Total Control Read online

  He returned to Lexie’s front door, eyeing the bougainvillea dripping from the upstairs balcony. He rang again, just for the hell of it, and caught sight of a cardboard box tucked behind a clay planter near the door. Jake knelt to read the label. The package was book-size and addressed to Lexie, probably delivered yesterday while she was at work, which bolstered his theory that she hadn’t come home last night.

  Thud.

  He looked up. The noise had come from the back of the building.

  Creak.

  Jake set the package down and eased the SIG P226 from his ankle holster. He rounded the side of the building, keeping to the shadows. He moved silently over the narrow strip of grass as he neared the building’s edge. The noise had come from Lexie’s patio. He was almost sure of it.

  The slap of footsteps had Jake rushing around the corner. A shadowy figure sprinted down the alley and raced around the other end of the building. Jake bolted after him. He caught a glimpse of the fence near Lexie’s carport as he ran past. The gate was open.

  Jake turned on the speed, darting around the complex and back onto Lexie’s tree-lined street, where he nearly crashed into a man walking a dog. The schnauzer went crazy barking as Jake hurdled the leash and ran down the block.

  But he saw no fleeing figure. No suspicious person or vehicle anywhere.

  “Shit!” He turned to the dog walker. “You see which way he went?”

  A poop bag dangled from the man’s hand as he pointed to the end of the block. “He went around the corner there. Palm Street.”

  Jake took off in that direction, checking parked cars and doorways and shadows as he went. The buildings here were commercial, but the businesses weren’t open yet. He rounded the corner and came upon a four-lane intersection. Even at this early hour, traffic hummed. The sidewalks were busy with joggers and surfers headed to the beach. Jake scanned the figures, looking for anyone who resembled the fleeing man, but he’d disappeared.

  Jake searched for hiding places and darted into a nearby alley. It was dark and smelled of garbage. Still clutching his SIG, he eased past dumpsters and doorways, looking for shifting shadows. A door squeaked open, and a woman in an apron stepped out. Jake ducked into a doorway. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans, watching the woman as she wedged a pile of cardboard boxes into a trash bin. She went inside again, slamming the door behind her.

  Jake jogged back to Lexie’s, pulse pounding. He retraced his route, scanning the path for clues, and then stopped again at Lexie’s carport. The gate was still open. Careful not to touch anything, Jake leaned his head in and surveyed her back patio, which was lit by a dim yellow bulb. The small fenced area was cluttered with empty flowerpots and a dusty Weber grill. A few shriveled plants lined the fence, and an old surfboard leaned against the house.

  Jake stepped over and tried the back door. Locked. He cupped his hand and peered through a window, but curtains blocked his view.

  “Police! Don’t move!”

  The man turned around, and all the breath rushed from Lexie’s lungs.

  “What the hell?” She shoved her gun into her holster as Jake stepped from the shadows. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked her up and down, frowning at her clothes. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Work. What’s it look like?”

  “No, I mean where did you park?” He brushed past her and strode into the alley where she’d double-parked behind one of her neighbors.

  “I saw my gate open and didn’t want to pull in.” She folded her arms, trying not to look as rattled as she felt. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she spotted a man at her door with a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. Jake wore an olive-green T-shirt and a Dodgers cap, and she hadn’t recognized him until he turned around.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded again. “I thought you were a burglar.”

  “Yeah, well, I chased him off.”

  “I had a burglar?”

  He stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he towered over her. “I stopped by and rang your bell. Someone was on your patio. He took off down Palm Street.”

  She stared up at him. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Lexie turned away and pulled out her phone. She dialed 911 and asked for a patrol unit to investigate an attempted burglary, then rattled off her address. Jake stepped over to her door and searched the patio.

  “I doubt it was a burglary,” he said when she ended the call.

  “Maybe it wasn’t, but they’ve probably got their hands full with Friday-night arrests, and I’ll be lucky to get anyone over here in the next hour.”

  Jake crouched beside the door and studied the knob.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  He looked at her. “I know.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and switched on a small flashlight. He skimmed it over the dark corner of the patio.

  “There’s a shoeprint here. You should have a CSI look at it.”

  She stepped over. There was, indeed, a man-size shoeprint in her dried-up flower bed beside a withered hibiscus bush.

  Jake pulled out his phone and took a picture of the print. “Looks like he hung out here, waiting.”

  “You think he was waiting for me?”

  He turned to look at her. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t know.” She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What would be his motive?”

  Jake just looked at her.

  She shook her head. “I keep irregular hours. That makes no sense. Why wait all night for me to get home, when there are dozens of bars around here and women walking to and from their cars alone?”

  Jake shook his head and muttered something.

  “What?”

  A patrol car rolled up, and Lexie turned around, shocked by the fast response. She took out her ID and introduced herself so the officer wouldn’t get jumpy when he saw her weapon.

