Didn’t that sound exciting?

“Nathan? You there?”

He glanced at the rank, unidentifiable ooze clinging to his pant leg. “Make it nine thirty,” he said. “I’ve got to run home first and shower.” And it wouldn’t hurt to toss his clothes in an incinerator.

“Nine thirty, then. Don’t be late,” she said, and clicked off.

Nathan stuffed the phone back into his pocket as Will Hodges poked his head over the side of the rusty Dumpster.

“Hot date?” his partner asked.

“Nah, just work.”

Hodges lifted an eyebrow. The kid could smell a lie from a mile off. It was uncanny. And one of the reasons he made a good homicide detective, despite his age.

“You know, Courtney’s got this friend—”

“Forget it,” Nathan said.

“So it isn’t just work.”

Nathan glanced at Hodges, who, sure enough, was smirking at him.

“It’s nothing,” Nathan said. “Just Alex Lovell. I’m helping her out on something.”

But Hodges still didn’t look convinced.

Screw it. Maybe the kid could help him.

“Hey, you ever heard anything about Craig Coghan?” he asked, tugging the glove back on so he could keep digging.

“Narcotics guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t really know him,” Hodges said. “Good reputation, though. What’s he need with a PI?”

“His wife hired her.” Nathan crouched down to lift up a black plastic bag. About a hundred glass bottles cascaded out, and the smell of stale beer blended with the ripe mix of rainwater and garbage.

“Thought he was divorced,” Hodges said, his voice echoing from inside the metal box.

“More like separated, I think. You haven’t heard any dirt on him?”

“I haven’t heard much, except that he got promoted last fall to head up the narco squad. Hey, I found something.”

“What?” Nathan stood up and craned his neck to see into the neighboring Dumpster.

His partner knelt amid the garbage bags, beaming. He held up a nickel-plated pistol with a wilted lettuce leaf stuck to the barrel.

“Money,” Hodges said proudly.

“Yep.” And it was. They had their murder weapon. Nathan yanked off his gloves and shook loose the egg shell attached to his shoe. All they needed now was a shooter and a confession, and they’d have this case wrapped up with a big red bow.

Nathan wasn’t holding his breath.

For the second evening in a row, Alex pulled up to Nathan’s house and parked beneath the giant pecan tree that shaded his front yard.

Pecan trees, landscaping. The place was so domestic, it was hard to believe a jaded homicide detective lived here. Alex had never owned a house. She didn’t cook or entertain, didn’t like gardening. She spent most of her time working and thought of her one-bedroom apartment as a convenient place to sleep and stash her things.

Alex tossed her baseball cap on the Saturn’s passenger seat and finger-combed her hair. She considered lipstick, then ditched the idea. This was business. Period. She got out of the car and slammed the door.

The house looked dark, but Nathan’s Mustang was in the driveway. She walked up the sidewalk and a floodlight blinked on, startling her. She looked for movement behind the windows flanking the front door but didn’t see any. Alex rang the bell and waited. And waited. And rang again. A light switched on in the hallway. The door swung open, and Nathan was standing there, a blue bath towel slung low around his waist.

“You didn’t get my message?” He stepped back to let her in, and she tried not to gape at his nicely sculpted chest as she entered the house.

“I did get it,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. This can’t wait until tomorrow.”

He closed the door and strode past her into a darkened hallway. “You’ll have to talk fast, then. I’m on my way up to Round Rock for a suspect interview.”

He’d said as much in his phone message half an hour ago when he’d canceled their dinner plans. Alex had been disappointed, and not just because she had something important to show him. She’d spent her entire day conducting surveillance, and she’d been looking forward to some conversation.

The man she’d wanted to converse with led her back to the master suite. Like the rest of the home’s interior, it had “bachelor pad” written all over it. Alex hesitated a moment before stepping into his bedroom. It felt steamy and smelled like Irish Spring from his shower. A black floor lamp stood in the corner, providing the only light. Not much furniture to speak of—just a bureau and a king-size bed with a simple black spread.

Nathan stood at his closet with his back to her. “My day got trashed. Literally.” He grabbed some clothes and walked into the bathroom. “Sorry about dinner, but there’s nothing I can do.” He swung the bathroom door closed, but left a slight opening so she could hear him. “It’s taken us weeks to locate this kid, and we need a confession out of him.”

Alex was well aware of Nathan’s reputation. He’d been nicknamed the Priest—not because of any kind of devout lifestyle, but because of his legendary ability to get a confession. Nathan had the gift of gab and a knack for getting people to talk to him. Alex wasn’t sure how he did it, but she’d fallen for his techniques a time or two herself.

“So what’d you need to tell me?” he asked over the buzz of an electric razor.

Alex looked around uncertainly. No chair, so she perched on the corner of his bed, resisting the urge to glance at the sliver of reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She had so many things to tell him, she didn’t quite know where to begin. So she started at the top.

