Beyond Limits (11 page)

D
erek wasn’t good at being on leave. He always felt restless. Twitchy. About three days in, he was usually bored out of his skull.

He’d woken up this morning at his parents’ house, staring at a shelf full of swim trophies and autographed baseballs. He’d pounded out ten miles and spent the remainder of the morning hauling boxes to the attic and changing lightbulbs for his mom. When he was all out of chores and errands, he’d loaded up his .300 and decided to hit the range.

Now he lay in the dirt with the steady pop of gunfire all around him. The smell of grass and CLP oil filled his nostrils as he peered through the rifle scope. He took a deep breath. Let it out some. Squeezed the trigger.

“Nice,” murmured Cole, lowering the binoculars.

Cole had the same problem as Derek, the same problem a lot of SEALs had. They’d forgotten how to be home. When Derek had called, his teammate had been more than happy to make the hour-long drive from his family’s place in Clear Lake to send a few rounds downrange.

Now Derek picked up the binocs as Cole adjusted his rifle and lined up his shot. He was using a .300 Win Mag, too, but his was brand-new, outfitted with an Accuracy International folding stock and a Nightforce scope. The gun kicked ass. As one of the top marksmen in the teams, Cole took pride in having the best equipment available.

Derek glanced at the range flag. “Moderate wind, full value,” he said.

Cole waited. Guys on either side of them fired, but Cole held back. Patience was a sniper’s secret weapon.

Derek watched through the glass and mentally ticked off the seconds until his friend squeezed the trigger. The bullet found its target, a fifteen-inch gong ten football fields away.

“Perfect.”

Cole smiled. “Yeah, not bad.”

They’d gone through the ammo, so they stood and collected their gear. Derek shook out his stiff legs and glanced around. It was after five, and the range was filling up with potbellied sportsmen and weekend warriors.

“So you want to get a beer?” Cole asked.

“Sure.” Derek grabbed the binocs.

“Hey, hold up. Maybe we should stay awhile.”

Derek followed his friend’s gaze to the front office, where a hot-looking blonde stood talking to the range master. Derek’s heart gave a kick. Elizabeth was in one of those tailored gray suits that didn’t quite hide her Glock 17 or the handcuffs she kept tucked under her jacket.

Cole whistled. “Man, I’d like to see her handle a gun.”

The range master pointed in their direction, and she strode toward them with a determined gleam in her eyes.

“You know this girl?” Cole looked at him.

“Yep.”

“Shit, I shoulda known. So much for that beer.”

She stopped in front of them, and she had that set to her chin that got Derek’s blood going.

“Sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant.
Derek smiled.

“Cole, meet Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc. She’s with the FBI. Liz, Petty Officer Cole McDermott.”

She offered him a hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He smiled at Derek. “Catch you later, bro.” He slapped him on the back and headed off.

“Impressive setup.” Elizabeth looked out at the range. “What is that, eight hundred yards?”

“A thousand. How’d you find me?”

“Talked to your mom,” she said. “Very nice lady. A little shorter than I expected. Your dad must be huge.”

The breeze played with her hair, and he noticed her scar again, the scar she’d somehow gotten at work. She didn’t want to talk about it, which told him he wasn’t going to like the story—if he ever managed to coax it out of her.

He couldn’t
make
her tell him. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. No, if they’d been in a relationship, he’d still be spending months at a time away from her, but at least when he came home, he’d get some relief from the relentless yearning that wouldn’t stop dogging him. As it was, he couldn’t get anything from her, not even a phone call. He’d called her up after his last deployment, and she hadn’t even bothered to return his messages.

But she was here now. And although he was ninety-nine-percent sure this little visit was about work, he’d take whatever advantage he could get and exploit the hell out of it.

“Want to do some shooting?” he asked. “I can grab us some ammo.”

“No, thanks. I’m here on business. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

He led her around to the front, where he slipped some quarters into a drink machine. He pounded out a Coke and offered it to her, but she shook her head. He took her to a low brick wall that divided the range from the gravel parking lot. Her generic white rental car looked like a toy in the sea of pickups.