  While Lexie gave the young cop an overview, Jake walked down the alley, still combing the ground for clues. The sky had lightened, and she watched him moving around purposefully. He dropped into a crouch and studied something near the curb, taking his phone out to snap a picture. Then he moved on. He had so much pent-up energy, and he reminded her of a big cat getting ready to strike.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Sorry.” She turned her attention back to the patrol cop. “What was that?”

  “I’d like to check the doors and windows, make sure he didn’t enter the residence.”

  Lexie unlocked her back door and took him on a brief tour of her place, but all the doors and windows were secure. Back outside, Jake approached them, and Lexie noticed his gun had disappeared from view. He gave the officer a brief description of the man he’d seen fleeing down the alley. As the officer finished his paperwork, Jake combed the alley one more time, then leaned against the trunk of her Malibu to wait for her to finish up. After giving her a business card and a case number, the officer returned to his car and drove away.

  Lexie walked over to Jake.

  “They going to send a CSI out to check for fingerprints?” he asked.

  “He said they would, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s the weekend. They’re swamped.” She folded her arms, mirroring his posture. “I thought you had something personal this morning?”

  “I canceled it.”

  “Oh.”

  His gazed held hers, and she felt her exhaustion fading away, replaced by a buzz of energy. Whatever his personal commitment was, he’d canceled it to come see her. And the look in his eyes gave her a spark of hope.

  “I heard you tell the cop you thought maybe someone was tailing you last night,” Jake said.

  “It could have been nothing.”

  “Or it could be related.”

  She didn’t argue, because she knew he was right. “It was a black Dodge pickup, matte rims.”

  “Matte?”

  “You know, flat black. Nothing shiny on it. I thought I saw it twice ye
sterday, but then it sped right by me, so I dismissed it. Could be nothing.”

  Jake held her gaze, and she tried not to notice how good he looked lounging against her car in those faded jeans and scuffed leather work boots. What was he doing here, anyway? She had the crazy urge to invite him inside, but she chalked it up to lack of sleep.

  “You look like you spent the night at your office,” he said.

  “I did.”

  “How about some breakfast? I’m starved.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

  “Over breakfast. Let’s go.”

  She suggested a pancake place nearby, and Jake didn’t mention that he’d been there before with his ex-girlfriend. Tinley was an aspiring actress and about as different from Alexa as it was possible to get. They’d parted on good terms, but Jake still hoped he wouldn’t bump into her.

  “What’s good here?” he asked as they settled into a round booth.

  “No idea. Never been in here before.”

  “It’s three blocks from your house.”

  She shot him a look. “I don’t get out much.”

  Jake studied his sticky menu. When the young waitress walked up, he gave her a smile. “Two eggs over easy, double hash browns, short stack on the side.”

  “You got it.” She turned to Lexie.

  “Short stack and a cup of coffee.” She handed over the menu. “Better make it a pot. And bring an extra cup, please.”

  The waitress left, and Lexie leaned back against the booth with a sigh. Her eyes were bloodshot from being up all night. At some point, she’d twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with a pencil. Jake resisted the urge to pluck out the pencil and watch all those thick waves fall around her shoulders.

  “So what kept you at work all night?” He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth.

  “My case.”

  “Jerome Matapang?”

  She nodded.

  “Any new leads?”

  “We thought we had something.” She sighed. “But it turned out to be nothing.”

  “What was it, and how do you know it’s nothing?”

  “His ex-girlfriend has a house in Venice Beach. She took off late last night in her car, and we thought she might lead us to him, but we lost track of her. She returned home early this morning.”

  “Any chance she’s harboring him?”

  “I suppose there’s a chance, but I’d say it’s unlikely.”

  Jake watched her, studying her face. Her eye makeup was smudged and her shirt rumpled. She looked totally beat. Yet he doubted spending the night at work was a rare thing for her.

  He pictured her coming home tired and distracted and getting ambushed at her back door. The thought put a knot in his stomach.

  “You know, your building security’s worth shit, Alexa.”

  She immediately looked defensive.

  “Your gate’s unlocked, your alarm’s not activated, and you’ve got a sliding glass door.”

  “It’s a second-floor balcony.”

  “I could breach that thing in a minute. And your hedges are overgrown, giving someone a perfect place to lie in wait. And don’t even get me started on your lighting.”

  She held up a hand. “Okay, okay, I know, all right? I just moved in. I’ve got a long list of things to do, and I haven’t gotten around to it all.”

  He watched her skeptically. “Define ‘just.’ ”

  She hesitated. “It’s been, I don’t know, five or six months now. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got a Glock and a black belt, and that’s better than any alarm system. Speaking of which, how did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard.” He paused. “You know, if you’re serious about privacy, you should talk to someone at the Bureau about covering your digital tracks better.”

  She sighed and then glanced around, looking impatient for the coffee.

  “You don’t find it concerning that some guy was waiting by your back door for you to come home last night?” he asked.

  “Of course I do. That’s why I reported it.”

  “Any idea who it was?”

  “No.”

