Read Online Attorney's Run (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
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for her seeing something she shouldn’t, I can’t think of a good way to ferret that out.”
Venta tried to think of a way and couldn’t.
“Unless she was blackmailing someone,” he added. “But we haven’t found any tangible evidence to suggest that.”
“No big deposits into her bank account, no new cars, nothing like that?” Venta asked.
“Nada,” he said.
“Was she out shopping for anything expensive?”
“Same thing,” he said. “Not that we know of.”
“Weird.”
“She might be pregnant,” he added. “If she is, maybe some rich married guy is responsible and doesn’t want the wife to find out, much less pay child support. But again, that’s just a theory. We have no evidence.”
He studied the sunset as the last of the color disappeared.
Then Venta said, “I have another thought.”
Suddenly Teffinger’s cell phone rang.
IT TURNED OUT TO BE DR. LEANNE SANDERS, the FBI profiler from Quantico, Virginia. He pulled up an image of a classy woman, about fifty, with shapely step-master legs. The kind of legs on the covers of noir crime books, the kind of legs men killed for.
“I’m heading to Denver,” she said. “I thought it only fair to warn you.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
She exhaled.
“It’s a long story and I’ll fill you in when I get there,” she said. “In a nutshell, INTERPOL has their sights on a Frenchman named Jean-Paul Boudiette. He’s headed to Denver and so am I.”
HE HUNG UP, looked at Venta and said, “Sorry for the interruption. You were telling me that you had another thought.”
She nodded.
“Two thoughts, actually,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“Your whole premise about Tessa Blake may be wrong,” she said. “You’re looking for someone with a motive to harm her.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, maybe she isn’t the target at all,” Venta said. “Maybe she’s just a pawn to get someone else to do something.”
“What do you mean? That she’s being held for ransom or something?”
“Right, something like that. She’s not the end, she’s the means to the end.”
Teffinger was impressed, very impressed, and said so.
“Then you’re really going to like my second thought,” Venta said.
“Which is what?”
“Which is this.” She stood up, pulled her T-shirt over her head, unfastened her bra and tossed it behind her. The tiny bit of light that was left from the sunset landed on her breasts and stomach and arms with a warm golden patina.
She ran her hands through her hair.
Teffinger swallowed.
He had never seen such a perfect body.
Well, that wasn’t true.
He had; but he had never wanted a woman so badly.
That was true.
She took a long sip of wine—no, not a sip, a drink—and then set the cup to the side and straddled him. Her weight felt so incredibly perfect, so very right.
And when she brought her mouth to his, and held her lips an inch away, so teasingly, her essence filled the universe.
There was nothing else.
Only her.
19
Day Four—June 14
Thursday Morning
THURSDAY MORNING, WITH THE EXHILERANCE of yesterday’s successful climb still flowing through his veins, Jekker let Tessa Blake use the facilities, fed her, gave her a sedative and waited until it took effect. Then he carried her into the boxcar, chained her left ankle to the inside just for good measure, locked the door from the outside, and pointed the Audi out of the mountains towards the Denver skyline.
He bought a cup of leaded at Starbucks and sipped it on the way back to his LoDo loft.
The Rocky Mountain News reported a short article about the death of Samantha Rickenbacker and the disappearance of Tessa Blake on Tuesday night.
Photographs of both women were provided.
He hadn’t gotten a very good look at the surprise woman—Samantha Rickenbacker—on the night in question.
She was pretty.
Too bad she made him kill her.
The coffee pot gurgled with the unmistakable sound of the last drops of water falling into the pot. He filled
Venta tried to think of a way and couldn’t.
“Unless she was blackmailing someone,” he added. “But we haven’t found any tangible evidence to suggest that.”
“No big deposits into her bank account, no new cars, nothing like that?” Venta asked.
“Nada,” he said.
“Was she out shopping for anything expensive?”
“Same thing,” he said. “Not that we know of.”
“Weird.”
“She might be pregnant,” he added. “If she is, maybe some rich married guy is responsible and doesn’t want the wife to find out, much less pay child support. But again, that’s just a theory. We have no evidence.”
He studied the sunset as the last of the color disappeared.
Then Venta said, “I have another thought.”
Suddenly Teffinger’s cell phone rang.
IT TURNED OUT TO BE DR. LEANNE SANDERS, the FBI profiler from Quantico, Virginia. He pulled up an image of a classy woman, about fifty, with shapely step-master legs. The kind of legs on the covers of noir crime books, the kind of legs men killed for.
“I’m heading to Denver,” she said. “I thought it only fair to warn you.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
She exhaled.
“It’s a long story and I’ll fill you in when I get there,” she said. “In a nutshell, INTERPOL has their sights on a Frenchman named Jean-Paul Boudiette. He’s headed to Denver and so am I.”
HE HUNG UP, looked at Venta and said, “Sorry for the interruption. You were telling me that you had another thought.”
She nodded.
“Two thoughts, actually,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“Your whole premise about Tessa Blake may be wrong,” she said. “You’re looking for someone with a motive to harm her.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, maybe she isn’t the target at all,” Venta said. “Maybe she’s just a pawn to get someone else to do something.”
“What do you mean? That she’s being held for ransom or something?”
“Right, something like that. She’s not the end, she’s the means to the end.”
Teffinger was impressed, very impressed, and said so.
“Then you’re really going to like my second thought,” Venta said.
“Which is what?”
“Which is this.” She stood up, pulled her T-shirt over her head, unfastened her bra and tossed it behind her. The tiny bit of light that was left from the sunset landed on her breasts and stomach and arms with a warm golden patina.
She ran her hands through her hair.
Teffinger swallowed.
He had never seen such a perfect body.
Well, that wasn’t true.
He had; but he had never wanted a woman so badly.
That was true.
She took a long sip of wine—no, not a sip, a drink—and then set the cup to the side and straddled him. Her weight felt so incredibly perfect, so very right.
And when she brought her mouth to his, and held her lips an inch away, so teasingly, her essence filled the universe.
There was nothing else.
Only her.
19
Day Four—June 14
Thursday Morning
THURSDAY MORNING, WITH THE EXHILERANCE of yesterday’s successful climb still flowing through his veins, Jekker let Tessa Blake use the facilities, fed her, gave her a sedative and waited until it took effect. Then he carried her into the boxcar, chained her left ankle to the inside just for good measure, locked the door from the outside, and pointed the Audi out of the mountains towards the Denver skyline.
He bought a cup of leaded at Starbucks and sipped it on the way back to his LoDo loft.
The Rocky Mountain News reported a short article about the death of Samantha Rickenbacker and the disappearance of Tessa Blake on Tuesday night.
Photographs of both women were provided.
He hadn’t gotten a very good look at the surprise woman—Samantha Rickenbacker—on the night in question.
She was pretty.
Too bad she made him kill her.
The coffee pot gurgled with the unmistakable sound of the last drops of water falling into the pot. He filled
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