Confidential Prey (Nick Teffinger Thriller)

BOOK: Confidential Prey (Nick Teffinger Thriller)
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Confidential

Prey

 

R.J. JAGGER

Praise for the thrillers of

R.J. JAGGER

 

“The pacing is relentless
in this debut, a hard-boiled novel with a shocking ending…  The supershort chapters will please those who enjoy a James Patte
r
son-style page-turner.

Library Journal

 

“The well-crafted storyline makes this a worthwhile read. Stuffed with gratuitous sex and over-the-top violence, this novel has a riveting plot …”

Kirkus Reviews

 

“A terrifying, gripping cross between James Patterson and John Grisham. Jagger has created a truly killer thriller.”

J.A. Konrath

 

“Creative and captivating. It features bold characters, witty dialogue, exotic locations, and non-stop action. The pacing is spot-on, a solid combination of i
n
trigue, suspense and eroticism. A first-rate thriller, this book is damnably hard to put down. It’s a tr
e
mendous read.”

ForeWord Magazine

 

“Verdict: This fast paced book offers fans of commercial thrillers a twisty, action-packed thrill ride.”

Library Journal

 

“Part of what makes this thriller thrilling is that you sense there to be connections between all the various subplots. The anticipation of their coming together keeps the pages turning.”

Booklist

Every book by R.J. Jagger is a standalone thriller.

R
ead
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

Kill Theory

Attorney Prey

Confidential Prey

 

Bryson Wilde Thrillers

 

The Scroll Lawyers

The Shadow File

A Way With Murder

Copyright © 2012 R.J. Jagger

 

ISBN 13: 978-1-937888-26-8

 

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, businesses, companies, entities, places and events in this book are fictitious
or are used fictitiously
. Any similarity to real persons (living or dead), businesses, companies, entities, places or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

 

Published b
y

Thriller Publishing Group, Inc.

An Imprint of Dark Sky Publishing, Inc.

Golden, CO 80401

 

Printed in the USA

1

Day One

August 3

Wednesday Night

 

A wicked storm
fell out of an evil night sky
. Nick Teffinger, the 34-year-old head of Denver’s homicide unit, was in the thick of it
with the Tundra’s wipers swishing back and forth
to a demonic beat
. From the radio Mick was screaming that he couldn’t get no satisfaction and Teffinger was screaming right along with him.


Cause I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried …

Traffic was minimal.

A woman appeared up ahead at the side of the road, hunched against the weather. Her thumb came out; she was trying to get a ride. Teffinger edged over and powered down the passenger window.

The woman was in her early thirties with dark exotic features. Heavy drenched clothes clung to her body.

Her chest was ample.

She wore no bra.

Her face was
serious
.

Teffinger unlocked the door and said, “Get in.”

She did.

“Thanks, mister.”

Her voice was timid and laced with stress.

“Where you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“Sure if you’re going to Seattle
.”

Her name was Atasha and her story was simple. She and her boyfriend were passing through Colorado on their way from New York to Seattle. Two hours ago they had a fight, not one of those normal ones, a mean one
where things got said
. He dragged her out of the car and told her to have nice life. Then he was gone. To his credit, it wasn’t raining that badly out at the time.

Now it was.

She had less than $30 in her purse.

She had no cell phone.

She was a stray cat out in a stray
night.

“I’ll get you a hotel room,” Teffinger said. “My treat. Then we can touch base in the morning and figure out how to get you back home.”

“Thanks but I don’t take charity.”

“It’s not charity. It’
s
just one person helping another.”

“I can’t take money.”

“You can pay it back later if that makes you feel better.”

“I don’t like owing people either,” she said. “Just drop me off anywhere I can get out of the weather. I’ll take it from there.”

Teffinger argued.

He lost.

He did, however, talk her into at least sleeping on his couch.

 

His neighborhood
was in total darkness when they got there. Not a streetlight was on and not a single light came from
inside
a house. The storm had defaulted the neighborhood back to its prehistoric days.

Inside, Teffinger got a flashlight for the woman, gave her the best dry clothes he scrounge up—a T, a fresh pair of boxer shorts and white cotton gym socks—and showed her where to dry off.

“I’ll be in the garage,” he said. “You want some wine or a beer?”

She did.

A beer.

In fact, a beer would be perfect.

“No problem,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t look under my mattress.”

“Why, what’s under your mattress?”

“Nothing. Just don’t look there, okay?”