  “You receive any threats at work lately?”

  “No.”

  “Testified at any trials recently?”

  “No.”

  “Piss off any suspects?”

  “I hope so.” She frowned. “What’s with the interrogation? You sound just like my dad.”

  “So your dad’s protective, even though you carry a gun?”

  “He’s a cop, so yes.”

  Jake watched her, waiting for more. He knew very little about her personal life and almost nothing about her family. He’d always wondered why she’d chosen a career in law enforcement.

  “My dad’s a homicide detective with Phoenix PD. Was. He retired last year. And yes, he’s extremely protective and extremely good at interrogating people, particularly teenage daughters who miss curfew. I’m used to being raked over the coals.”

  The waitress was back with a pitcher of coffee and two mugs.

  “Anyway, you’re changing the subject,” Lexie said as she poured coffee for each of them.

  “There wasn’t one.”

  “What were you doing skulking around my house at six in the morning?”

  The reminder of the time also reminded Jake that he was now more than two hours late to his camping trip. On his way to the restaurant, he’d called his father and told him not to expect him today and that he’d try to make it tomorrow. His dad had been understanding, but the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. His family should be used to it by now. Jake was always canceling plans for work, and it had gotten to the point where his family seemed surprised when he actually showed up for anything.

  Jake pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lexie in the lurch in the first place, and he damn sure wasn’t going to do it after she’d nearly been ambushed at her door. It could have been a garden-variety prowler, but the timing made Jake think otherwise. And then there was the pickup truck possibly tailing her last night, which could have been nothing but probably wasn’t.

  The terrorist group Lexie was investigating had taken credit for six deadly attacks in four countries and was now suspected of operating in America. Asian Crescent Brotherhood—ACB—was lethal, and its tactics included targeting law enforcement. What if Lexie had stumbled onto something and someone in that group had gotten wind of it? Until Jake had more of a handle on what was going on, he planned to stick around.

  “Hello?” She leaned closer. “You awake there?”

  “Sorry.” He combed his hand through his hair. “I was up half the night, too. I tracked down a contact for you.”

  Her eyes perked up. “What kind of contact?”

  “A buddy of mine. Former CIA. He runs a PI firm now in Orange County, and his specialty is skip tracing. I think he can help us out.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Goes by Lance Kilborn.”

  “Goes by? What, is that an alias?”

  “Probably.”

  She sipped her coffee. “I’m picturing a Jason Bourne wannabe. Is he any good?”

  “The best. Stateside, that is. And he’s got some tools up his sleeve that I don’t have.”

  “Do I want to know what they are?”

  “Probably not.”

  The server was back with a giant platter of food for Jake and two plates of pancakes. She pulled a check from her apron pocket and tucked it between the condiment bottles.

  Jake shook hot sauce over his eggs as Lexie watched him warily. “What’s that look?” he asked.

  “You still haven’t explained why you showed up at my house at six a.m. Did you really cancel your plans?”

  “I really did.”

  She bit her lip, and Jake felt a warm shot of lust. He’d been dreaming about that mouth of hers for months.

  “Relax,” he told her. “It’s no big deal.”

 
“To me it is. I feel like I hijacked your weekend.”

  “You can make it up to me.” He reached for the syrup and watched her as he poured it over his stack. “What? Wasn’t that the deal? You come bat your eyelashes, looking for help, I say yes, you agree to go out with me?”

  She scowled. “I didn’t bat my eyelashes.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, confirming that she knew exactly what she’d done. “Anyway, it wasn’t a quid pro quo. I just thought you might be able to help, that’s all.”

  “I am able to. I cleared my calendar. And for the record, next time you want something from me, just come right out and ask. You don’t have to pretend to flirt.”

  Her cheeks turned pinker, and she sipped her coffee.

  Jake ate his food, refusing to feel bad that he’d embarrassed her. He wasn’t sure why he’d called her out on it. Maybe because he knew she could take it. And for some crazy reason, he enjoyed ribbing her, even though it probably wasn’t getting him closer to what he wanted. From the first day he’d met her, he hadn’t been able to resist giving her a hard time. She was so composed and controlled, and he wanted to rattle her.

  She poured a thin drizzle of syrup over her pancakes, then took a ladylike bite.

  “Back to Jerome’s ex-girlfriend,” he said. “How long have you had eyes on her?”

  “We’ve had her place under surveillance on and off for four days,” she said. “No one’s seen him around. Still, even if he isn’t there, I think she could be a lead. She very well might know where he is.”

  “What do you mean by on-and-off surveillance? I thought this guy was important?”

  “In my opinion, he is, but I told you, it’s political. Not everyone agrees.” She sipped the rest of her coffee and refilled her mug. “So what do you think? What would you do in my situation?”

  “I’d pull together a team and roll on the house.”

  “This isn’t Afghanistan. I don’t even have a search warrant.”

  He nodded. “Then I’d put a drone on it. Gather intel.”

  “I would love to. But I’m short on resources.”