She sat down on the wall. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

He smiled as he popped open the can. “Which offer is that?”

She pretended not to understand. “You said you might be able to help locate Rasheed.”

“Not ‘might.’ I said I would.” He swigged his drink. “Provided you give me some intel.”

She glanced around, clearly uncomfortable, which told him she was doing this on the down-low. She pulled a folded slip of paper from her purse. “You were right.” She handed him the paper. “About the surveillance cams. We have Rasheed getting into a 2005 Chevrolet Cavalier.”

Derek sat down beside her and studied the picture, which had obviously been enlarged. Rasheed was fairly clear, but the driver was little more than a shadow wearing a baseball hat.

“No plate?” He looked at her.

“Unfortunately, no. We’ve checked stoplight cams, ATMs, all the gas stations in town.”

“Where’d this come from?”

“A bank several blocks from the truck stop,” she said. “It’s the only camera footage we’ve been able to find. The driver navigated to and from the truck stop on side streets, avoiding all major intersections—which suggests to us that they know the area is under surveillance and scoped it out ahead of time.”

“These guys are smart. They plan operations years in advance. You can’t underestimate them.”

“I know.” She leaned closer, and he could smell her perfume or her shampoo or whatever it was. She pointed at the picture. “See this back panel here? There’s a slight dent in it. Another distinguishing characteristic is the oversized tires. Factory tires for this car are fourteen inches, not eighteen. But aside from that—”

“It’d be better to have a license plate.”

“I know.” She looked up at him. “But right now, this is it. Sixty-eight minutes after Rasheed is first seen arriving at the truck stop, he catches a ride with a blue Chevy Cavalier. I’m working one more lead, though: the registration sticker on the windshield. I sent the image to our lab techs to see if they can enlarge it.”

He looked at her. “Not a bad idea.”

“Thank you.”

Derek stared down at the picture, examining the time stamp. “Come on.” He swung his legs over the wall and led her to the parking lot. He dug a map from the glove box in his truck and spread it out on the dusty hood.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“He slipped through our back door into Texas. He knows Del Rio’s a hub for trafficking. He knows it’s under surveillance by the feds. Which means his contact knows better than to circle around town, attracting attention. I’m thinking the driver was waiting somewhere else and made the trip straight in, which gives us a seventy-mile radius . . .” He scanned the towns around Del Rio.

“
If
he drove the speed limit.”

“Safe bet. If they’re avoiding surveillance cams, they’re avoiding traffic cops, too. Bingo.” He tapped the map. “Uvalde. You should check out this town.”

“We’re already on it. But you’re assuming someone drove straight there. The driver could have waited after getting the call, then come from someplace only a few miles away.”

“I’m not seeing it,” Derek said. “Why risk exposure longer than necessary? And how about communication? Was he using a cell phone?”

“We’re checking electronic surveillance in the area,” she said, “but no leads so far. I think he may have had another way of communicating.”

“Like what?”

“There’s an Internet lounge at Buck’s.”

“There you go.”

“We sifted through everything that day, the browsing history on ten separate computers. It’s all your basic stuff—people checking e-mail, Facebook, some thinly disguised porn sites. But there was something unusual.” She leaned against his truck. “One user—who used a prepaid credit card, by the way—visited a home-improvement blog.”

“Home improvement,” Derek repeated.

“Yeah, sounds odd, right? I wrote the site address on the other side of the page I gave you. It looks like Rasheed posted a comment. Our analysts believe it was a coded message to his contact about when and where to pick him up.”

“Interesting tactic.”

“I know.” She met his gaze and seemed to realize she was standing close enough for him to see down her blouse. She eased back. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“You dig up anything—and I mean anything—about Rasheed’s whereabouts, I need you to call me immediately.”

“How about I tell you in person?” He reached over and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “That way you’ll have a chance to thank me.”

“Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”

“Yeah, but I have to be honest, Liz. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“I’m not joking here.” She looked frustrated, which was even more of a turn-on than when she looked businesslike. “If you find anything at all, I need you to call. Don’t go all cowboy on me and try to take him down yourself.”

“Cowboy?”

“You know what I mean. I’m sticking my neck out for you here, and I need your word.”

“If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
Eventually
.

She looked up at him, and the little line between her brows told him she didn’t fully trust him. The woman had good instincts. She broke eye contact and pushed off of the truck. “So that’s it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m late for a briefing.” She checked her watch. “I drove all the way out here, and now I have to fight traffic back to my office.”

“So why’d you come?” He stepped closer.

“I agreed I’d try to get you something. I honor my agreements.”

“Yeah, but you could have done it over the phone.”

She looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed, because they both knew he was right.

He smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Sorry it’s not much to go on.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s more than you think.”

Luke was being followed.

He wasn’t sure how he knew, exactly, but his frog sense had been going crazy the last few hours, starting before his beach run and continuing when he swung by the grocery for pizza and beer. He’d shaken it on the way home, but as he pulled into his parking lot it was back again, that jangly feeling that told him someone was on his tail.

Luke checked his rearview. Nothing. He grabbed his groceries and got out, subtly scanning the area as he neared the building.

Gotcha.

Dark blue sedan, end of the block. He’d seen the same vehicle parked at the beach, but there had been a couple of patrol cars there, too, responding to a call, so he’d chalked it up to San Diego PD.

Luke headed for the mailboxes, which gave him a few extra seconds to scope out the car. Dark blue Taurus, late-model, antenna on the back. Two silhouettes inside, both tall. He took out his phone, tried to remember who was around. Derek and Cole were in Texas. Owen had gone to L.A. with some cocktail waitress, and Greg was with his fiancée. He called Ric Gonzales.

“Gonzo, it’s Jones. What’s your twenty?” He could tell from the noise that he was somewhere crowded, most likely a bar.

“I’m at O’Malley’s. You coming?”

No way. Luke was still feeling the effects of last night and the night before that. He’d spent the past four days getting wasted and hooking up with women whose names he barely remembered, in a pathetic attempt to forget their last mission. But it was still stuck on replay in his brain.

“Think I’m in for the night.” Luke rested the phone on his shoulder as he shifted his bags and unlocked his mailbox.

“Dude, you’re killing me. Come play pool with us. I just won fifty bucks off some jarheads. Easy money tonight.”

Luke grabbed a pile of junk mail. “I’ll think about it. Hey, I got a question for you. You noticed anyone on your six today?”

“No. Why?”

“I’ve got someone following me.”

“Who?”

“Feebies, I think. You haven’t noticed anyone?”

“No, man. Why would feds be tailing you?”

It was a good question. And he was beginning to think it had something to do with the meeting he’d had with all the suits the other day. In which case, they might only be tailing him and Derek. Or maybe just him. Luke glanced around and spotted a second familiar vehicle, a white Toyota he could have sworn had been in his rearview mirror when he stopped at the store. So two cars following him. No silhouette in this one.

“Jones?”

“Yeah, forget it,” he told him. “It’s probably nothing.”

“What the fuck do they want?”

“Who knows?”

“Bring ’em on down to O’Malley’s, and we’ll ask ’em.”

“Yeah, maybe I will. Catch you later.”

“Later.”

Luke dropped his phone into his grocery bag and glanced at the car one last time as he headed back toward the stairs. Gonzo had a good idea. Maybe he’d screw with these guys a little before giving them the slip.

Luke’s apartment building was a two-story square. All four sides looked out over a central courtyard that was basically a patch of asphalt ever since the el cheapo management company decided to fill in the pool that used to be there. The place had two staircases and a walkway that surrounded the second floor. His unit was closest to the west staircase. Luke took the steps at a deliberately slow pace, unlocked his door, and paused to listen.

Footsteps on the other staircase. He set his stuff inside the door and loudly pulled it shut. Then he crept soundlessly around the corner and waited.