Death's Last Run Read Online Free Page A

much?”
    â€œI don’t know. What’s it worth?”
    To Richie at that moment, it was worth fifty grand or so — maybe more — if the letter could send the FBI guy away. “I’ll give you a thousand bucks for it.”
    â€œNo shit?” Jana’s eyes lit up. “I’d rather keep the letter, but cool that it’s worth so much.”
    â€œWe have to show the police — especially now that it’s a murder investigation.”
    Jana laughed. “A lecture from a drug dealer about how to help the cops. Good one.”
    â€œYou want your supply to dry up? That’s what’s gonna happen while the FBI is here. Chopper’s going to stop production, too — so no more Mountain Snow.”
    â€œFine.” Jana pushed back her chair and stomped into her room. She came out with a piece of paper that she thrust into Richie’s hand. “But I’m not selling it. I want this back by tonight. I’ve been sleeping with it under my pillow.”
    â€œA-ight,” Richie said, and then kicked himself.
So ghetto.
Why did he keep slipping today? That part of him was supposed to already be dead.

FOUR

    CLARE
    Clare passed the final customs checkpoint at the Toronto airport. It was weird being so close to her hometown and only stopping long enough to grab a coffee and a new identity. She chewed her lip as she searched the crowd for her ex-handler, Amanda.
    â€œClare!” Amanda smiled broadly and approached. She was struggling with an old hockey bag that was almost the size of her tiny frame. Clare was impressed that she could carry it in heels.
    â€œYou should probably start calling me Lucy.” Clare took the bag from Amanda and nearly dropped it to the floor. “Is this my luggage?”
    â€œI know it’s bulky.” Amanda pointed the way to an escalator. “But Lucy is a seriously casual chick. And there’s a snowboard in here. You’ll have to send it as oversized luggage. I had fun shopping for your wardrobe.”
    â€œOh, I’m so glad.” Clare was trying to be polite. It was just hard. Amanda was one of those girly girls who thought a woman was incomplete without her nails done.
Seriously casual
probably meant dry cleaning was optional.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Amanda said. “There’s nothing pink.”
    They reached the top of the escalator and emerged at the departures level. Amanda dealt with the self-serve check-in. She discreetly handed Clare her new passport before they went through domestic security.
    Clare had done this before, and of course she wasn’t doing anything illegal, but it always taxed her nerves, clearing security under a false name. They didn’t even ask for ID at this stage — all they cared about was the boarding pass — but what if a guard sensed something off about Clare, like they were trained to do? This felt like a test, like if Clare couldn’t pass security, she wouldn’t pull off her new identity in the world she was about to enter. She tried not to show her relief when she had her bag again, her new phone and laptop packed back into place, and Amanda led the way to the gate for Clare’s plane to Vancouver.
    At the gate, Clare was pleased to see Tim Hortons — her favorite Canadian coffee chain, which she’d missed, since there was only one that she knew of in New York and it was in crappy touristy Times Square. She was even more pleased when Amanda headed for its lineup. Clare needed a caffeine injection. It was eleven a.m., and she’d been up since five so she could spend time with Noah. In retrospect, she should have slept in.
    They loaded up with coffee and found a seating area with a cool view of the runways.
    Amanda pulled a thick envelope from her soft leather handbag. She passed it to Clare. “I’ll trade you.”
    Clare lifted her knapsack to her lap and pulled her passport and wallet from the front pouch. She