“I checked out that attorney.” She heard a towel hitting the floor and pants being pulled on.

“What attorney?”

“His name’s William Scoffield. He came to see me yesterday morning about Melanie. That’s what prompted me to try and contact her.”

He jerked the door open now and stood there, buttoning his cuffs. White shirt, charcoal slacks. His work uniform, or so it seemed.

“What did the attorney want with her?” he asked.

“You really should get that eye looked at. It’s even worse today.”

He dragged open a bureau drawer and fished out some socks. “The attorney?”

“Some sort of probate issue,” she said. “Told me he was handling Melanie’s father’s estate. That she just inherited property in west Texas.”

“You think he’s legit?”

“Seemed to be.” Alex remembered the way he’d handled his cowboy hat, removing it indoors and placing it brim up on the table. “I checked him out. He’s registered with the state bar. And Martindale-Hubbell lists him as a partner with a firm out in Midland.”

Nathan reached for the shoes sitting beside his closet. He sat down on the bed beside her, and the mattress sank. “What about the inheritance?” he asked.

“State has a record of a Midland County man by the name of James Bess passing away several weeks ago. Melanie never told me much about her family, except that she wasn’t on good terms with them. It seems to fit.”

He propped his foot on his knee and tied his shoe. “So that’s your big lead? A lawyer who is who he says he is?” He stood up and reached for the belt coiled on the dresser, right beside his Glock.

“That wasn’t all I did today.”

“What else did you do?” He quickly put on his belt and threaded it through his holster.

“I followed Coghan.”

His hands stilled on the buckle. He stood there, watching her, and the scowl on his face would have been scary, even without the bruise.

“What?” she asked.

“It ever occur to you that a cop
might
just notice you tailing him around all day?”

“I did it from a safe distance.” She omitted the part about breaking into the man’s truck to plant a GPS she could track with her cell phone.

Shaking his head, he finished buckling and adjusted his gun. “And what’d you find out?”

“He made some weird pit stops.”

“How do you mean, ‘weird’?”

“Well, he’s a narcotics cop, right? Head of some task force?”

“Yeah.” He rested his hands on his hips.

“So… I’d expect him to spend his time at the police station,” she said. “Or maybe in the really crime-infested neighborhoods, doing drug raids and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“He spent half his day over in Captain’s Point. In his personal vehicle.”

Nathan muttered something she couldn’t hear as he walked out of the bedroom.

She followed him. “Don’t you think that’s a little upscale? I mean, Captain’s Point isn’t exactly a hive of nefarious activity.”

Nathan went into the kitchen and jerked open the fridge. He grabbed two cans of Red Bull and handed one to Alex. This was dinner, apparently.

He leaned back against the counter and popped open his can. “I’m not really following how Coghan spending the day in Captain’s Point means he murdered his wife.”

“It doesn’t. I just think it was odd. Don’t you?”

“I think your theory’s odd.” He took a long swig, then set the can down on the counter. “Not only that, I think you’re underestimating who you’re dealing with. You don’t think Coghan’s eventually going to notice you tailing him around town? He probably already knows his wife hired you just before she left. You’re aware of that, right?”

“So?”

“So the guy’s probably pissed off.” He glanced at his watch and grabbed his car keys off the counter. “I have to go now.” He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “We can talk about this again tomorrow, but leave Coghan alone, okay?”

“I haven’t told you the best part yet.” Alex pulled a clear plastic bag from her back pocket and handed it to him.

His dark brows knitted together. “What’s this?”

“An earphone,” she said. “Like, for an iPod. I found it at the house last night, on the floor. Then everything went sideways, and I forgot about it until I was getting dressed this morning. It was in my pocket.”

Nathan held the bag up and studied the white plastic earbud.

“You see that brown stuff on there?” Alex pointed at the bottom part, just above where it looked like the wire had been cut. “I think it’s blood.”

Nathan shot her a glare and handed back the bag. “Just what are you planning to do with this?”

“We can have it tested, try and find out who the blood belongs to.”

Nathan shook his head and looked away.

“What?”

“This isn’t some TV show, Alex. I can’t just order up a DNA test whenever I feel like it.”

“But this is important evidence.” She held up the bag again. “Look at that and tell me you don’t think that’s blood on there.”

He shrugged. “Sure, maybe, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means we have evidence,” Alex protested. “If it’s Melanie’s blood, it proves something violent happened to her just before that fire. Or maybe the blood might belong to her killer.”

“Alex.” He gazed down at her again, and she bristled at the condescending tone of his voice. “Do you have any idea how backlogged our crime lab is? DNA tests are time-consuming as hell, not to mention expensive. Typically we don’t even do them unless we’ve got a suspect charged and on his way to trial.”