Beyond Limits (19 page)

But then she snapped back to reality, which consisted of the windowless cubbyhole where she’d spent the past four hours watching blurry footage of the shopping center’s thirty-two entrances. And those were only the public ones.

She sighed. “I’m back at the mall.”

“Got a pen handy? I have a lead for you.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“Doesn’t matter. You ready?”

“Wait, hold on.” She grabbed a pen and paper as Lauren mouthed,
Who is it?

Derek
, she mouthed back, and Lauren’s eyebrows tipped up.

“A maroon Nissan Sentra, four-door, dented front bumper,” he said.

“What is that?”

“Ameen’s vehicle.”

“
What?
Where’d you get this?”

“That’s not important. But it’s good as of yesterday.”

Elizabeth’s pulse skittered. She looked at Lauren, who was obviously wondering what he’d said to get her all worked up.

She hit pause on her surveillance footage and stood up. After a quick glance around, she took the call into the break room, which was empty at the moment.

“Okay, back up.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “Where are you?”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Wait! Don’t go. Where did you get this? Have you actually seen him?”

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“I talked to someone who recognized him,” he said.

“Oh, my God, where?” She glanced out the door. Where was Gordon? She should put him directly on the phone.

“I’m not there anymore. And anyway, I’m tied up with something else now.”

“But we need to know your source.”

“Keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch.”

“Hold on! Derek?”

But he’d already hung up.

Derek could see Elizabeth’s ambush coming a mile away, but he walked right into it, partly out of curiosity and partly because her mouth was so fresh in his mind he could practically taste it.

He pulled into the narrow parking lot and found an empty space facing a row of pine trees. Elizabeth’s rental car was parked near the trailhead, and she stood beside a wooden post, stretching her hamstrings. She wore short black running shorts and a tight pink shirt that could have inspired an entire BUD/S class to tackle a twenty-mile beach run.

She eyed him coolly as he walked over.

“I figured you’d stand me up,” she said.

“Not a chance.”

She stretched her arms behind her head, and he noticed her bandage. “You’re running in those?” she asked.

He glanced down at his hiking boots. He’d had some shorts stashed in his truck but no running shoes. “Sure, why not?”

“Suit yourself. You ready?”

“Always.”

She set off down the trail, and he fell into step beside her. Ninety-nine degrees, ninety-five-percent humidity. The towering longleaf pines blocked the late-day sun, but in Houston during July, nothing could cut the heat.

“I’m surprised you wanted me to meet you,” he said. “Thought you didn’t like running.”

“I don’t. But it’s a necessary evil when I’m away from my gym.”

He picked up the pace just to needle her and for a while, they ran without talking. He wondered how long it would take her to bring it up. He guessed half a mile, but by the one-mile marker, she’d proven him wrong.

“So.” She gave him a sideways glance and caught him looking at her breasts. “You had a busy morning.”

“Yep.”

“You go home to sleep at all?” Fishing, as he’d expected. She wanted his time accounted for so she could figure out where he’d gotten his intel.

“I caught a few hours,” he said vaguely.

She didn’t talk for a while, so he picked up the speed again, passing a couple with a Weimaraner.

“You know—” Her breathing was more labored now. “Your tip earlier wasn’t exactly helpful.”

“No?”

“You have any idea how many maroon Nissan Sentras there are in Houston?”

“No, but I bet you do.”

“Eight hundred and three,” she said. “And that’s in Harris County alone. Add the surrounding counties, and it’s twice that. Where’d you get this lead?”

“I’ll tell you later, maybe over beers.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she pounded along, not letting her temper show. She set a decent pace, and she was in good shape. The main problem was her stride, but she made a solid effort to keep up with him as they veered around walkers and joggers and people pushing strollers. She didn’t talk. He waited. When another mile marker whisked past, he sensed she was ready to take another stab at it.

“I know you think you’re helping,” she said, “but you’re really not.”

He picked up the pace again, and they passed a trio of joggers.

“Derek, I’m going to have to insist that you be more forthcoming.”

He smiled. “Didn’t I tell you what it does to me when you get bossy?”

