own batteries.
Pricey bastards.
But it all goes on the client’s tab.
One of the expensive bugs would work for Jill’s phone. He popped out the old battery, put in the new and improved one, and opened up a special computer. He booted it up, checked the readout, and saw that the locater was hot. He muttered into the phone, checked that the bug was working just fine, and decided it was good to go. Unless she kept the phone five feet from her at all times, he doubted that he’d overhear much, but the voice-activated bug was part of the only locater/battery setup that fit her old sat phone.
If she’s smart and bolts, then my client wasted some money. No problemo. Clients are made of the green stuff.
If she goes after the paintings, she’ll give me the GPS coordinates.
In all, it would be more reliable and a whole lot less dangerous than beating the truth out of her.
He replaced all the suitcases in their niches, stashed the phone in his jacket, and went back to the little SUV. Just to be certain Ms. Breck hadn’t hidden anything, he took out the SUV’s overhead light and ripped up the seats with the machete.
Nothing.
More nothing under the spare tire, which he took bites out of with the machete.
He almost punched holes in the motor oil cans on the passenger side, but decided he didn’t want to drip all the way back to his van.
Where are the paintings?
She didn’t take them inside with her. Even rolled up, they wouldn’t have fit in that little belly bag she wore.
And the fitted jacket she wore over her jeans didn’t leave room for anything but the body beneath. Not a great rack, but she had a nice way of moving.
He checked the guard—still sucking on coffee. Moving quickly but not in a way that would attract attention, he went back to his van for a few more items, then returned to work on the SUV.
Stage setting. Jesus. I shoulda been a producer.
Even as he worked, he kept an eye on the parking lot. If the clever Ms. Breck decided to come out before he was done, well, shit happened.
And he had a load with her name all over it.
12
EUREKA HOTEL, NEVADA
SEPTEMBER 13
11:00 P.M.
J ill forced herself not to reach for the room phone and call the desk again. They were as tired of telling her that she had no messages as she was of hearing it. She’d used pay-per-view to see a recent movie that interested her, lost a few bucks and gotten her hands grimy playing the penny slots, ordered another hamburger, and finally returned to her room after three hours of perching on the deliberately uncomfortable stools in front of the cheap slot machines.
I should have brought my dirty clothes. Bet there’s a laundry somewhere in the hotel. Then the trip wouldn’t have been a total waste of time, money, and gas.
She watched the bedside clock crawl through a few more minutes. How bad could connections be between east Texas and Nevada? Was Blanchard hitchhiking?
She paced and then paced some more. After the physical activity of the river, her body wasn’t used to hanging out in smoky rooms.
Screw this. I’m going for a walk.
She grabbed her jacket and the belly pack that doubled as her purse and headed for the elevator. Ignoring the relentless mechanical yammering of the slot machines in the casino, she strode toward the front doors.
After the air in the hotel, the wind was like diving into cold rushing water. For the freshness, she’d live with the flying grit. She paced the front of the hotel several times, wishing she was doing something useful.
Check the oil in your SUV. That’s useful. Then you won’t have to do it at dawn tomorrow, when you leave this place.
On the subject of oil, her vehicle could only be described as greedy. It had a quart-a-day habit.
Check the tires while you’re at it.
Give the SUV a wax job.
Do something besides fidget.
She dodged a latecomer hurrying to the check-in, crossed the driveway to the parking lot, and headed for her aging SUV. The lot was partially full.
Pricey bastards.
But it all goes on the client’s tab.
One of the expensive bugs would work for Jill’s phone. He popped out the old battery, put in the new and improved one, and opened up a special computer. He booted it up, checked the readout, and saw that the locater was hot. He muttered into the phone, checked that the bug was working just fine, and decided it was good to go. Unless she kept the phone five feet from her at all times, he doubted that he’d overhear much, but the voice-activated bug was part of the only locater/battery setup that fit her old sat phone.
If she’s smart and bolts, then my client wasted some money. No problemo. Clients are made of the green stuff.
If she goes after the paintings, she’ll give me the GPS coordinates.
In all, it would be more reliable and a whole lot less dangerous than beating the truth out of her.
He replaced all the suitcases in their niches, stashed the phone in his jacket, and went back to the little SUV. Just to be certain Ms. Breck hadn’t hidden anything, he took out the SUV’s overhead light and ripped up the seats with the machete.
Nothing.
More nothing under the spare tire, which he took bites out of with the machete.
He almost punched holes in the motor oil cans on the passenger side, but decided he didn’t want to drip all the way back to his van.
Where are the paintings?
She didn’t take them inside with her. Even rolled up, they wouldn’t have fit in that little belly bag she wore.
And the fitted jacket she wore over her jeans didn’t leave room for anything but the body beneath. Not a great rack, but she had a nice way of moving.
He checked the guard—still sucking on coffee. Moving quickly but not in a way that would attract attention, he went back to his van for a few more items, then returned to work on the SUV.
Stage setting. Jesus. I shoulda been a producer.
Even as he worked, he kept an eye on the parking lot. If the clever Ms. Breck decided to come out before he was done, well, shit happened.
And he had a load with her name all over it.
12
EUREKA HOTEL, NEVADA
SEPTEMBER 13
11:00 P.M.
J ill forced herself not to reach for the room phone and call the desk again. They were as tired of telling her that she had no messages as she was of hearing it. She’d used pay-per-view to see a recent movie that interested her, lost a few bucks and gotten her hands grimy playing the penny slots, ordered another hamburger, and finally returned to her room after three hours of perching on the deliberately uncomfortable stools in front of the cheap slot machines.
I should have brought my dirty clothes. Bet there’s a laundry somewhere in the hotel. Then the trip wouldn’t have been a total waste of time, money, and gas.
She watched the bedside clock crawl through a few more minutes. How bad could connections be between east Texas and Nevada? Was Blanchard hitchhiking?
She paced and then paced some more. After the physical activity of the river, her body wasn’t used to hanging out in smoky rooms.
Screw this. I’m going for a walk.
She grabbed her jacket and the belly pack that doubled as her purse and headed for the elevator. Ignoring the relentless mechanical yammering of the slot machines in the casino, she strode toward the front doors.
After the air in the hotel, the wind was like diving into cold rushing water. For the freshness, she’d live with the flying grit. She paced the front of the hotel several times, wishing she was doing something useful.
Check the oil in your SUV. That’s useful. Then you won’t have to do it at dawn tomorrow, when you leave this place.
On the subject of oil, her vehicle could only be described as greedy. It had a quart-a-day habit.
Check the tires while you’re at it.
Give the SUV a wax job.
Do something besides fidget.
She dodged a latecomer hurrying to the check-in, crossed the driveway to the parking lot, and headed for her aging SUV. The lot was partially full.
Similar Books
