Lawyer Trap by R. J. Jagger

me?”
    He got directions.
    â€œI’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Just hold on.”
    Standing up, he looked at Sydney. “I have to run,” he said. “But here’s what I need you to do. First, get a cadaver dog down at the railroad tracks. If there are any more bodies buried around there, I want to know about it now rather than later. Do that ASAP. It’s starting to cloud up and I’m afraid it’s going to rain.”
    She nodded.
    â€œI was thinking the same thing,” she said.
    â€œYou’re always a step ahead of me,” he said. “Then, in your spare time …”
    She laughed.
    â€œâ€¦ we need to start getting as much background information as we can on Angela Pfeiffer and Tonya Obenchain. Somehow they’re both connected to the person who killed them, and we need to find out what that connection is. Let’s start by getting lists of their friends, work, schools, clubs, vacations, hobbies and whatever else you can think of where they might have overlapped, either with each other or with the same man.”
    Ten seconds later, he trotted past the elevators, ran down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage, and squealed out in his truck. He found Marilyn Black on Colfax, sitting on the sidewalk under a payphone, shaking and disoriented.
    He double-parked the Tundra in the street and ran over.
    Then he picked her up and put her in the vehicle.
    â€œI’m taking you to the emergency room,” he said.
    She looked at him vaguely, then closed her eyes and slumped over.
    He stepped on the gas.
    A half block later, a man stood in the street, waiting to cross. Teffinger recognized him as one of the local drug pushers. Maybe even the one who’d been supplying Marilyn Black. He pointed the truck at him and stepped on the gas even harder.
    The man jumped out of the way at the last second and gave Teffinger the finger.

17
    DAY THREE–SEPTEMBER 7
    WEDNESDAY EVENING
    A s the day progressed, Aspen found herself more and more concerned about the visit this afternoon from senior partner Jacqueline Moore. She kept her lowly associate ass in her chair until six o’clock and then uneventfully walked out of the office and drove home.
    She immediately drank a glass of wine.
    Then she poured another and sipped it as a Lean Pocket heated in the microwave. She ended up on the couch watching the news and trying to figure out if she had already slid too far down a slippery slope.
    She couldn’t afford to get fired.
    Not if she wanted to continue eating.
    She paced, then stopped at the window and looked out. A dark sky threatened rain. She wouldn’t be surprised if it poured like a madman in the next ten minutes.
    The news caught her attention.
    The body of a woman named Tonya Obenchain had been discovered yesterday buried in a shallow grave not more than a hundred feet from the grave of Angela Pfeiffer, who was discovered Sunday afternoon by a homeless man passing through the area. Both women disappeared earlier this spring. It was too early to tell if the same person killed both women, but police weren’t ruling out any theories at this point.
    Interesting.
    The two dead women both disappeared earlier this spring.
    That’s when Rachel vanished too.
    She set the wine down, fired up the computer, and printed out all the newspaper articles she could find on Tonya Obenchain and Angela Pfeiffer.
    Not only did both women disappear earlier this spring, they actually disappeared in early April.
    Even more interesting, Rachel disappeared at that same time.
    The conclusion was inescapable.
    Whoever abducted and killed the two women in the news also abducted Rachel.
    And no doubt killed her too.
    Rachel’s body must be buried somewhere near the other two.
    Aspen grabbed a light jacket and headed to the door.
    â€œScrew you, Jacqueline Moore,” she said, racing down the stairs.
    When she arrived at the old railroad spur, no one was there.