Free Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) by Laura Griffin Page B

hell was it with her?
    He shoved his truck into gear and got moving. She considered him a suspect, and so he ranked right up there with every lowlife scumbag she’d ever put in jail.
    He drove through the woods, thinking about her, as he had been for days. He was a good judge of people, and the more he thought about it, the more he believed the way she acted toward him was just that, an act.
    Tara Rushing was smart. And despite the incriminating circumstances—because they sure as shit were—he doubted she really believed he was a cold-blooded killer. There was something forced about her frosty attitude.
    He’d caught the look in her eyes when they’d first met. And he’d watched her reaction to him tonight. Liam knew when women were attracted to him, and this one was, no question. And yet she held back. He wasn’t sure what her hang-up was—probably something to do with work—but she seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length.
    He was determined not to let her.
    A SWAT team. Damn. Now it was going to be even harder to get her out of his head.
    His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he dug it out. “Yeah.”
    “You done yet?” Jeremy asked him.
    “Just the northwest. I’m headed for the southeast corner now.”
    Silence, probably as Jeremy wondered what the holdup was. Then he said, “Okay, we’re good to go in the control room. Everything’s live.”
    “I’ll finish this installation and be there in a few,” Liam told him. “How’s it running?”
    “Right as planned.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

     
    L iam was right about the press, and by seven A.M., the parking lot of the motel was crowded with media vans. Teams of reporters staked out the Waffle Stop, too, collecting quotes from locals for their morning broadcasts. Tara and M.J. got their coffee to go and navigated through traffic to pick up U.S. 59 down to Silver Springs.
    Compared with Cypress County, the administrative offices for Silver Springs were brand spanking new, housed in a two-story building with a facade of Texas limestone. Silver Springs was in transition. What had once been a sleepy logging town was now an affluent bedroom community on the outskirts of Houston. As they pulled into the parking lot, Tara wondered if the people who ran the town were modern like their headquarters or still mired in the past.
    “Nice,” M.J. said, as Tara whipped into a space beside the slot reserved for the police chief. It looked like he was already in, and Tara checked her watch to make sure they weren’t late.
    “Who’s here again?” Tara asked as they got out.
    “Chief Milt Becker and I think one of his officers.”
    They entered the building and were immediately approached by a rail-thin police officer in a blue uniform. “Special Agent Rushing?”
    He’d been expecting a man, Tara could tell. They shook hands, and Tara introduced him to M.J.
    “I been hearing about that raid the other day,” he said. “What’d they call it, Operation Froyo? There ought to be a special place in hell.” He shook his head. “Anyway, your guys down there, they did a good job.”
    “I’ll pass it along,” Tara said drily.
    “Y’all come on back.” He motioned them down a corridor. “Everyone’s in the conference room.”
    “Everyone?” M.J. asked.
    “The sheriff wanted to sit in. Him and Chief Becker go way back, so . . .”
    He let the thought trail off as he opened a glass door to a room where half a dozen men crowded around a table, including Sheriff Ingram and his deputy, Jason Moore. They went through introductions, and Tara took a seat beside Chief Becker, a heavyset man with a silver buzz cut.
    “You ladies want some coffee?” The chief nodded at a carafe on the table beside a half-empty box of fruit kolaches.
    “No, thanks.” Tara pulled out a notebook. “I assume everyone’s had a chance to read the ME’s report,” she said, trying to set the tone. Jacobs was still pushing cooperation with the locals, and she was determined to try.