He turned to Annette. “What do you mean?”
“The clerk’s a woman.” She shrugged. “Go in there and pour on the charm, then flash that officer-of-the-court ID you’ve got and see if you can’t get the room number and the key.”
He’d never considered the ID as a means to prod information. He might as well go for it. He reached for the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”
Carson heard the power lock click into place after he exited the vehicle. He didn’t blame her. She had reason to be afraid ... even if she refused to say it out loud.
He opened the door to the lobby and scanned for other patrons. None. Good.
At the counter he waited for the clerk—young, pretty—to finish the call on her cell phone. Then he smiled for her. “Hey.”
Interest stirred in her eyes. “You need a room?”
“In a way.” He laid a one-hundred-dollar bill on the counter. Her mouth dropped open. “I’m Investigator Tanner.” He flashed his badge. “I’m looking for a person of interest in one of my cases.”
She looked from him to the bill and licked her lips. “Who?”
“Well, I’m sure he’s not using his real name. He’s tall, thin, dark hair and eyes. About thirty-one. His real name is Dane Drake, but he might be going by something else.”
Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the people and faces she’d likely seen pass through this shift. “I don’t know.” Another period of contemplation. “We definitely don’t have a Dane Drake. Wait. There was this one dude.” She raised her eyebrows. “Kind of grungy looking. He came in here to get coffee early in my shift.” She shuddered. “Gave me the creeps.”
Carson placed another hundred-dollar bill next to the first. “I need a room number and the key.”
She bit her bottom lip, then asked, “Is he under arrest?”
“I need him for questioning. It’s extremely important. He could be in danger.”
She looked around quickly. “Are there people after him?”
Carson nodded. “Unfortunately. I need to find him first.”
“Gotcha.” She checked her computer, then swiped a key. “Room two fourteen. It’s on the back side, second floor.”
“Thank you.” Carson winked. She blushed.
He jogged back to the car. “Room two fourteen. Other side of the hotel.”
“Do you think it’s him?”
Carson started the Rover. “I gave his description. The clerk seemed to think so.”
“I guess we’ll know in a minute.”
Carson drove to the back of the hotel. He and Annette were out of the car and headed for the stairs to the second floor before the vehicle rocked to a complete stop.
Outside room 214, Carson hesitated. He’d never known Dane to carry weapons. But if he were scared and desperate, he might be capable of anything. Zac Holderfield’s death was testament to that.
“We need to consider how we’re going to do this,” Carson suggested.
Annette snatched the key from his hand. “Stand back, I’ll show you.”
Before he could stop her, she’d inserted the key and was pushing the door inward.
“Dane, it’s Carson,” he shouted over her head, in the hope of preventing a physical altercation.
The room was dark save for one bedside table lamp. Dane Drake lay sprawled on the bed. An empty tequila bottle lay on the floor. Alongside it was what looked like a prescription bottle. And a drying puddle of puke.
Annette rushed to the bed while Carson examined the prescription bottle. Patricia Drake. Tranquilizers. The bottle was empty. Shit. His attention shifted to the bed and the motionless man lying there.
