Читать книгу Strike Zone - Dale Brown - Страница 22

Mack Smith was headed toward his base quarters after a game of tennis when he spotted Colonel Cortend heading toward her SUV, trailed by her flock of lackeys. He’d had a good session, demolishing a maintenance officer in straight sets. While Mack had played masterfully, his victory had taken a few minutes too long – he’d just missed inviting the women on the court next to him to dinner.

Their loss, obviously.

Cortend turned in his direction as he approached. Ordinarily he liked his women a little shorter, but she was definitely worth the climb.

‘Hello, Colonel,’ he said. ‘How goes the hunt?’

Cortend stopped. Her brown eyes focused on him with all the intensity of a Sidewinder homing in on a hot tailpipe.

‘You are?’

‘Smith – Mack. Remember? Hey, my friends call me Knife.’

She’d do for dinner.

‘You like Vegas?’ he asked.

‘Las Vegas?’

‘City of sin. Listen, I’m just on my way to hit a shower, then I’m going to split for dinner in the capital of sin. Come on with me and I’ll show you around. I know some clubs that’ll blow you away. The food is fantastic. You like to gamble?’

‘Mack Smith,’ said Cortend. She pronounced each consonant in his name.

‘That’s me. Call me Knife. Kind of a nickname.’

She turned to one of her captains. ‘Is he on the list?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘In the truck, Smith. We have some questions for you.’

Mack laughed. Cortend didn’t.

‘Yeah, well, maybe another time,’ he said, shaking his head. But as he took a step toward the building, he found two of the lackeys blocking his way. At the same time, two of the security men got out of one of the SUVs.

‘What’s the story here, sugar?’ Mack said.

Cortend walked over to Mack. They were about the same height – but suddenly Cortend seemed to tower over him.

‘The story, sugar, is that I have some questions for you to answer, and you will answer them now. Got it?’

‘But I’m kind of busy.’

‘You’re refusing to cooperate on a purely voluntary basis?’

The way she said the words made it clear to Mack that talking with her was about as voluntary as income tax. Still, he wasn’t going to let some good-looking but hard-ass colonel screw up his night off.

‘I wanted to take a shower,’ he said.

‘I doubt it will make you smell any better,’ said Cortend, heading back toward her vehicle.