Circle Eight Millennium: Lazarus by Beth Williamson

about our favorite bands from growing up. I just went back and looked at the sticky notes. It’s her. She was there same as me.” She hooted into the phone. “I’ll bet if we check the attendee list, all five businesses would be on there.”
    His heart pounded. “You found the connection.”
    “Yes! I wouldn’t have unless I hadn’t Googled all of the business owners. I remembered her as soon as I saw her picture.” She paused. “You know what this means, right?”
    “We have our first real lead.” The cop in him was running through a dozen scenarios and making mental lists as she continued to speak.
    “Laz, you need to stop wandering off when I’m talking. We have to go out to the Circle Eight. We have to talk to your father.”
    The words finally sank in and Laz sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. He’d tried, quite hard, to forget he was in his hometown and a mere fifteen minutes from the ranch he’d grown up on. The land that had been in his blood since before he was born.
    Damnation. He was going home after all.
    Bea arrived at the hotel half an hour later. He walked out to the parking lot while his gut jumped like a pack of frogs had taken up residence. How the hell was he going to go to the Circle Eight? She leaned against her raggedy blue truck, her arms crossed and an eager expression on her face. She wore a purple plaid shirt and a pair of knee-length pants. A pair of white tennis shoes completed the outfit. Her hair was in the usual ponytail. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was eighteen again. Then again, her breasts were rounder and made his hands itch to cup them again. He wondered if she wore that pink lacy bra.
    The visceral memories of the day before slammed into him and he wanted to turn and walk back into the hotel. No woman had a right to look so delicious and tempting. He wondered if he could invite her back to his bed to continue what they’d started yesterday. Laz was a fucking idiot. Where the hell was his brain?
    In his underwear.
    “Should I drive?” Her voice snapped him out of his ridiculous train of thought.
    He shook his head both to tell her no and dispel the lingering attraction to her. “This is official business. We need to take my car.”
    She frowned. “You told me I had to ride in the back if I rode in your car, which isn’t going to happen. Let’s take my truck.”
    It was true he had a laptop and various other pieces of equipment that prevented someone from sitting in the passenger seat. Laz wouldn’t go so far as to say he did it intentionally. A partner had never been in his playbook. Not that he hadn’t tried to get along with an assigned partner. He just preferred to work alone.
    Now Beatrice had pushed her way into his carefully constructed life and he had to either make room for her in his car or ride in a civilian vehicle. Laz wasn’t sure when he made the decision, or why, but it was made.
    He unlocked the car and pulled out the bag, binders, and jacket from the passenger seat, then folded down the laptop. “Your ride awaits.”
    She raised her brows but said nothing. After grabbing her small leather purse from the cab of the truck, she locked it and headed back to him.
    After they were both in the car, he risked a glance at her. She stared straight ahead, for which he was grateful. The enormity of what they were about to do threatened to make him turn around and drive away. He’d known he would have to face his past one day but not today.
    Unfortunately, it was going to happen whether or not he was ready or willing. He started the car and headed down the familiar path to the Circle Eight. The minutes ticked by and his gut wound tighter and tighter.
    Finally, he couldn’t take another moment of silence. “What prompted your memory of the expo?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was going through a box of receipts and found the flyer.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I thought it