Matt and Tank exchanged glances.
“Of course. Whatever you need,” Tank finally replied. “However, I haven’t even told you the best part yet. Guess what his party platform will be?”
At both of their blank looks, Tank held up a photocopy of a flyer. “Family values.”
Matt scoffed. “An old girlfriend with his illegitimate baby would probably be an inconvenience, wouldn’t you say?”
Tank slapped the flyer down on the table between them. “You said it. This guy is looking dirtier and dirtier by the minute.”
Eli’s eyes locked on the flyer and the black-and-white image of Timothy Banner and his all-American smile. This guy had a track record for lying and hurting Kay. He would probably look at stalking and attempted murder as collateral damage on his way to the top.
“Go find this fool, Tank. Find him and get him to talk. The sooner we can put this to rest, the better.”
TANK MARSHALL LOWERED his binoculars and then stashed them in the center console of his SUV. Timothy Banner was checked into the Ritz-Carlton. He snorted. Of course he was. Guys like him, with more money to spend than brains, tended to stay in flashy places. They liked to see and be seen. Tank preferred to see and remain invisible.
He’d just seen Banner and his mini-entourage walk into the hotel. Now he just had to follow and wait. So much of what he did involved patience. Not unlike his work as a sniper. He could watch. And wait. Then at the perfect moment, take his shot. He wasn’t taking any chances on screwing up this assignment.
Security wasn’t something he’d have thought would be a great fit, but Eli trusted his guys and gave them the leeway they needed to do their jobs. If he needed equipment, he got it. If he had a hunch, Eli trusted him to follow it.
So if his boss needed him to interview some wannabe politician, he could handle it.
He’d met Elliott Alexander at the gun range. They’d gotten to talking and before he knew what was happening, he’d had himself a job. He’d given ten years to Uncle Sam, and when he got out, he’d had a lot of plans for what he wanted to do. Travel. Spend more time with his family.
Nothing had worked out the way he’d planned.
His mom was still doing drugs and wouldn’t go into rehab. His little brother was in the midst of a deep depression and hadn’t left his apartment more than a handful of times that he knew of in the past year. His life was going to shit and there was nothing he could do about it. Except work.
The job was all he had some days.
He walked through the lobby, his shoes squeaking slightly on the marble floor. Banner and his entourage were about to get on the elevator. He sped up. A couple walked in front of him and he allowed them to get on the elevator first, keeping his head down. The couple exited at the fifth floor and the doors to the elevator slid closed, sealing him in the small space with Banner and his men.
He kept his eyes on the electronic counter which announced each floor. They didn’t seem to notice him. The doors opened with a subdued chime and he turned left, waiting until he heard the group exit and walk in the other direction. He waited a few moments, then turned around and followed.
The door to room 9804 was just closing. Tank glanced around to make sure nobody was in the hall before he knocked on the door.
“Yes.” The older man who answered the door resembled the pictures he’d found of Banner’s campaign manager, Robert Dooley. He looked Tank over from head to toe, his eyes lingering on his blue jeans. His mouth puckered like he’d just tasted something sour.
“Tank Marshall to see Mr. Banner. I sent him an e-mail message earlier today.”
The man’s expression got colder if it was at all possible. “Mr. Banner isn’t here.”
“Tell him it’s about Hope. I’m sure he’ll want to know, Mr. Dooley.”
The eyes widened a fraction at Tank’s use of his name. “A moment, please.” The door shut in his face.
Tank leaned against the doorframe and waited. He wondered if Old Sour Face was really going to deliver the message. Then he heard it. A raised voice and the sound of a scuffle.
A few minutes later, Sour Face was back and holding the door wide. “Mr. Banner will see you now.”
You bet your ass he will, Tank thought. Can’t have anyone finding out about the dirty laundry.
He was led to a living room that was bigger than Tank’s apartment and took a seat on the sofa. Someone with an eye for fine things would probably appreciate it more, but to Tank it just looked like the kind of stuff you weren’t supposed to actually sit on. He took a mental note of everything in the room. Eli would definitely ask. What did you see? Who was there? Thorough was his boss’s middle name. Usually, anyway. He’d been different lately. Distracted.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to his boss over the past few weeks, but he hadn’t expected to be going in alone. Eli was usually a pretty scary SOB, so it was a huge deal that he trusted Tank to handle this interview alone. But he’d seemed different lately. More open. More human. He supposed the right woman could do that to you.
He liked Kaylee, too. She was a nice girl. He liked the way she looked at Eli. So he really wanted to get this right for her sake, as well. If this guy was the one threatening her, then Tank wanted a part in taking him down.
“Mr. Marshall. I wasn’t expecting you.” Timothy Banner emerged from the bedroom connected to the suite. Tank stood.
“I know, but there are some things better said in person.”