“I’m not joking.” She shot him a glare. “Gordon is threatening to charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“For sharing intel?”

“For meddling in a federal investigation.” She glanced at him. “Why on earth are you smiling? You could get arrested, do you realize that?”

He shook his head. “Now, that’s something I wouldn’t recommend, Liz. How are you going to find Ameen with me in custody?”

“
We
are going to find him. As in the FBI, not you. How many times do I have to tell you, you are not—”

“—part of this investigation. Yeah. Got it. I came up with a vehicle today. What have you guys come up with?” He glanced at her. “Come on, let’s hear it. Last I checked, you had four new leads: the autopsy, the Chevy, the cell phone, and the mall cams. So tell me, what have you guys managed to make of all that?”

No response.

“What’s that? Nothing? Out of that mountain of evidence?”

She surged ahead of him, leaving him in the dust. He quickly caught up to her, and then it was an impromptu race to the end of the three-mile loop. Not that it was any contest, really. He didn’t have the heart to pour on the speed like he would if he was with Luke or Gonzo. He sailed past the last signpost and glanced over his shoulder at her.

She was bent at the waist, gulping down air. He circled back, and she straightened when he reached her. Wet strands of hair clung to her neck. She was flushed, panting, and pissed off at him. The Holy Trinity of turn-ons, and he couldn’t resist grabbing her hand and pulling her in for a kiss, but before his mouth connected, he got a sharp shove to the solar plexus.

“I’m trying to help you!” she snapped. Heads swiveled in their direction, and she lowered her voice. “Do you even realize how serious this is?”

“Matter of fact, I do, yeah.”

“If you don’t cooperate with this investigation—”

“I told you I’d be in touch, and I will. You just have to trust me.”

“Gordon wants to talk to you
now
. We need to know where you’re getting your information. What sources do you have that we don’t know about?”

He looked down at her and almost felt sorry for her. As ambushes went, it wasn’t exactly a victory. “Be patient. Let me work, okay? And then I’ll let you know.”

“Derek—”

“Good run, Liz.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for the invite. Anytime you want to work up a sweat, just give me a call.”

“You’re making a mistake here.”

“Oh, and don’t bother tailing me.” He smiled over his shoulder as he headed to his truck. “I’d lose you in a heartbeat.”

“He just turned left,” Elizabeth told Lauren over the phone. “Now it looks like he’s parking.”

“You want me to wait?”

“Yeah, somewhere close but out of sight.” Elizabeth glanced around as she pulled into a parking lot that had potholes the size of bathtubs. “Be sure to lock your doors.”

She parked her rental sedan at the end of a row of pickups. The neighborhood would have been sketchy even during daytime, but late at night it looked downright dangerous. To her west was a boarded-up strip center tagged with gang graffiti. To her east was a vacant lot overtaken by weeds and littered with rusted shipping containers.

Elizabeth slid from the car. Practically every pickup in the parking lot looked like it was on steroids. Derek’s fit right in. He was inside it talking on the phone, and she felt a surge of satisfaction at goosing
him
for a change.

Only he didn’t get goosed. His gaze narrowed when she yanked open the door, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Okay, thanks,” he said as she slid inside. “I owe you a beer.” He ended the call and frowned at her.

“What?”

“I know for a fact you didn’t shadow me from my folks’ place,” he said.

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

He looked at her. He wouldn’t acknowledge that she’d one-upped him by asking how she’d found him, but it didn’t matter. She knew she’d done it, and she also knew it irked him that he’d missed something.

She turned her attention to the glowing red sign above the Pussycat Lounge. “Channelview’s Premier Gentleman’s Club,” she recited. “Nice hangout.”

“Ameen thinks so.”

Her heart lurched. “He’s here?”

“
Was
here,” Derek said. “Three nights in a row. Showed up at ten and stayed till closing.”

She checked her watch. It was after eleven.

“No sightings tonight,” Derek said. “And he wasn’t in yesterday.”

“How do you know?”

“The bartender’s my new best bud. She filled me in over lunch today at the bar. Four-ninety-nine steak platter, by the way, ’case you’re interested.”

“She’s sure about this?”

