Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) Read Online Free

you, a degree…you’re wasting your time with this.”
    Drake’s eyes fixed on Harry’s face. “You firing me? For real?”
    “You don’t work for me. You’re a free agent. So I can’t fire you. But if you’re asking, I’m not going to hand you any more jobs, at least not for a while. I don’t need the grief. You know better than to chase a perp through private property like that. And Cranford’s complaining that you used cruel and unusual subjugation techniques. He may press charges, too.”
    “What? I Tasered him.”
    “You got him in his family jewels.”
    “While he was trying to kick my face in.”
    “Still. It looks bad.” Harry’s gaze wandered to his message pad. “Dude, you’re the best I’ve ever seen at figuring out where these mugs are hiding. It’s eerie – like a sixth sense. But you don’t follow the rules, and that’s a big problem. So even though you’re great at the tracking part of the job, you suck at the obeying the law part, and I can’t have that reputation associated with me.” He squinted at the writing on the pad. “Oh. Hey. I almost forgot. This came in earlier. Some guy looking for you. An attorney, he said.” Harry tore off the message slip and handed it to Drake, who read it with a puzzled expression.
    “Did he say what he wanted?”
    “Nope. Maybe somebody else wants to file charges against you. Been a full day even by your standards, hasn’t it?”
    “Very funny. Can I use the phone?”
    “Sure. And then make yourself scarce. If you still want work, call me in a month. But for now, you’re off my approved list. Nothing personal, of course.”
    “Of course.” Drake stood and walked to the office door. “I’ll use Betty’s phone, okay?”
    “ Mi casa , baby. Sorry to cut you off at the knees.”
    “No sweat. Maybe you’re right. Time for some sightseeing someplace warm and sunny. Maybe Mexico. You can live pretty cheap there, I hear.”
    “That’s the spirit. Get a tan. Have too many beers. Find a señorita to lie to. You’re a young man. Live a little.”
    “Not that young.”
    “What are you, twenty-five? I got stuff in my freezer older than that.”
    “Twenty-six. Not that I’m counting.”
    “Course not.”
    Drake sat behind Betty’s receptionist desk and dialed the number. Washington State, judging from the area code. It rang three times and then a musical female voice answered.
    “Baily, Crane, and Lynch. May I help you?”
    “I think so. I’m returning a call from a Michael Lynch?”
    “Certainly, sir. And who may I say is calling?”
    “Drake Simmons.”
    Music on hold waltzed in his ear for thirty seconds and then a refined baritone boomed over the line. “Michael Lynch.”
    “Mr. Lynch, this is Drake Simmons. You called today?”
    “Oh, yes, of course. First of all, let me extend my sincere condolences.”
    “Condolences?”
    “Yes. Your aunt, Patricia Marshall, passed away the day before yesterday.”
    “I’m sorry. Patricia Marshall? You say she was my aunt?”
    “That’s correct. I gather you weren’t close?”
    “There must be some mistake. I’ve never heard of Patricia Marshall.”
    “Mmm. Apparently she was your father’s sister.”
    “My father didn’t have a sister, as far as I know.”
    “Well, be that as it may, as executor of her will, her instructions were very clear. I have a package here that I’m to hand to Drake Simmons, currently of San Antonio Road in Mountain View, California, in person. Your employer was kind enough to confirm that’s you. I’ve also been authorized to purchase a plane ticket to get you to Seattle, as well as pay for accommodations for two days. And of course, compensate you for your time.”
    “Compensate me?” Drake echoed, his ears perking up.
    “Yes. A thousand dollars a day. Apart from what she left you, of course.”
    “She left me something besides the…package?”
    “Correct. Twenty-five thousand dollars. All the money she had in the world.”
    “Mr. Lynch,