“I won’t ask you again.” My upper lip curled into a snarl.
“Okay. Jesus Christ. Some magazine.”
“Some magazine.”
“Yeah.Southern Comfortor something.”
I hung my head. Maybe after the shitty night I was eager to expend blood. The guy was telling the truth. “What were they looking for?”
“Just everyday pictures. Nothing risqué. I swear to God.”
With my teeth gritted, I heard a noise. We had company, another vehicle pulling along the curb a couple of houses down. The spark in his eyes meant he heard the sound as well, his body tensing as if someone was coming to his rescue. Leaning over, I pressed my finger against my lips, smiling as I did.
He shuddered visibly. At least he’d figured out I likely had a screw loose. Less than five minutes later, we were essentially alone again.
“Who is your contact?”
The guy was getting flustered, no doubt from the agony he was suffering. As if I cared. “Some guy. Bill something.”
All I had to do was glare at him and his body jerked as if I’d beaten the crap out of him. When he immediately tried to reach into his pocket, I cocked my head with an eyebrow raised.
“I’ve got a business card. Okay? Okay?”
Exhaling, I nodded.
His hand shook as he fished into the pocket of his jeans, finally managing to pull out a business card. Interesting since they were rarely used any longer.
After taking it from his hand, I glanced at the name, which wasn’t familiar to me in the least. William Dreyfus. The address was out of Savannah and the card appeared legit.
“How much did you get paid?”
“Twenty thousand. Easy gig.” As soon as he laughed, he cupped his nose again.
“Did you get the money?”
“Half. Half when I’m finished.”
The guy wouldn’t be able to provide anything else. “What’s your name?”
When he shrank back as if prepared to hide his identity, all I needed to do was to lift my weapon. That was enough to put the fear of God into him.
“Peter. Peter Kendall.”
“Well, Peter Kendall,” I said as I stood, shoving the card into my pocket. “It’s your lucky day. You passed the test of telling the truth. However, you’re going to consider that you’ve been paid in full and never even consider being on the same street as Emmeline Prince. Do you understand me?”
Why was it the assholes who were caught doing something wrong were always so reluctant to play fair?
“I’ve had a really long day, Peter. And I don’t think you want to be on the receiving end of my bad mood. Now, do you?”
“No, sir. I’ll lose her name.”
“Good man. I’ll know if you don’t.” Turning away, I was still furious, but at least the idiot hadn’t had bad intent in mind.
“What about my camera?”
I’d be damned. Stopping short, I surprised myself by not being in the mood to teach the kid a lesson in manners. Not today. At this point I just wanted a cognac, a cigar, and a good night’s sleep.
After I checked to ensure the prick hadn’t been a decoy—fuck me, that I hadn’t thought about—I yanked out my wallet, pulling a wad of cash into my hand. When I spun around, I shook my head. “This ought to cover your loss. Now, go home.” I took a long stride over him, heading back where I came.
