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She wanted to see him.
An image flashed in her mind, again. Jax hanging from a hook, chained by his wrists so that his body hung limp. Beaten.
Kenna pushed the car door open and got hit in the face with a blast of cold wind that stole her breath and pricked tears in her eyes. The cold was the only reason for the moisture, clearly. Not the lamp being on and the ready images in her mind of the man she cared about nearly dead.
They’d survived Mexico.
Maizie said, “Your car locks didn’t beep,” so Kenna went back, grabbed her keys, and locked up the car before she walked to the motel’s main office. “Are you okay?” the teen asked.
“Yep.”
Maizie went silent.
“I’m okay,” Kenna said. Just as long as Jax stayed safe then things were fine. There was a K-9 handler here whose life had changed. There was a husband dead, and multiple children tormented for years before being buried in a clearing.
Kenna needed to focus on the high-stakes things.Whatever was going on in her head, or with this squeeze in her chest, she could figure it out.You can help with that, right? Get my head on straight.Except for the fact that facing it meant facing herself. That was the hardest part. She knew her tendency was to bury herself in work. The cliché was true, as much as she didn’t like it.
She wanted to spend time with her friends, but she didn’t want toneedto spend time with them.
Which was going to make this relationship between her and Jax interesting. Hopefully not harder than it needed to be since they both had enough going on with work.
She entered the main office, pushing aside those thoughts as she stepped out of the cold. Behind the desk, a woman in her midtwenties pushed glasses up her nose. Kenna peeled off her hat and unzipped her coat because the heat in here was cranked to the midseventies.
“Help you?” The woman had a dark tan, and blank eyes.
“I hope so.” Kenna pulled a twenty from her pocket and showed it to the woman, along with her phone. Not the screen showing the call was still connected to Maizie, but the photo of Stan Tilley they’d found. Which Maizie had run through a program to artificially age him to the gray he had now. “I just need to know if you’ve seen this man around, or if you’re even renting a room to him?”
The woman reached out and grabbed the twenty.
Kenna nodded toward the phone. “So, have you seen him?”
“I’m not sure I can remember clearly enough if I’ve seen that guy.”
She was fishing for more money. “You copy guest driver’s licenses, right?” Hopefully, they did and weren’t the kind of establishment that didn’t care who a person was if they paidcash. But given this employee and her attempt at extorting more money from Kenna, this could go either way.
“My boss requires ID with every form of payment. Card or cash.” She made a face. “Or I get fired.”
Which meant that if Stan Tilley was staying here, his current ID would be in their files. “I need to know if his picture is one of them.” And Kenna would pay for the information, but this twentysomething didn’t get to know the exact amount up front. “He’s bad news, and I need to find him before he hurts anyone else.”
“I’m…” The other woman hesitated. “I’m not really supposed to show anyone who comes in the business files or give out people’s personal information.”
“Want me to come back with the cops and a court order?”
She shifted in her seat.
Kenna leaned against the counter. “I need to know if he’s here.” She reached in her pocket and flashed two twenties. “Can you check?”
“If you make it worth my while to risk my job breaking the rules.”
Now they were speaking truthfully. “See if his ID is in there. I’ll pay you for a copy and his room number.” Kenna held the money in view and waited.
The receptionist looked through the file cabinet drawer. “Huh.” She stiffened. “Room thirteen.” Then drew out a paper file.
Kenna handed over the money, then snapped a photo of Stan Tilley’s ID with her phone.
In her earbuds, Maizie said, “Got it.” Then, “Hello, Marcus Alberton from Minnesota.”
Kenna closed the file and handed it back to the girl. “Any idea if he’s herenow?”