Bad Client (Nick Teffinger Thriller)
Page 27
He ran, all the way through the house and out the front door.
Then he headed for the barn.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Day Seventeen - July 27
Thursday Night
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TEFFINGER KILLED THE ENGINE of the 4Runner on County Road 6, about a hundred feet down from Nathan Wickerfield’s driveway, just as Katie Baxter called from San Francisco.
“Big news,” she said.
He felt the urgency in her voice.
“How big?”
“It turns out that our San Francisco victim had an enemy after all,” she said.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Baxter said. “Apparently she filed claims against one of her professors at Berkeley, alleging sexual harassment and stalking. The guy denied everything, but the school removed him with pay pending an investigation. Then she withdrew the claims contingent upon him never teaching there or anywhere else again. Everyone signed confidentiality agreements, including the school. So the whole thing was buried pretty deep.”
Teffinger scratched his head.
“Very interesting,” he said. “What’s the professor’s name?”
“Someone called Nathan Wickerfield.”
“Did you say Nathan Wickerfield?”
“Yeah, why? Does that ring a bell?”
Before he could answer, gunfire came from the house.
HE JUMPED OUT OF THE CAR, told Rain to call for backup, and ran to the house. He got there just in time to see a man run into a metal building. A woman bolted out of the front door of the house, holding a gun, chasing the man.
Teffinger pointed his gun at her.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Throw down the gun.”
She did.
“Get him!” she screamed. “He’s getting away!”
Teffinger ran into the structure just in time to find a man riding out the other end on a dirt bike.
He looked around.
He spotted a jeep, and a pickup truck.
He ran for the jeep hoping the keys were in the ignition. They were. He fired it up, put it in first gear and took off so fast that he stalled. He started it again and shot out the back of the building. He looked for a red taillight and found none.
“Damn it”
Then he headed into the field, hoping against hope that he was going the right way.
As his headlights bounced up and down they lit a red reflector up ahead.
“Got you,” Teffinger said.
But he didn’t.
The bike was pulling away.
Headlights came from behind him. It must be the woman. She must be in the pickup truck.
Teffinger stepped on the gas and the jeep bucked ferociously and threatened to roll. He realized he never put his seatbelt on and didn’t care.
This was the man—the man who had Denver on its knees, the man who put his hands on Rain.
A METAL BUILDING APPEARED AHEAD in the far distance. The bike headed that way. Teffinger stepped on the gas even harder, desperate to catch up. This time the jeep shot into the air and landed with a violent crash, rolling over.
He flew out and landed on his back with a spine-compressing jolt.
He couldn’t tell up from down.
He felt for his gun and realized it was gone.
Headlights came at him dangerously fast. A vehicle ground to a stop two feet before it ran him over.
“Come on!” someone said.
The voice belonged to a woman.
He opened her door, pushed her into the passenger seat and took off.
“He’s a killer,” she said. “He’s the one terrorizing Denver. His name’s Nathan Wickerfield. Don’t let him get away!”
“I know!”
Teffinger bounced over the terrain as fast as he could without rolling again. They got to the metal shed just as another car was coming out. Teffinger rammed him, their wheels locked and both vehicles flipped.
The pickup landed on the roof. The door wouldn’t open and Teffinger climbed out the window just in time to see the other man run. Teffinger ran as fast as he could and tackled him. They twisted on the ground and pounded each other. Teffinger felt his flesh rip and blood spill out.
Then a gun fired.
Flesh ripped in Teffinger’s thigh.
He’d been shot.
The other man wrestled away.
But Teffinger got him from behind and put him in a headlock. Then he twisted his weight. The man’s neck snapped and he immediately went limp. Teffinger stayed there gasping for breath, and then finally rolled over and concentrated on the pain in his thigh, not knowing if he’d killed the man on purpose or not.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Day Twenty-One - July 31
Monday Morning
_____________
WITH A CUP OF COFFEE IN HAND, Teffinger opened the door of Jackie Jax’s law office and hobbled in with a heavily bandaged right thigh. She was alone in the room, lighting matches and throwing them into an ashtray.
“You need better security,” Teffinger said. “Anyone can just walk in.”
She frowned, fearing the worst.
“I don’t know if you heard,” he said, “but your client Stephen Stepper’s body was found last night. Someone shot him in the heart.”
Jackie tried to look surprised.
“Someone shot Stephen?”
Teffinger nodded.
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t really care. It wasn’t in our jurisdiction so it’s not my problem.”
“That’s so sad,” she said. “Poor Stephen.”
Teffinger cocked his head. “Not really, after what he did to his wife. It’s almost sort of like that armchair justice that you and me were talking about. Whoever did it ought to pat himself, or herself, on the back.”
She had no idea what to say, so she just looked at him and said nothing.
