The Deepest Wound (Jack Murphy Thriller #3) - Rick Reed Page 0,61
coffee. When he finished the call, he spotted Book at a patio table in front of Tacos To Go. Two young ladies sitting in the front window of The Yogurt Shack had his full attention, sucking on sodas, casting furtive glances at Book and giggling behind their hands.
“They been watching me since I set down,” Book said.
Clint checked the ladies out. They were about fourteen. Book liked young girls; they were always good for some fun. But they wouldn’t be good for much else when Book was through with them.
“What did the boss say?” Book asked.
“I told her Murphy and his partner were on television,” Clint said. “She already knew. She said the client was nervous.”
“The client is nervous?” Book asked.
“Yeah. Nervous. The police found the bodies in the creek,” Clint said.
Book sipped his coffee. “So we’re done. It’s over.”
Clint shook his head. “She wants us to stay. Gave me addresses for the two cops. Wants us to stick close to them.”
Book cast one last glance toward the girls and let out a deep sigh. “Does she want us to kill the cops?”
“She didn’t say.”
“So how we gonna know what to do? We can’t be calling her every five minutes,” Book said.
“I took care of that. I bought a disposable cell phone at Radio Shack. We can use that instead of a pay phone. I gave her the number so she can call us,” Clint said.
“We never needed a cell phone before. This should be over by now.”
Back at their car, Book asked, “I wonder who the client is? I mean, why is he so important?”
Clint was wondering the same thing. “Maybe she wants us here in case the client needs to be whacked?”
“That’d be okay with me. I say let’s get it done with.”
They walked to the van and Clint’s pocket started vibrating. He looked at the screen and the caller was blocked. “Hello.”
“Rush job,” the feminine voice said. “Write this address down.”
Clint dug in his pockets for a pen and Book gave him a scrap of paper. He listened and wrote, and then disconnected the call.
“What?” Book asked.
He showed the slip of paper to Book, saying, “We go to this address and recover a computer flash drive. Murphy and his partner are there with some girl. The girl has the drive. The boss says it’s a priority.”
Book slammed a fist into his palm. “About time.”
They arrived twenty minutes later at the two-story colonial set at the end of a cul-de-sac. The lawn was perfect and the railed porch had huge wooden flower boxes full of flowering vines. From what the boss told him the house belonged to Murphy’s ex-wife. Women were always decorating, Clint thought. It was in their DNA.
He spotted Murphy’s Crown Vic in the driveway, and picked a surveillance spot under a huge oak tree whose limbs hung precariously out over the street. He was positioned at a cross street so as to not attract attention if they had to follow the detective. The van was almost invisible in the dark.
“So what’s the plan?” Book asked.
“The plan is we wait until he splits. Then we go in and mess with them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Thanks for coming to talk to her,” Katie said.
“She’s hardheaded. I want you to know that I didn’t intend for her to get involved in any of this.”
She gave Jack a hug and a peck on the cheek—something she hadn’t done for a while. It felt both affectionate and strictly arm’s-length at the same time. “She’s my sister. I know how she is.”
“Okay, I’ll get him out of here,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Liddell, “before he gets hungry again.”
Moira appeared in the doorway. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I really didn’t know what to do.”
Jack patted his pocket. “Thank you for saving this for me,” he said. “I’ll give it to you first thing in the morning and you can turn it over to Eric. Have you thought of an excuse for lying to him?”
She feigned a hurt look and said, “I’m an attorney, Jack. I don’t lie. I just tell the truth the way it’s most convenient.”
Jack shook his head. When Trent Wethington found out she’d taken evidence out of the office, she might not have a job.
CHAPTER FORTY
Jack pulled in behind police headquarters and parked next to Liddell’s unmarked police car. “Is this close enough for your poor tired feet and your growing waistline?”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” Liddell said, and winked.