Chapter 13 #3
“Have him look at missing meth addicts in and around Apex,” Carter suggested.
Like Stacy Weathers, they were a population of ready-made victims. Easy to lure, easy to disappear.
“There’s a mountain of meth-related missing persons cases, and Apex PD seems to turn a blind eye.
” Which Carter intended to investigate himself.
Maybe Baxter or Clyde Weathers knew more about that situation.
“We need to question Baxter,” Lincoln said. “And I need a DNA panel on him.”
“Good luck, on both counts. He lawyered up.”
Carter cursed and moved to shove back, frustration boiling over.
Lincoln’s foot on the base of his chair kept him in place. “We’ve got a lot to go on already. A ton more than we had last night.”
“There’s more in the email too. What we’ve got so far on Baxter, together with Kirk’s interview notes. He got some info out of him before the lawyer showed, advised him not to talk anymore, and buried us in motions.”
Carter continued to stew as Lincoln wrapped up the call.
Thumbs drumming the top of the chair, he pushed out from under Lincoln’s foot and spun in the aisle.
Yesterday’s feeling of being disconnected from the action of the case had multiplied.
He felt trapped here, in this lab and in Apex, while so much of the case was progressing elsewhere.
Granted, he logically knew it all led back to here, but a part of the investigation was effectively cut off to him.
He couldn’t do his job, couldn’t do what he was good at, from two hundred fifty miles away.
Lincoln interrupted his mental spiral, rolling into the aisle to face him. “I know you’re frustrated.”
“If we’d been in DC, I could have questioned him. Gotten eyes on him and tried to get the answers we need to catch Dr. Fear.”
“I know it’s not ideal, but O’Shea’s a good agent, and Ollie and Beverley are the FBI’s best. They’ve got their eyes on 2020 Jeff Baxter.
They need us to get eyes on 2005 to 2009 Jeff Baxter.
Guess where the best place to do that is.
” Lincoln tilted his head toward the window and the library visible two buildings over.
He made an exaggerated motion that direction, then hilariously waggled his brows. “You catch my drift?”
Carter couldn’t help but laugh, his mounting frustration washed away by the humor in Lincoln’s words and gestures and the excitement in his eyes.
They were investigators, with more than a few good leads to follow up on now.
They had what they needed right here, in the Apex archives, and there was no better person than Lincoln Monroe to find the missing piece.
And Carter was determined to prove he was the agent to help him do it.
The short walk from the lab to the library was much easier, albeit less entertaining, than the drive from Flour Power.
Class change was over, and the sidewalks weren’t as packed.
Still more people around than on Saturday but not the crush of earlier.
The library was a similar state. Not as deserted as when Carter was last here but not bustling yet either.
He expected that would change as the day went on, more students drifting in to study and hang out after and between classes.
In any event, the front desk was now staffed and ready to greet them—the students, and Carter and Lincoln.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” said the younger of the two women there. She shouldered a bag and came around the end of the desk, hand outstretched. “Poppy. Wanted to meet you both before I had to run. Jeremiah said you were tasty, and he wasn’t lying.”
Carter chuckled, Lincoln’s ears turned bright red, and the older woman chided, “Poppy.”
“What, Mawmaw, it’s the truth.” Poppy smiled brightly at them. “Don’t mean to be rude, but I gotta run. Need to swing by the student union before my first class. Mawmaw will take good care of you. She’s been the reference librarian here for forty years. Be seein’ you!”
She disappeared out the door before either of them could get a word in, including their own names. The deep sigh behind them drew Carter around, and the Mawmaw, taken together with the similar lines of nose and mouth between the two women, suggested they were related.
“Pardon my granddaughter,” the woman said, confirming Carter’s speculation. “Apparently the manners still haven’t kicked in yet, despite my best efforts the past twenty years.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am,” Carter said, all manners kicking in. Forty years at the hub of Apex’s campus—this was someone they needed to know. And the mix of exasperation and fondness for her granddaughter in her voice and expression made Carter want to know her more.
“Carter Polk,” he said. “And this is my husband, Lincoln.”
“Molly Watson. We’re so happy to have you.” She took each of their hands in both of hers, lingering longer with Lincoln’s. “Especially you. Poor Jeremiah has been so underwater with those archives since Harry passed. He does what he can, but he can’t do it all.”
