Night Lawyers (Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain Page A
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
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swore he’d never tie one on like that again as long as he lived, and checked the web for any updates on local hit-and-runs.
He found nothing.
Maybe he’d hit a pole or a barrier.
He inspected the front end closer and found no foreign paint, remnants of clothing or anything else of use.
Outside the day was nice.
He opened the front door, got a slight breeze filtering through the house and then sat on the front steps with a topped-off cup of coffee. Three houses up, at the end of the street in a dirty turnaround, a woman sat behind the wheel of an older model Mustang, something in the vintage of the mid to late ’60s. Her face was stuck in a magazine and largely hidden under a baseball cap and oversized shades. Still, she looked familiar. Teffinger went inside and silently pulled her in through a pair of Bushnell AutoFocus binoculars.
She was an attractive woman in her late twenties.
He’d definitely seen her around somewhere before.
What was she doing up there?
Occasionally someone parked there and headed off for a hike into the open space. Maybe someone did that and she was waiting for them to return.
Although it was possible, Teffinger’s gut told him otherwise.
She was there because of him.
He exhaled, deciding, then topped off his coffee, filled a second cup, stepped out the front door and walked towards her.
She picked up his movement within the first few steps but didn’t start the vehicle or make an effort to leave. Teffinger went over to her window and handed the cup through.
“I thought you might want this,” he said.
She hesitated, then took it and said, “Thanks.”
Her hair was thick, yellow-blond, long and wavy, almost a ’50s style, very sexy. Ample cleavage peeked out from behind a button-down red blouse. Below that was a short white skirt riding up dangerously high on account of the way she was seated. Tennis-play legs stuck out, defined and tanned.
Teffinger looked around.
“Nice day.”
She took a sip.
“Yes it is.”
“It’s a good day to spy on someone,” he said.
She nodded.
“Every day’s a good day for that.”
“I’ve seen you around town.”
She shrugged.
“That’s inevitable.”
“Why?”
“I think you know.”
“Because you’ve been following me?”
She slipped her sunglasses off.
Her eyes were the sexiest thing Teffinger had ever seen.
“Yes. You were bound to notice sooner or later.”
“And now I have.”
“Right, now you have,” she said.
“So what now?”
She took a sip and said, “This is good coffee.”
“Glad you like it,” he said. “So now that you’re busted, what happens now?”
“Busted?” she said. “Getting spotted is all part of the plan. Everything is on course.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” She drained what was left in the cup and handed it to him. Then she started the engine, slipped the shades down and said, “Got to run.”
Teffinger nodded.
“One question before you leave,” he said. “Why are you following me?”
She smiled.
“I’ll tell you what. If you can spot me again, I’ll answer that question.”
“You promise?”
She blew him a kiss.
“I promise.”
Then she was gone.
Teffinger made a mental note of her license plate number and then made a call when he got back in the house. The plate belonged to one Neverly Cage who lived on the near east side of town, in the 1300 block of Washington.
The vehicle was a 1968.
“Nailed it,” he told himself.
He logged into the department’s database, punched in her name and got nothing.
He drank another cup of coffee and then dialed the handwritten number on the inside of the matchbook, the one for Rain.
The phone rang three times and dumped into a voice mail.
“Hey, it’s me, Nick,” he said. “Give me a call.”
He wasn’t in the mood to play cat and mouse but he wouldn’t have time tomorrow, so he ate a slow bowl of cereal and then hopped in the ’67 and headed for Neverly Cage’s house. The houses had no
He found nothing.
Maybe he’d hit a pole or a barrier.
He inspected the front end closer and found no foreign paint, remnants of clothing or anything else of use.
Outside the day was nice.
He opened the front door, got a slight breeze filtering through the house and then sat on the front steps with a topped-off cup of coffee. Three houses up, at the end of the street in a dirty turnaround, a woman sat behind the wheel of an older model Mustang, something in the vintage of the mid to late ’60s. Her face was stuck in a magazine and largely hidden under a baseball cap and oversized shades. Still, she looked familiar. Teffinger went inside and silently pulled her in through a pair of Bushnell AutoFocus binoculars.
She was an attractive woman in her late twenties.
He’d definitely seen her around somewhere before.
What was she doing up there?
Occasionally someone parked there and headed off for a hike into the open space. Maybe someone did that and she was waiting for them to return.
Although it was possible, Teffinger’s gut told him otherwise.
She was there because of him.
He exhaled, deciding, then topped off his coffee, filled a second cup, stepped out the front door and walked towards her.
She picked up his movement within the first few steps but didn’t start the vehicle or make an effort to leave. Teffinger went over to her window and handed the cup through.
“I thought you might want this,” he said.
She hesitated, then took it and said, “Thanks.”
Her hair was thick, yellow-blond, long and wavy, almost a ’50s style, very sexy. Ample cleavage peeked out from behind a button-down red blouse. Below that was a short white skirt riding up dangerously high on account of the way she was seated. Tennis-play legs stuck out, defined and tanned.
Teffinger looked around.
“Nice day.”
She took a sip.
“Yes it is.”
“It’s a good day to spy on someone,” he said.
She nodded.
“Every day’s a good day for that.”
“I’ve seen you around town.”
She shrugged.
“That’s inevitable.”
“Why?”
“I think you know.”
“Because you’ve been following me?”
She slipped her sunglasses off.
Her eyes were the sexiest thing Teffinger had ever seen.
“Yes. You were bound to notice sooner or later.”
“And now I have.”
“Right, now you have,” she said.
“So what now?”
She took a sip and said, “This is good coffee.”
“Glad you like it,” he said. “So now that you’re busted, what happens now?”
“Busted?” she said. “Getting spotted is all part of the plan. Everything is on course.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” She drained what was left in the cup and handed it to him. Then she started the engine, slipped the shades down and said, “Got to run.”
Teffinger nodded.
“One question before you leave,” he said. “Why are you following me?”
She smiled.
“I’ll tell you what. If you can spot me again, I’ll answer that question.”
“You promise?”
She blew him a kiss.
“I promise.”
Then she was gone.
Teffinger made a mental note of her license plate number and then made a call when he got back in the house. The plate belonged to one Neverly Cage who lived on the near east side of town, in the 1300 block of Washington.
The vehicle was a 1968.
“Nailed it,” he told himself.
He logged into the department’s database, punched in her name and got nothing.
He drank another cup of coffee and then dialed the handwritten number on the inside of the matchbook, the one for Rain.
The phone rang three times and dumped into a voice mail.
“Hey, it’s me, Nick,” he said. “Give me a call.”
He wasn’t in the mood to play cat and mouse but he wouldn’t have time tomorrow, so he ate a slow bowl of cereal and then hopped in the ’67 and headed for Neverly Cage’s house. The houses had no
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