“ID’d the picture. Not by name, but she definitely remembers him. Said he pays for everything in cash and he’s a good tipper.”

Elizabeth glanced around the parking lot, her mind spinning. Ameen had been here. But was this witness reliable? She looked at Derek. “How’d this bartender see his car?”

“She didn’t—one of the dancers did,” Derek said. “Apparently, he offered her a ride home when she was leaving work, but she declined. Said he seemed skeevy.”

“Skeevy?”

“Her word, not mine.”

They needed to get a team here, pronto. “How’d you find this place?”

He looked at her. “You really don’t know?”

“If I knew, we’d be here.”

He watched her for a moment, probably debating whether to share, as she waited, biting her tongue. She’d gotten over her frustration from earlier. She’d talked herself out of it because he so obviously got a perverse thrill out of pushing her buttons, and she was done letting him do it. Or at least letting him know he was doing it.

“The pat-down,” he told her.

“You mean Rasheed?” She tried to remember it, but everything on the rooftop had happened so fast. “What—”

“I turned his pockets inside out. He had a matchbook with the Pussycat’s logo.”

“You
stole
crime-scene evidence?”

“I didn’t steal anything. I noticed it.”

“Then why didn’t we recover this matchbook?”

“Beats me. Your CSIs must have missed something. Or maybe it blew off the roof.”

She took a deep breath and glanced around. A tall man in a cowboy hat emerged from the club and crossed the lot to his vehicle. He was followed by a shorter man in an Astros cap. “Hey, isn’t that your friend?”

“Cole offered to cover for me so I could go jogging.” He looked at her. “And no, he didn’t see him inside tonight.”

“I’m sure he’s sorry you wasted his evening.”

Derek’s phone rattled in the cup holder, and he picked it up. “Vaughn.” He smiled. “Hey, how’s it going? Seen my guy around?” He shot Elizabeth a look, and she knew he had news. “Gimme a description.”

She looked around for the maroon Sentra, but it was all trucks and SUVs.

“You happen to see his ride?” Derek turned the key in the ignition and thrust the truck into gear. “No, don’t worry about it. I think I saw him. Thanks, babe. Appreciate it.” He shot backward out of the space.

“Someone saw Ameen?”

“No, but the guy he was hanging out with all three nights just left. Tall build, cowboy hat.”

“The Avalanche,” Elizabeth said. “He just pulled out of here. Where are we going?”

“Don’t you want to know who he is?”

“Yeah, but what about Ameen?”

“He’s not here. This guy is.” He jammed to a stop at the edge of the parking lot. “Make up your mind, Liz.”

“Follow him.” She took out her phone and called Lauren. “Are you nearby?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you pull into the Pussycat and stake out the lot? Keep an eye out for the maroon Sentra while I follow up on something else.”

“Got it.”

Derek was speeding down the road now, and traffic was light, which was both good and bad. He neared an intersection.

“There he is, three cars up,” Elizabeth said. “Can you get closer?”

“Not without getting burned.”

“I need the license plate.”

“I’ve got some binoculars in back.”

She twisted in her seat and scrounged around in the back of the cab, where he’d stashed cowboy boots, a duffel bag, boxes of ammo. She grabbed the binoculars as he turned the corner.

Derek cursed.

“What?” She straightened in the seat and looked for the Avalanche. It was a distant pair of taillights getting farther and farther away. “Can you close the gap?”

He didn’t answer, just kept a steady thirty-mile-per-hour pace. They bumped over a set of railroad tracks. She glanced around. The area was industrial—chain-link fences and warehouses and grassy lots filled with heavy machinery.

“We’re near the ship channel,” she said.

“I noticed.”

His tone was clipped, and she understood why. The Houston Ship Channel was one of the country’s busiest waterways and served as headquarters for America’s booming petrochemical industry. It was on the FBI’s short list of targets for a terrorist attack.

The Avalanche hung a left. Derek hit the gas. He neared the corner, then switched his lights off as he swung into the turn.

They were on a dark dead-end street, no traffic whatsoever, only a few signs glowing in the distance.

Derek smacked the steering wheel.