Page 71 of Night Watch
Hess didn’t answer right away, so Kennedy tried to look beneath his stone-faced expression. Maybe he was using tactics he’d learned in the military if he were ever captured to convincingly evade questions.
“Trashed it after the race,” he finally said.
“Trashed it or lost it?” Erik clarified.
“Trashed. Near the finish line.” Hess folded his arms over a broad chest, showing the first sign of being uncomfortable. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“Do you own any weapons other than the Glock at your side?” Erik asked.
A hint of surprise raised Hess’s eyebrows, but he quickly dropped them and patted his holster as if confirming Erik’s assessment. “A few.”
Erik pushed from the wall and planted his feet, his chin out. “Name them.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a Remington 870 pump shotgun and a Sig Sauer P320.”
Erik lowered his chin. “No semi-automatics?”
“I’d love one of those bad boys.” He grinned. “But no reason to own one, and I don’t like to waste my money.”
With the sparsity of his furnishings, Kennedy could believe that. “Do you have any friends who might own one? Someone you might borrow one from?”
Hess turned his full attention on her, and she could easily imagine him in the cockpit of the million-dollar fighter, checking the dash and aiming his sights on an enemy. It didn’t take much more to imagine him behind the weapon that was fired at her, and she had to work hard not to shrink back.
“Not that I know of,” he said.
“Couching your answer,” Erik stated, his gaze firm.
Hess lifted his shoulder, his mouth curving up in a half smile.
Erik’s nostrils flared. “You won’t be smiling if we determine you were the person who open fired on our vehicle yesterday.”
Hess took the news in stride, not even a flash of surprise. So did he know about the shooting? Was he involved? The shooter?
“Didn’t touch a gun yesterday,” he said, his tone flat. “Not even this one.” He tapped his Glock. “Couldn’t. Not with the race.”
Erik rested his hands on his hips, looking as threatening as Hess. “So exactly where were you at eleven-thirty A.M. yesterday?”
“In Seaside having lunch with the team and celebrating finishing the race.”
“And you were never out of your team’s sight?”
He crossed his muscular arms. “I had to go to the can, but otherwise? They’ll confirm I was there.”
Erik nodded slowly. “Then how do you explain that one of your team wristbands was found in a vacant apartment in Portland, where a shooter hunkered down to take us out?”
Hess flexed his jaw muscles a few times. “I didn’t put it there. The band irritated my arm from the minute I put it on.” He held out his left wrist. A red rash circled it, perhaps confirming his comment. “I’m a team player and kept it on until the finish. Then, like I said, I trashed it near the finish line.”
“And before the team picture was taken,” Erik stated.
“You noticed that, huh? Suppose I’ll get heat from our leader. She was all about uniformity. Military precision and all of that.” He shrugged, looking confident and a bit smug. “I don’t plan to run again next year. Too much crud for it to be any fun.”
“I’ll need a list of your team members and drivers and their phone numbers,” Erik said.
Hess lifted his shoulders. “Don’t see why. We were all together celebrating, so none of us could’ve done what you think. And besides. I don’t know any of you and I’m not going to give out my friends’ info to just anyone.”
“We’re with Nighthawk Security.” Erik held out his ID, feet flat on the floor, planted wide and glaring at Hess.
“I’ll write down your phone number and have them call you.” Hess eyed Erik. “Just let me grab some paper.”