He was draining the last drop of coffee from the cup. She took it from him, walked over to the coffee pot, filled it up and brought it back over
“How’s your sister?” he asked.
“Brooke’s fine. I hear Ashley Conner’s doing good too.”
Teffinger nodded. “We have her in counseling but she’s nineteen. She’ll be painting up a storm by the end of the week. Everyone in the department chipped in and bought her a ton of brand new supplies.”
Jackie smiled.
“She’ll probably end up with a six figure book deal.”
AS AN APPARENT AFTERTHOUGHT Teffinger reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. It was a composite sketch of a woman—Brooke—folded into thirds.
“Thought you might want that,” he said.
She looked at him.
“I found it at Wickerfield’s,” he added. “I didn’t see it as relevant to anything. It was just cluttering up the place.”
“Is this the only copy?” she asked.
He nodded
She hugged him, then put her head on his chest and fought the urge to cry. As he held her she said, “Sorry about the leg.”
He exhaled.
“No big deal. That’s why we have two.”
A few minutes later he shuffled to the door, then turned and said, “Someday maybe you’ll buy me a drink, off the record, and tell me a story.”
She nodded.
“Count on it.”
WHEN HE WALKED OUTSIDE HE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. Rain poured out of the sky. More rain than he had ever seen in his life. Rain twirled around on the sidewalk, her arms stretched out and her face to the sky, totally soaked. He hobbled over and was drenched from head to heels by the time he reached her.
She hugged him.
“It’s raining,” she said.
He looked at the sky.
“Of course it is,” he said. “I just washed the car.”
“My real name’s Amanda Kathleen Jones,” she said. “So now you know who to investigate to find out about m
y past.”
Teffinger cocked his head.
“I like the name Rain better,” he said. “Let’s just stick with that.”
“I killed a man,” she said. “But he had it coming. I’d do it again in the same circumstances.” A week ago Teffinger wouldn’t have understood that concept as well as he did today. “It happened in England,” she added. “I had to tell you, to be fair. It wasn’t right of me to keep it from you any longer. So now you know. If you want me gone I don’t blame you, not a bit.”
He kissed her and said, “I can’t believe it’s actually raining.”
Rain.
Every book by R.J. Jagger is a standalone thriller.
Read them in any order.
Nick Teffinger Thrillers
Witness Chase
Bad Client
Lawyer Trap
Pretty Little Lawyer
Attorney’s Run
Never Dead
Client Trap
Ancient Prey
Dead in Hong Kong
A Twist of Sin
Reverse Run
Lawyer Kill
Bryson Wilde Thrillers
The Scroll Lawyers
The Shadow File
A Way With Murder
Decker Trance Thrillers
Alley Lawyer
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Chapter One
Day One—May 5
Monday Morning
______________
THIRD-YEAR LAW STUDENT PAIGE DEVEREX was at a scratched wooden desk in the belly of the college, knee deep in editing Professor Miller’s insanely dull Law Review article, when her cell phone rang. She circled a sentence, wrote “repetitive” in red ink, and looked at the incoming number. Her phone didn’t recognize it. She drained what was left in her coffee cup, almost tossed the phone back in her purse but answered instead.
A man’s voice came through, one she didn’t recognize, muffled as if filtered through a scrambler.
Very weird.
“I have a very simple proposition for you,” the man said. “A woman is in the process of dying as we speak. I’m going to give you the opportunity to save her—correction, possibly save her. I’m giving this opportunity to you and you alone. No one else in the universe gets this phone call. You’re the chosen one. So the question I have for you is very simple. Do you want to try to save her? If you do, then she has a chance. If you don’t, then she doesn’t. It’s that simple. It’s that black and white. You’re her god. How’s it feel?”
Paige brought her 24-year-old body to a standing position and pushed long blond hair out of her face.
The chair squeaked.
“Who is this?”
The man laughed. “No time for chitchat,” he said. “Just tell me if you’re going to do this or not.”
She picked up a pencil and snapped it in two, pissed that someone had just stolen two minutes of her life and she let him.
“Look,” she said, “I don’t know which one of my soon-to-be-ex friends put you up to this, but go back and tell them it wasn’t funny and I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for it.”
TEN SECONDS AFTER SHE HUNG UP HE CALLED BACK. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said. “You think this is a joke? This is as far from a joke as you could ever get.”
Even through the scrambler he sounded serious.
“If you’re going to do this then you need to tell me right here, right now. If you’re not then that’s fine too. But if you don’t, then the woman dies, make no mistake about that. Nice guy that I am, I’ll even call you after the fact and tell you who she was.”
“Tell me now,” she said. “Let me verify that someone’s missing. If it turns out to be true then count me in.”
The man chuckled.
