Page 19 of Striker
Atlas dragged his palm over his face. “Nothing yet. She slept a lot. Just got her some food and?—”
“We need to find out whatever she knows about Rex. She could have information on other places he might have around here.”
“I’ll talk to her now. Why don’t you guys stop for food before you come to the motel? Give me a little more time with her.”
“We can all question her,” Rogue said.
“I realize that. But she’s going to feel a little intimidated with five men interrogating her, don’t you think?”
“She trusts you?”
Damn, leave it to Rogue to not let anything slide. “I think so.”
“All right,” his friend grumbled. “Guess we’re all sick of eating rations. You’ve got ninety minutes.”
“Thanks.” They ended the call, and Atlas shifted his weight back and forth. He sighed. Stalling wouldn’t get him anywhere.
He returned to the room. Molly had migrated to the bed. She leaned against the headboard with her legs curled under her. Exhaustion had put a neat wrinkle in her brow.
He snagged a chair and set it next to the bed. “You all right?” he asked, sitting. As much as he wanted to follow through with the questions, to not let Rogue down, her well-being came first.
“Okay,” she said, squishing her hands between her knees. “Just really tired.” She chortled. “Which is ridiculous. I’ve done little more than open my eyes and eat.”
He smiled reassuringly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve gotta keep up with the fluids. I think I’ve got some juice in the fridge. Want some?”
She nodded.
He leaned over and took out a small bottle of orange juice, cracked the lid, and passed it to her. The sugar would help.
She drank half the bottle. “Wow. That was good.”
He placed the bottle back on the nightstand. “Look, Molly. The guys are on their way back. We’ve got about an hour and a half before they get here and we need to head back to the city.”
Worry filled her face and her eyes darted to the door. His insides twisted. He wanted to erase the pain etched on her porcelain face, to steal the haunted look and put her at ease.
He reached out and took her hand on the mattress. “What has you scared?”
She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. “I-I’m not. I just . . . I don’t know.”
“No one’s going to hurt you. Those guys you met last night, if you even remember, they’re my team. I’ve known them for years and trust ’em with my life.”
She lowered her gaze, but some of the tension left her hand.
“Why don’t you tell me about your family first? Is Panama home?” She had an American accent, but that didn’t mean she didn’t live here or have family in the country.
She shook her head. “No. I moved here a few months ago.”
More questions buzzed in his head, but he’d keep things simple for now. They had time to peel back layers and move at her pace. “Where are you from?”
She swept her hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Illinois.”
“Any siblings?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m an only child. I’m close with my parents, though.”
“Do they know you were missing?”
“We have a weekly chat every Sunday. I’m sure they were worried when they didn’t hear from me.”
