Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) Read Online Free

there?”
    “Yes.”
    “The seminar, was it any good?”
    “Let me put it this way,” Black said. “I was sitting next to Lori Bender, a newbie who isn’t all that hard on the eyes, if you catch my drift. She just about had an orgasm watching you. That’s as close to sex with her as I’ll ever get, so in a way I owe you one. The donuts weren’t bad, either.”
    “So, two out of three?”
    “Right. And that ain’t bad, at least according to Meat Loaf.”

    8
    Day Two
    June 5
    Thursday Afternoon
     
    According to the file, Alley Savannah disappeared exactly two years to the day, on June 5; far too precise to be a coincidence. So what was Kovi-Ke’s game? Was she in town to kill someone else right under a detective’s nose? Was she trying to get Teffinger so lust-drunk that he couldn’t think straight?
    One thing was for sure.
    Station was the target.
    On second thought, wait. Maybe Station was a decoy. Maybe someone else was the target. Maybe it was even Teffinger himself. In a crazy way that actually makes sense. She gets him all caught up in what’s going on with Station and then—wham!—she takes him when his head’s down between her legs.
    If that was the case though, how did she pick him out?
    Did she see his photo on GQ?
    Was that it?
    Did she tap her finger on his face and say, You’re next, baby. Say bye-bye.
     
    A file suddenly plopped on his desk, the Tarzan file, compliments of Sydney who said, “You look like you just ate a ghost.”
    He didn’t doubt it.
    “Do you have time to do a little project?”
    She looked skeptical.
    “As in what?”
    “Kovi-Ke Gray,” he said. “I need everything you can get on her.” He told her what he knew; she was from Jamaica, ran a dive shop called the Ugly Tuna, was negotiating with the Jamaican government to harvest pirate ships, etcetera. “Go deep. Oh, and pay particular attention to whether she has any ties to Miami or a lesbian bar called Blackbird Ordinary. If she was in Miami in June two years ago, I’d really like to know it. She may have killed someone down there and she might be in Denver to do a repeat.”
     
    He headed downtown on foot, a ten-minute jaunt through buzz and congestion. His heart raced and confusion ricocheted inside his skull. Even with everything he knew about Kovi-Ke, he couldn’t push her out. She was in him, in his blood, in his breath, and in the deep, dark, secret parts of his brain, not to mention the nasty parts.
    The sun bounced off his face.
    It was a constant, an old friend.
    Kovi-Ke.
    Kovi-Ke.
    Kovi-Ke.
    He turned the final corner, hoping to find her where he first saw her this morning, staking out Station.
    She was there.
    The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he headed over.
    “How’s the hunt going?”
    “Not good.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Not yet.”
    Teffinger shifted his feet and said, “Alley Savannah. Does that name ring a bell?”
    “No. Should it?”
    “I did a little research,” he said. “She’s the stomach girl, the one you told me about.”
    “So she’s real?”
    “Was,” he said. “You said your vision was a month ago.”
    “That’s right.”
    “She was killed two years ago, exactly two years ago as a matter of fact, on June fifth. Maybe your friend is on a schedule.”
    Kovi-Ke didn’t hesitate.
    “He’s going to take Station tonight. We have to do something.”
    Teffinger nodded.
    “We will,” he said. “What other visions have you had of the guy murdering someone? Any?”
    She nodded.
    “I think so.”
    “Tell me about them.”
     
    A strange expression washed over her face, almost as if she was sinking into a trance.
    “Are you okay?”
    She said nothing.
    He shook her shoulders, “Kovi-Ke.”
    She looked at him but it was vague.
    Then she focused and locked her eyes on him for several seconds. Her expression pulled back to normal and she said, “This isn’t good.”
    “What isn’t?”
    “I think he was just in my head. He was looking right at