Midnight Kiss (Men of Midnight #7) - Lisa Marie Rice Page 0,58
to want to come here, you wouldn’t stumble across it. There was nothing around it anyone would want to see.
Which was fine, in Resnick’s book.
A board was nailed to the wooden siding. There was writing on it, in faded paint. Manager, Happy Trails Trailer Park. If it was Resnick’s call, he wouldn’t advertise that he was the manager of this shithole. It wasn’t anything to be proud of.
He walked slowly up to the porch, hands out and loose. Nobody could see the 1911 in his waistband, or the ankle holster, or the Todd knife in its Kydex sheath clipped to the inside of his front right pocket, which he kept sharp as a scalpel.
The door opened with a creak. A man stood just inside the doorway, his face in shadow. It was hard to make out his features and Resnick was sure that was deliberate.
They stood staring at each other. Resnick took his measure. Tall, old, very skinny. He looked malnourished, like someone who didn’t take care of himself. Resnick needed intel this guy probably had. He could beat it out of him, trick it out of him or buy it from him.
“Whaddya want?” The man asked. Not even a stab at Can I help you? “We’re full up.”
Sure, Resnick thought. Bustling little business you’ve got here. Don’t know how you can manage it all.
“Don’t need a slot,” he said. Slowly, keeping both hands in view, he pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket. The reason he was here. The first time he’d seen the photo, it hadn’t clicked. It was just one woman, like a million others. Maybe prettier than most but the world was full of pretty women. What did the Senator want with her? Maybe she’d seen something or maybe she’d heard something? Maybe they’d fucked and she wanted money. For whatever reason, the Senator wanted her dead, so Resnick was going to kill her.
But then he’d looked again and realized exactly what was going on.
She looked exactly like the Senator’s son, Bard. Who’d clearly had an accident with a condom twenty-five or thirty years ago.
Resnick held the photo out in the palm of his hand. His left hand. His right was down by his side, fist open. Ready to reach for his weapon at any moment. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Yet.
The old man frowned. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Resnick’s hand. Resnick walked forward a few steps and held his palm up shoulder high. The photograph was clear at that distance.
The old man was shaking his head but Resnick had seen the slight step back, the widening of rheumy blue eyes. The wrinkles around his mouth had tightened.
“You ever see this woman around here?” he asked.
“Nope. Never seen her before in my life.” The old man was already backing away, about ready to slam the door in Resnick’s face. Not that that would stop him. The old door was essentially cracked plywood. A strong wind could bring it down.
The old man was shuffling as he moved back into the cabin, trying to shut the cabin door, but Resnick was fast and he was strong. The old man didn’t — couldn’t — put up anything Resnick recognized as resistance. In a moment, the old man was sitting in a kitchen chair, tied down with duct tape that had been on a kitchen counter. If it hadn’t been there, Resnick would have used the filthy kitchen towels draped over the sink, or an electrical cord ripped off a lamp. Anything would have done. Resnick had been trained and trained well and knew how to improvise. This was nothing. The old man was weak and terrified. Resnick could have kept him in the chair through intimidation alone.
But that would have taken longer and Resnick didn’t want to waste any more time here than he had to. The place depressed the hell out of him.
The old man was panting. He’d put up a little resistance and it had tired him out. His face was covered in sweat and his chest was heaving. Shit, he had to get intel before the old man’s heart blew.
Man, Resnick was going to eat a bullet before he got like that.
Casually, he placed the muzzle of his 1911 right on the old guy’s knee and watched as his face froze. Yep, he had the geezer’s attention. He knew what a bullet to the knee meant.
Resnick pressed down on the gun to give his words a little added meaning.