“Password” at the top of the page, right next to her account number.
Ditzy broad.
He had to play this right. He had to get his own bag for Mr. O, and he had to clean out this woman’s account before she figured out what he’d done. He held the opportunity of a lifetime in his hand—access to her account and her laptop. One mighty big obstacle lay in his path: he only had about fifteen thou in his bank account. If he suddenly transferred big bucks in, the Feds would be onto him in a flash. He couldn’t get to this broad’s dough without help, and whoever helped him would want a piece. And getting Mr. O’s stuff had to come first. Sammy sighed and shook his head.
He pulled out a pen and lifted a page off the legal pad in Hudson’s bag. From her account statement, he copied her full name, account number, user ID, password, date and balance, as well as the name and address of the broker. He thought for a moment, then made a list of her individual investments as well.
He hadn’t even looked through the second zippered compartment where the laptop was stored. He pulled the top open and felt inside the pockets. In addition to cords and wires, Sammy found Hudson’s cell phone. He could work with that. Thank goodness she didn’t have one of those newfangled contraptions with all their little codes and apps, whatever apps were. He turned on the phone and waited for a signal. Then he called his own cell’s number. The call went to voice mail. Two minutes later, he tried again. Voice mail.
He set the phone on the table in front of him and stared at its nasty little face as he suppressed the urge to slam it across the room. He had to keep his temper under control. He needed that phone. And he didn’t need airport security hauling his ass out of this bar, especially while he possessed the broad’s property and was only a few steps away from transferring her money into his own bank account.
He gulped his drink and signaled the waitress for another by raising his glass in the air and waving it. He pressed redial on the cell phone. Voice mail. The waitress slopped his drink as she set it down, tossed a couple of extra napkins on the table, and hurried away. A muttered stream of obscenities rolled off Sammy’s tongue as he grabbed the napkins and wiped the bottom of his glass. He shoved the wet napkins onto the puddle of watered-down whiskey and stared into space, afraid to let the waitress see how pissed off he was.
He hit redial again. Voice mail. He slammed the phone on the table hard enough to crack the back cover. The bartender glanced his way and moved to the other end of the bar.
The airline announcement blasted from the speaker over his head, and Sammy took the news as though thrown a life jacket. His flight to LAX had been cancelled. The voice instructed passengers to report to the counter at the departure gate to book a new flight. He now had a reason to be in Denver long enough to retrieve his case.
Sammy lumbered to his feet, threw enough money on the table to cover his bar bill, picked up the phone, and hit redial.
C HAPTER 11
----
Denver, Colorado
Wednesday, January 22
Seconds after Lynnette had turned on the cell phone, it found a signal. Before she could access its contact list, the phone rang. She answered.
She listened for a few seconds before trying to interrupt the man’s diatribe.
Blue jiggled Lynnette’s arm and shook her head.
The man on the other end of the phone continued to speak as though he had little interest in anything she had to say. “Your name is Lynnette Hudson, and I know everything about you. If you don’t stay exactly where you are, and protect my case and its contents with your life, I will slice your throat from ear to ear. There is no way you can escape—nowhere to go. I will find you.” His threats became even more graphic until finally Lynnette, pale and breathless, ended the call and turned off the phone.
Everything she had in her case identified her by her maiden
Ditzy broad.
He had to play this right. He had to get his own bag for Mr. O, and he had to clean out this woman’s account before she figured out what he’d done. He held the opportunity of a lifetime in his hand—access to her account and her laptop. One mighty big obstacle lay in his path: he only had about fifteen thou in his bank account. If he suddenly transferred big bucks in, the Feds would be onto him in a flash. He couldn’t get to this broad’s dough without help, and whoever helped him would want a piece. And getting Mr. O’s stuff had to come first. Sammy sighed and shook his head.
He pulled out a pen and lifted a page off the legal pad in Hudson’s bag. From her account statement, he copied her full name, account number, user ID, password, date and balance, as well as the name and address of the broker. He thought for a moment, then made a list of her individual investments as well.
He hadn’t even looked through the second zippered compartment where the laptop was stored. He pulled the top open and felt inside the pockets. In addition to cords and wires, Sammy found Hudson’s cell phone. He could work with that. Thank goodness she didn’t have one of those newfangled contraptions with all their little codes and apps, whatever apps were. He turned on the phone and waited for a signal. Then he called his own cell’s number. The call went to voice mail. Two minutes later, he tried again. Voice mail.
He set the phone on the table in front of him and stared at its nasty little face as he suppressed the urge to slam it across the room. He had to keep his temper under control. He needed that phone. And he didn’t need airport security hauling his ass out of this bar, especially while he possessed the broad’s property and was only a few steps away from transferring her money into his own bank account.
He gulped his drink and signaled the waitress for another by raising his glass in the air and waving it. He pressed redial on the cell phone. Voice mail. The waitress slopped his drink as she set it down, tossed a couple of extra napkins on the table, and hurried away. A muttered stream of obscenities rolled off Sammy’s tongue as he grabbed the napkins and wiped the bottom of his glass. He shoved the wet napkins onto the puddle of watered-down whiskey and stared into space, afraid to let the waitress see how pissed off he was.
He hit redial again. Voice mail. He slammed the phone on the table hard enough to crack the back cover. The bartender glanced his way and moved to the other end of the bar.
The airline announcement blasted from the speaker over his head, and Sammy took the news as though thrown a life jacket. His flight to LAX had been cancelled. The voice instructed passengers to report to the counter at the departure gate to book a new flight. He now had a reason to be in Denver long enough to retrieve his case.
Sammy lumbered to his feet, threw enough money on the table to cover his bar bill, picked up the phone, and hit redial.
C HAPTER 11
----
Denver, Colorado
Wednesday, January 22
Seconds after Lynnette had turned on the cell phone, it found a signal. Before she could access its contact list, the phone rang. She answered.
She listened for a few seconds before trying to interrupt the man’s diatribe.
Blue jiggled Lynnette’s arm and shook her head.
The man on the other end of the phone continued to speak as though he had little interest in anything she had to say. “Your name is Lynnette Hudson, and I know everything about you. If you don’t stay exactly where you are, and protect my case and its contents with your life, I will slice your throat from ear to ear. There is no way you can escape—nowhere to go. I will find you.” His threats became even more graphic until finally Lynnette, pale and breathless, ended the call and turned off the phone.
Everything she had in her case identified her by her maiden
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