Attorney's Run (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
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later she paused for a heartbeat, looked up, and said, “My name’s Bethany.”
As soon as she said it he remembered.
“I know that,” he said.
She paused again.
“Sorry,” she said, “I think I forgot yours.”
“Dylan.”
“Glad to meet you, Dylan.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, after throwing Bethany on her back and giving her the most intense oral attack of her life, he took a cab to the strip club to pick up the Audi, only to discover something weird.
The Audi wasn’t there.
Maybe his memory was flawed, so he had the cabbie crisscross the area for a three-block radius. When it failed to appear he had the driver drop him off at the loft downtown.
A call to the impound lot told him that the vehicle hadn’t been towed, meaning it must have been stolen. That didn’t surprise him, given the neighborhood. He was actually in the process of calling the police to report it missing when he remembered something, something bad, something worse than bad.
The envelope was under the front seat, the envelope with the pictures of Tessa Blake inside.
His name and address were on the registration in the glove box; on the insurance card too.
Damn it!
He stormed out of the loft, took a cab to Enterprise, rented a 4-door Nissan sedan, and drove into the mountains to the boxcars. When he got there, a car that he didn’t recognize sat in the road in front of the gate, a car with no signs of life inside. Whoever had been driving it must have continued on foot.
He got out of the rental, slammed the door and huffed up the road, one foot in front of the other, as the little hammers pounded inside his brain.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
29
Day Five—June 15
Friday Morning
LONDON HOPPED OFF THE TREK, chained it to a tree and walked inside the Starbucks. She spotted Venta at a corner table looking better than a human being had a right to, with two cups of coffee, meaning one was for London. She hugged the woman, momentarily noted that her breasts were too firm to be real and too soft to be fake, and then got right to the point.
“I got up early and worked the phone,” she said. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“The good,” Venta said.
“Okay,” she said. “Our Florida P.I., Rebecca Vampire, who disappeared out of the country, actually disappeared while she was on some kind of assignment in Bangkok.”
Venta slapped her hand on the table.
“I knew it!”
Then she stood up and danced.
Every man in the place watched, transfixed.
After Venta sat down, London put a serious look on her face and said, “That’s the end of the good news.”
Venta didn’t care.
“The end?” she asked. “What more could we possibly need?”
“Lots,” London said. “I haven’t been able to uncover anything to suggest that she was working for a law firm, much less for Vesper & Bennett. Also, no one I talked to recognized the name Bob Copeland. And unlike what happened to you, neither her office nor her house were ransacked.”
“That doesn’t mean someone didn’t slip a file out of a drawer,” Venta said.
“Maybe, but that’s speculation,” London said. “Don’t get me wrong, just the fact that the woman disappeared in Bangkok is enough to convince me that the same exact thing happened to her that happened to you. As far as a court of law goes, however, it’s a whole different story. We’ll need a lot more connections before the court will admit any of it into evidence. Right now, from an evidentiary point of view, the fact that the woman is a P.I., and disappeared while in Bangkok, is nothing more than an irrelevant coincidence.”
Venta was undaunted.
“She’s also hot.”
London nodded.
“Okay, that too,” she said.
“So what do we need?”
“We need to tie her to Vesper & Bennett,” London said. “If we can do that, then we’ll have something.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“How?”
“By taking a road trip.”
“You mean to Miami?”
Venta nodded. “That’s exactly what
As soon as she said it he remembered.
“I know that,” he said.
She paused again.
“Sorry,” she said, “I think I forgot yours.”
“Dylan.”
“Glad to meet you, Dylan.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, after throwing Bethany on her back and giving her the most intense oral attack of her life, he took a cab to the strip club to pick up the Audi, only to discover something weird.
The Audi wasn’t there.
Maybe his memory was flawed, so he had the cabbie crisscross the area for a three-block radius. When it failed to appear he had the driver drop him off at the loft downtown.
A call to the impound lot told him that the vehicle hadn’t been towed, meaning it must have been stolen. That didn’t surprise him, given the neighborhood. He was actually in the process of calling the police to report it missing when he remembered something, something bad, something worse than bad.
The envelope was under the front seat, the envelope with the pictures of Tessa Blake inside.
His name and address were on the registration in the glove box; on the insurance card too.
Damn it!
He stormed out of the loft, took a cab to Enterprise, rented a 4-door Nissan sedan, and drove into the mountains to the boxcars. When he got there, a car that he didn’t recognize sat in the road in front of the gate, a car with no signs of life inside. Whoever had been driving it must have continued on foot.
He got out of the rental, slammed the door and huffed up the road, one foot in front of the other, as the little hammers pounded inside his brain.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
29
Day Five—June 15
Friday Morning
LONDON HOPPED OFF THE TREK, chained it to a tree and walked inside the Starbucks. She spotted Venta at a corner table looking better than a human being had a right to, with two cups of coffee, meaning one was for London. She hugged the woman, momentarily noted that her breasts were too firm to be real and too soft to be fake, and then got right to the point.
“I got up early and worked the phone,” she said. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“The good,” Venta said.
“Okay,” she said. “Our Florida P.I., Rebecca Vampire, who disappeared out of the country, actually disappeared while she was on some kind of assignment in Bangkok.”
Venta slapped her hand on the table.
“I knew it!”
Then she stood up and danced.
Every man in the place watched, transfixed.
After Venta sat down, London put a serious look on her face and said, “That’s the end of the good news.”
Venta didn’t care.
“The end?” she asked. “What more could we possibly need?”
“Lots,” London said. “I haven’t been able to uncover anything to suggest that she was working for a law firm, much less for Vesper & Bennett. Also, no one I talked to recognized the name Bob Copeland. And unlike what happened to you, neither her office nor her house were ransacked.”
“That doesn’t mean someone didn’t slip a file out of a drawer,” Venta said.
“Maybe, but that’s speculation,” London said. “Don’t get me wrong, just the fact that the woman disappeared in Bangkok is enough to convince me that the same exact thing happened to her that happened to you. As far as a court of law goes, however, it’s a whole different story. We’ll need a lot more connections before the court will admit any of it into evidence. Right now, from an evidentiary point of view, the fact that the woman is a P.I., and disappeared while in Bangkok, is nothing more than an irrelevant coincidence.”
Venta was undaunted.
“She’s also hot.”
London nodded.
“Okay, that too,” she said.
“So what do we need?”
“We need to tie her to Vesper & Bennett,” London said. “If we can do that, then we’ll have something.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“How?”
“By taking a road trip.”
“You mean to Miami?”
Venta nodded. “That’s exactly what
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