 

He had
the garage door open and his six-two frame was
behind the wheel of the ’67 Corvette, watching the lightning show
,
when she showed up
. She
slid into the passenger seat and flicked the flashlight off.

He popped the top of a blue can and passed it to her.

“This is better than TV,” she said.

“Way better.” The pounding of the water was so powerful on the ground that it resonated into the garage and up the tires. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to drive you to the airport and get you on a plane back home.”

“I told you—”

“I know,” he said. “No charity and all that. The problem is there’s no way to solve this without getting money involved. I’m not just going to let you wander out into the world with thirty dollars in your pocket.”

She took a long swallow.

“We’ll see.”

He clinked his can on hers.

 

They talked.

She was sophisticated, educated and, most surprisingly, an ex-marine with two years of her tenure in the Middle East.

“I don’t get it,” Teffinger said. “How does someone like you end up in a storm with only thirty dollars?”

“It’s a long story,” she said.

He shrugged.

“I have time.”

“It also a private story.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“You know what I mean.”

He did.

He did indeed.

“So at least we’re agreed on the airport tomorrow?” he said.

“Only if I can pay you back.”

“You can.”

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” she said. “What do you like?”

He swallowed what was left
in
the can.

“If you feel
like working up some pancakes, I have fresh strawberries and whipped cream.”

She shook his hand.

“Deal.” A beat then, “I think I’m ready for that couch now.”

He checked his watch.

It was 11:02.

 

It took
a solid argument
but Teffinger convinced her to take the bed and let him take the couch. He got his frame as comfortable as he could on the cushions, sunk his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.

The intensity of the storm hadn’t let up.

The walls creaked and the fireplace whistled.

It was music
.

He was almost asleep when he sensed a presence in the room. Then a warm naked body was snuggling up next to him.

Atasha’s voice whispered in his ear, “Hi there.”

Teffinger’s instinct was to screw her so hard there’d be nothing left.
He shut it down and said,
“You don’t need to do this
.”

“This is for me, not you.”

That might be true.

It might be payment, too, or at least have a payment component to it.

“Next time,” he said.

She licked his ear and wiggled on him.

“Come on.”

“I will, but next time,” he said.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

Then she was gone.

 

It took him
a long time to get to sleep. He kept making up arguments to support the fact that it really would be for her, not him. He almost convinced himself before finally conceding it was all a pile of crap.

He let the pounding of the storm rock him to sleep.

 

When he woke
the storm was no longer audible and faint rays of dawn were washing through the windows. He got up, stretched and headed for the master bedroom to get to the shower.

Atasha was in the bed.

A knife was stuck in the side of her head and the pillow was soaked in blood.

2

Day Thirteen

August 15

Monday Morning

 

There was a time
when Raverly Phentappa thrived on the fame. She got a secret smile deep down inside every time a stranger recognized her on the street or shouted her name. Now she did her best to keep that fame in a bag. As she walked through the heart of Denver’s financial district Monday morning, that bag consisted of oversized sunglasses, a baseball cap with an uneventful ponytail pulled throu
gh the back, a green Aero
T, jean-shorts with no designer label stitched on the back and lips with no rouge.

She was just an ordinary Joe.

She pushed through the revolving doors of the cash register building, walked across an expansive vaulted lobby and entered the elevator that served floor 42, the home of Denver’s most renowned criminal defense firm, Tristen & Day, P.C.

She was pretty.

In fact, Harvard law degree aside, she’d be the first to admit that her big break came because of her face and her body.  She was the island girl that sailors searched the world for and then lost all sense of judgment once they found her. Her skin was golden brown, her eyes were green and her raven hair was thick and long. Whatever her ancestry was, it worked.

At thirty, she’d accomplished a lot.

Most people knew her as CNN’s legal commentator, smack in the middle of whatever criminal or legal mess happened to have its fingers around America’s throat. Less people knew that she was the author of three true-crime novels that were
acclaimed
by readers and reviewers alike.

 

She got out
of
the elevator on
floor
42
and pushed through fancy glass doors into a contemporary reception area.  Denver’s bare-knuckles criminal defense trial attorney, Anderson North, showed up almost immediately, introduced h
imself with a white smile and wh
isked her to a corner conference room with blue leather chairs and floor
-
to
-
ceiling windows that framed Denver
below
and the mountains
not-so-below
.

BOOK: Confidential Prey (Nick Teffinger Thriller)
4.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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