“I hope I can help him out,” Lincoln said, sounding earnest, even as his toe tapped a rhythm on the floor out of Molly’s sight.
Carter wasn’t so oblivious. To Lincoln’s discomfort as he played the cover with Molly, with Ryan on Saturday, and even at the church, underlying the stage fright.
Lincoln did not like leading these people on.
Which gave Carter some hope that Lincoln wasn’t leading him on with that kiss last night or the one in the FP parking lot this morning.
“You’ll certainly be more helpful than Poppy or Brandon. He”—she curled her fingers in air quotes—“works in the afternoons.” Not a trace of fondness this time.
“There an issue with Brandon?” Lincoln asked.
“He’s a nice enough kid but not the most dependable. He’s getting a PhD in physics and is well on his way to absent-minded professor.”
Carter smiled. “I have some familiarity with that.”
“Hey!” Lincoln backhanded his abs.
“You two are so cute,” Molly said with a smile. “Ah, young love.”
Lincoln’s toe-tapping stopped. So did his breath. Until Carter laid a hand at this back and he made a hilarious gulping sound. “Say thanks, honey,” he teased Lincoln. “She called you young.”
Molly laughed out loud, warm and jolly, and Lincoln glared, fiery and unamused. Back to himself again.
“Even cuter,” Molly snickered. “You two go on. I’ll buzz you through.” She waved a hand at the security pylons, their lights turning from red to green. “And if you need anything, just holler. I’m at extension 542.”
“Thank you, Molly.” Carter ushered Lincoln through the turnstile, but on the other side, Lincoln paused, his light brown eyes beckoning Carter to go ahead. Following his partner’s cue, Carter continued on around the corner to the elevators and called the cab.
Back in the lobby, Lincoln was apologizing to Molly. “Sorry I got flustered. I’m not always the best around new people. Nerd,” he said sheepishly, and Carter could imagine the self-deprecating shrug to go with. “But it’s really nice to meet you, and I look forward to working with you.”
Lincoln was unintentionally better at this than he thought—because he was fundamentally a good man—and Carter was fairly certain Molly had a new favorite.
She fawned some more, shushing him and again repeating her offer of help.
When Lincoln caught up to Carter, he was noticeably more relaxed, put back at ease by telling as much of the truth as he could.
Carter held open the elevator doors for him. “Good work.”
“Forty years at Apex U. She’s a good source.” He leaned against the back wall of the elevator cab. “And a nice lady too. I was just caught off guard . . . by the . . .” He couldn’t say it, and it was possible his face was going to catch fire right there.
“Young love,” Carter teased as he crossed the cab.
“Is that what all the spluttering and blushing is about?” He stopped with less than a foot between them.
When Lincoln didn’t physically push or death-glare him away, Carter erased the rest of the distance.
One arm over Lincoln’s head, his other hand on the professor’s hip not blocked by Lincoln’s bag, Carter leaned in and whispered next to his ear, “Same drill here. When we get into the archive room, you stay quiet while I sweep it for bugs. Got it?”
Lincoln nodded, the attractive dark blond scruff he let grow another day scratching enticingly against Carter’s cheek.
Carter moved to step back while he still could, but Lincoln had other ideas.
Hands wrapped in the lapels of his jacket, Lincoln held him close and lifted hot honey eyes to him.
“I think you’re using this cover thing to your advantage.
” Yet he didn’t sound mad about it at all.
“Are you objecting?”
Lincoln’s gaze flitted to the arm over his head, to Carter’s eyes, then to his lips and snagged there. “No,” he rasped out and curled his hands tighter. He yanked Carter into him and around, the move surprisingly coordinated for Mr. Teeters-A-Lot.
Carter fell back against the wall, partly in shock, mostly in lust. Lincoln fell into him, and Carter welcomed the heat of his mouth, the lean, hard planes of his body, the reality that far outpaced any fantasy he’d had over the past eight years.
Every kiss between them was different—last night’s relief, this morning’s playfulness, this moment’s pure desire—and each stoked Carter’s need for more.
As did Lincoln’s mouth gliding off his lips and down his throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin.
Carter skated his hand up Lincoln’s back and into his hair. “Fuck yes, right there, baby.”
Someone not named Carter or Lincoln cleared their throat.
Lincoln froze, and Carter opened his eyes to Jeremiah, arms folded, foot propping open the elevator door. “There better be FP biscuits in this for me.”