Page 47 of Max

“Always do, little sister.” He kissed her forehead. “She moves, you have my permission to do what you have to. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Max nodded and started to walk away, but then he turned back and surprised everyone in the room by kissing the shit out of Shay. It was brief and fierce and left her staggering as he walked out of the room.

They were all silent for a heartbeat until Jasper moved into action, cleaning up the mess, and then he ushered her and Desi back into the waiting room.

Only this time, she wasn’t just worried about her father, but about Max as well.

***

Max slipped out a side door of the hospital and examined the rooftops across from where they’d been standing when the gunshots broke out. He knew from the file Mason had sent over on Douglas McArthur that he didn’t have any sort of military background, so that explained his piss poor shooting. He did do some hunting here and there when he was a kid and would visit the occasional relative in Oregon, where his family was originally from.

If he hunted like he shot, then the animals hadn’t been quaking in their boots. The only reason Max got hit in the first place was because he happened to turn and dive the same time as a volley of shots. If they’d stayed still, he probably wouldn’t have been, but there was no way he was leaving Shay unprotected, piss poor shot or not.

His shoulder hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he’d had worse. Hell, he’d functioned for a week straight with several bullet holes. This was nothing. He only wished he could have reassured Des and Shay more. Neither of them had ever seen him in full-on soldier mode. He’d hoped they’d never have to, but that horse had left the proverbial barn.

The first thing he did was duck into a small coffee shop. He ordered coffee and sat where he could watch the street while he pulled out his laptop and did a quick search of motels nearby. McArthur would need to get inside quickly if he hadn’t left his rifle behind. Footing it with a tote large enough carry a rifle would be too conspicuous. The man had enough drug charges on his rap sheet that he’d be familiar with police protocol. Sleezy motels would be right at home with his usual haunts back home in LA. He also knew not to use any sort of credit or debit card. The place he’d have rented would be cash only, maybe even a by-the-hour establishment.

He found three potential candidates and did a quick search on reviews. McArthur wouldn’t go to the worst one. He knew this from the profile Kade had worked up on McArthur. The man was used to certain comforts, and staying in a roach-infested motel wasn’t one of them. That narrowed his search down to one within walking distance from the hospital.

Thank fuck Kade joined the team. It made his job of finding people easier, even when they were smart enough to do nothing to allow themselves to be digitally tracked. Shooting off a quick text to Mason to pull all video footage between the hospital and the motel in every direction, he drained his coffee, put his laptop away, and left the building.

The route Max took to the motel wasn’t a direct one. He went down several side streets, wanting to lull McArthur into a false sense of security. If he’d rushed right up to the motel, he couldn’t guarantee McArthur wouldn’t be watching the street. This way, he took his time, and a full half hour had passed before he walked into the motel.

And wanted to walk right back out. Max had spent a lot of time in places he hated, places that made his skin crawl, and this building was right up there in his top ten of worst places. The carpet was an indistinct shade of oily brown that squished beneath his shoes. The walls were peeling and had stains, the source of which he didn’t want to even think about. And the clerk behind the desk? Greasy black hair, glasses, and he had twitchy eyes. Just the kind of person who wouldn’t ask questions.

“By the hour, the night, or the week?” His high, nasally voice was like glass on a chalkboard.

Cole pulled up the photo of McArthur. “You seen this guy?”

“No.”

Max slapped down five one-hundred-dollar bills. “You sure?”

The desk clerk licked his lips and started to reach for the bills. The hunting knife that came down between the man’s fingers and straight into the bills stopped him from snatching them.

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s here. Just came in a few minutes ago.”

“What room?”

He glanced from the money to Max. “Three twelve.”

Max yanked his knife free and allowed the clerk to collect the bills and shove them in his pocket. Then he flipped the knife over and slammed the hilt against the clerk’s temple. When the man crumpled to the ground, Max went around the desk and hauled him into the back room, using the roll of duct tape to tie his hands and feet together before slapping a piece over his mouth and stuffing him into the closet of the small office behind the desk.

He wouldn’t be alerting anyone of his arrival any time soon.

The stairs were quiet as Max made his way up to the third floor. He cracked the stairwell door and glanced down the hallway. Empty, but that could change in a heartbeat. On the walk over, he’d come up with a plan. One that would potentially tell him if McArthur was in this alone or if Shay’s ex was behind it. He could only hope to kill two birds with one stone.

Pulling the baseball cap low over his eyes, shielding his face, he stepped out of the stairwell and strode to McArthur’s room. He knocked without hesitation. “Duncan sent me. Said you needed a quick exit.”

There was only a moment of hesitation before the door was wrenched open and Max jerked inside. “That was fast.”

Max shrugged. “He said you needed quick, and money talks.”

Douglas McArthur snorted, a nervous laugh falling from his overly thick lips. He wasn’t a small man, not by any measure. He stood at least six feet and a good two-thirty, two-forty if he was a pound. And it wasn’t fat either. He worked out, but then being best friends with the top action star in the US probably dictated him being fit. Never hurt in McArthur’s line of work. Drugs were dangerous business.

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