“You’re going to be a lot of fun, you really are. But right now your time’s up. Give me your answer. But before you do, remember one last time, you’re her only hope. She has no one else. Only you.”
Paige bit her lower lip and paced.
She couldn’t say yes.
But she couldn’t say no, just in case this was actually real.
She needed time.
“What happens if I say okay?” she asked.
“Good girl,” the man said. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Be at the public parking lot at the corner of Broadway and 20th tonight at eight o’clock. Have your cell phone with you. Find a place to park and then sit in your car until I call.”
“Broadway and 20th —”
“Right. Eight o’clock sharp. And here’s the most important part—don’t tell anyone a single thing, don’t bring anyone, don’t do anything stupid, and above all, don’t call the police. If you do, I’ll know. I can always tell. Then all bets are off. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I hope so. I really do.”
“What if I don’t show up?”
The line went dead.
THAT EVENING SHE DROVE INTO DENVER a half hour early, still not sure whether she would pull into the parking lot or drive past.
All afternoon she kept her mouth shut and didn’t say a word to anyone.
Instead she went to classes and hung out in the Law Review as if everything was normal. Now, in hindsight, she realized how incredibly stupid that had been.
The guy could be luring her to her own death. At a minimum she should have typed out an explanation and set it on her desk in case she never returned.
Too late now.
She circled around the side streets while a nasty rain fell out of an ominous sky. The storm grew even louder as she surprised herself by pulling the junk-heap-of-a-car into the parking lot and killing the engine.
Lightning crackled and twitched overhead.
He was watching her.
She could feel his eyes.
But he wouldn’t be able to see the Taurus .357Mag revolver sitting in the passenger seat under a towel, fully loaded with the safety off—just in case. She slid her hand under the cloth and fingered the cold steel of the weapon.
It felt as she remembered it.
She wasn’t sure if it made her feel secure or more nervous.
She’d shot it plenty after she got it for her fifteenth birthday; all the way through high school in fact, but hardly at all after she started college.
Better to have it than not.
Still, she wouldn’t be totally helpless without it.
She was stronger than she looked. At five-feet-four and in baggy clothes she didn’t appear threatening, especially because of her easy white smile and pleasant tanned face. But underneath it all she had a sprinter’s thighs, good lungs and a hard stomach.
And she knew how to wrestle.
Growing up, on Saturday nights when her parents went out to the movies, her older brother would have his wrestling team buddies over. Out in the backyard they let her hang out with them and then, after they drank enough beer, they’d show her moves on the grass, mostly to get an excuse to pin her down and tickle her to death.
She knew that.
But still, she learned.
Suddenly her cell phone rang.
“THERE’S A HUMMER PARKED about six cars down from yours,” the man said. “In front of that Hummer there’s a yellow post. Sitting on top of that post is a key. Go get that key and then come back to your car.”
“You said before that you chose me,” she said. “How did you do that? I mean, why me?”
“Just shut up and get the key,” the man said.
“Do we know each other?” she asked.
The line went dead.
Not good.
She opened the door, stepped into the storm and looked for the Hummer. There it was, right where he said. The rain beat down with a fury and had her drenched by the time she got to the key. She grabbed it and ran back to the car as fast as her legs would take her. Then she slammed the door, wiped the water out of her eyes and waited for him to call.
; He didn’t.
Come on.
I did what you said.
Minute after minute passed.
Her ponytail dripped water down her back and she didn’t care.
Then he called.
“Don’t ever screw with me again,” he said. “Do you understand?”
She moved her hand over until it touched the gun.
“Yes.”
“I sure hope so,” he said. "Are you ready for your instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Listen carefully because I’m only going to say them once,” the man said. “The woman you’re going to go to is in a railroad car—a boxcar to be precise—in an abandoned industrial area on the north edge of the city. I’ll give you directions in a minute. The door to the car is shut but not locked. You’ll have to struggle a little but you’ll be able to get it open. The woman is chained inside. She has a steel collar around her neck. That collar is secured by a padlock. The key that you have in your hand fits that padlock. If she’s still alive all you have to do is unlock her and then drop her off somewhere where she’ll be found, on the side of a street or something. Don’t ask her name or ever try to contact her afterwards. And above all don’t ever tell anyone about any of this. That’s all there is to it. Do you think you can do it?”
She did.
No problem.
“There’s one small thing you should know about,” he said. “I put her in there three days ago. I told her I’d never come back which, by the way, is technically true. I left her with only two things, a bottle of water and a razorblade. She definitely used the water by now. Whether she used the razorblade, I have no idea. But she might have, so you need to be prepared for that. In fact, to tell you the truth, most of ’em don’t last three days.”
A chill ran up Paige’s spine and into her brain.
“Give me directions,” she said.
You sick freak.
Chapter Two
Day One—May 5
Monday Evening
______________