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“Nope,” he said without thinking and turned his attention back to his phone, giving me a perfect glimpse of the top of his greasy head.
“Thanks,” I said a little too brightly. “When I tell the police officer I stopped here in search of a kidnapped minor, I’ll be sure to let them know how helpful,” I scanned his shirt for his nametag, “uhm…Brian was.”
He looked up with wide, bloodshot brown eyes suddenly filled with worry. “Ain’t no minors here.”
Bullshit.
“Then you won’t mind if I look around a little bit?” I didn’t wait for an answer, not now that I had his full attention. “Get a lot of bookings last night?”
“Yep,” he shot back quickly even though I hadn’t seen one damn car in the parking lot, just his raggedy scooter.
“Okay,” I said easily and slid a hundred dollar bill through the security window. “How many people are with the girl?”
Brian opened his mouth to lie to me again and I raised a palm to him.
“Before you even think about lying to me, Brian, I want you to think about it long and hard.”
“About what?”
His sneer pissed me off even though it was something I was used to, being underestimated.
“About how painful your recovery will be.” With one hand still on the money, I reached for my piece.
“I won’t kill you, I promise,” I told him with a sickly-sweet smile that had him rethinking his snarky tone. “Now, how many are with the girl?”
Brian nodded and looked down at the money, up at me, and then my gun before his brown eyes landed on his motivation. The money.
“Three. A driver. Can’t tell you what he looks like, but he had a pistol in his hand. And an older man and a middle-ish age woman, bang-able but too uptight to be a MILF. Kinda like you.”
“Thanks,” I told him and slid another hundred dollar bill under my hand while I thought. The driver likely doubled as security, probably armed. “Room number?”
“121.”
“Thank you, Brian. I was never here,” I told him and released the cash.
He shrugged and took the money hungrily. “No one is ever here, lady.”
Exactly what I wanted to hear. “Nice doin’ business with you.”
“Whatever,” he muttered and returned to whatever was so interesting on his phone.
Terry waited out front just out of view of Brian. I slid into the passenger seat with a sly smile.
“Got what you need?”
“You doubt me, Ter?”
“Nevah,” he said around a playful, teasing grin.
His words warmed me, and I was affected no matter how hard I tried to shake them off. So, I focused on the task at hand.
“Three people with her and the driver is probably armed.”
“Not a problem,” he said with a smile. “I’m always strapped, Kitty Kat.”
The more he used that damn nickname, the more it grew on me. Warmed me. The more it felt like an intimate pet name instead of a childish taunt.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
At his raised eyebrow, I returned the same look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t driven around and figured out the best way to get Madison out of there.”
Terry’s playful smile made another appearance, and I squeezed my knees together until they started to sting.
“Yeah, I do have a plan,” he said and drove around behind the squat building while he explained.
It was a simple plan and I smiled. “Guess that G.I. Joe thing runs in the family.”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head, his blue eyes staring at me with something that looked a lot like affection. I couldn’t have that, so I looked away.
“Thanks for that.”
I groaned at his tone, wondering what I’d have to do to get him to see me as a woman. Or better, a desirable woman. “Sure.”
“Here’s your phone. Ready your weapon,” he ordered and despite his bossy tone, I felt my nipples harden in response.
“When you’re ready,” he said and drove away.
I took a deep breath and counted until I found the bathroom window for room 121. The faint light at this early morning hour before the sun rose would turn out to be our ally.
TEN, I texted Terry to let him know I was in place.
NINE, he replied, letting me know he was in place. I should now call the room directly.
EIGHT, I sent a confirmation and then made the call.
A deep, slightly cultured voice answered. “I said no goddamn phone calls!” He sounded older than I realized, which meant it wasn’t Stephen McLaughlin, but likely Mueller himself.
The thought threw me off for half a second before I recovered.
“Hello Mr. Evans, this is Joanna Lemmings from Desert Telecom.”
First thing that came to mind. His growl of frustration let me know I hit the mark.
“Not interested. Don’t call back,” he warned and slammed the phone down hard enough to be heard through the shut bathroom window. Madison’s signal to make her move.
