Shadow Kill (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Read Online Free
Author: R.J. Jagger
she could and maneuvered her 26-year-old body over the wall, landing in landscaping rock between two bushes.
Her heart pounded.
This was crazy.
She should back out now while she still had the chance.
Lights were on inside the structure.
No one was home, though. She knew where the owner was. He wouldn’t be back for over an hour.
She headed across the grass.
The motion of her body ignited a floodlight and brought a blinding glare into her eyes. She sped up, concerned but not overly. No one from the street could see her through the wall. The nearest neighbor was fifty yards away with plenty of trees in between.
Several of the rear windows were cranked open.
She slipped on latex gloves, worked the screen out of a window and entered.
The air was coffin quiet.
She headed up a winding staircase to the upper level. The master bedroom was at the far end of a walkway that opened on one side to the level below. She had a feeling that if she was going to find what she was looking for, it would either be buried someone in the master closet or inside a safe.
The bedroom was dark.
She closed the window coverings, turned on the lights and dimmed them to half. The room was something out of an interior designer magazine, fitted pitch-perfect with contemporary textures and colors. The dresser drawers contained nothing of interest.
The master closet was larger than most bedrooms.
Twenty tailor-made suits hung on sculpted wooden hangers. A hundred or more silk ties were neatly folded on top of a built-in dresser made out of the same blond wood as the shelves.
In the far corner, hardly visible, were two black briefcases.
She picked one up.
Something was inside.
The latches were locked. She turned the tumblers to zero on the chance that the pre-sets had never been changed. They hadn’t. The latches sprang open.
There was a small MacBook Air laptop inside.
She set it on top of the ties and opened it up.
There was no password protection.
The screen sprang to life.
She opened Documents and found a large number of files, too many to look through. She headed downstairs with a racing heart, found the home office in a separate room off the dining room, and rummaged through the drawers until she found a box of blank thumb drives.
She took one upstairs, copied the contents of the Mac, stuck the drive in the pocket and put everything back exactly like she’d found it.
Then she got the hell out of there.
8
Day One
July 8
Tuesday Night
Portia had the look. Teffinger had only seen it briefly in the elevator and then down in the lobby when she straightened his tie, but that had been enough. She was the kind of woman he could wrap around every night and think about every minute.
That was the problem.
At exactly nine he knocked on her door, shifting his feet and reminding himself one last time not to fall in love with her.
She was a killer.
Susan Smith—maybe even his Susan Smith, Del Rey—was depending on him. The next two hours were business, potentially pleasurable business, but business all the same.
The door opened.
The woman wore a bra and panties but no clothes. Her body was tanned and taut and belonged to a California surfer girl, straight out of a Beach Boys song. Her hair was thick, straight and freshly washed.
Her eyes were green.
He hadn’t noticed that before.
She smelled like Paris.
She pulled him inside and said, “I’ll be ready before you blink. Do you feel like getting a little crazy tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I’ve found a place for us to go.”
“Where?”
She smiled and headed for the bathroom.
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Mystery woman.”
“Always.”
While she was in the bathroom, Teffinger cast his eyes around for the briefcase. It wasn’t in sight or under the bed. He had his eye on the closet, wondering if he had enough time to open the door and take a quick peek inside. He thought better of it. Even if it were in there it would be closed. He’d
Her heart pounded.
This was crazy.
She should back out now while she still had the chance.
Lights were on inside the structure.
No one was home, though. She knew where the owner was. He wouldn’t be back for over an hour.
She headed across the grass.
The motion of her body ignited a floodlight and brought a blinding glare into her eyes. She sped up, concerned but not overly. No one from the street could see her through the wall. The nearest neighbor was fifty yards away with plenty of trees in between.
Several of the rear windows were cranked open.
She slipped on latex gloves, worked the screen out of a window and entered.
The air was coffin quiet.
She headed up a winding staircase to the upper level. The master bedroom was at the far end of a walkway that opened on one side to the level below. She had a feeling that if she was going to find what she was looking for, it would either be buried someone in the master closet or inside a safe.
The bedroom was dark.
She closed the window coverings, turned on the lights and dimmed them to half. The room was something out of an interior designer magazine, fitted pitch-perfect with contemporary textures and colors. The dresser drawers contained nothing of interest.
The master closet was larger than most bedrooms.
Twenty tailor-made suits hung on sculpted wooden hangers. A hundred or more silk ties were neatly folded on top of a built-in dresser made out of the same blond wood as the shelves.
In the far corner, hardly visible, were two black briefcases.
She picked one up.
Something was inside.
The latches were locked. She turned the tumblers to zero on the chance that the pre-sets had never been changed. They hadn’t. The latches sprang open.
There was a small MacBook Air laptop inside.
She set it on top of the ties and opened it up.
There was no password protection.
The screen sprang to life.
She opened Documents and found a large number of files, too many to look through. She headed downstairs with a racing heart, found the home office in a separate room off the dining room, and rummaged through the drawers until she found a box of blank thumb drives.
She took one upstairs, copied the contents of the Mac, stuck the drive in the pocket and put everything back exactly like she’d found it.
Then she got the hell out of there.
8
Day One
July 8
Tuesday Night
Portia had the look. Teffinger had only seen it briefly in the elevator and then down in the lobby when she straightened his tie, but that had been enough. She was the kind of woman he could wrap around every night and think about every minute.
That was the problem.
At exactly nine he knocked on her door, shifting his feet and reminding himself one last time not to fall in love with her.
She was a killer.
Susan Smith—maybe even his Susan Smith, Del Rey—was depending on him. The next two hours were business, potentially pleasurable business, but business all the same.
The door opened.
The woman wore a bra and panties but no clothes. Her body was tanned and taut and belonged to a California surfer girl, straight out of a Beach Boys song. Her hair was thick, straight and freshly washed.
Her eyes were green.
He hadn’t noticed that before.
She smelled like Paris.
She pulled him inside and said, “I’ll be ready before you blink. Do you feel like getting a little crazy tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I’ve found a place for us to go.”
“Where?”
She smiled and headed for the bathroom.
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Mystery woman.”
“Always.”
While she was in the bathroom, Teffinger cast his eyes around for the briefcase. It wasn’t in sight or under the bed. He had his eye on the closet, wondering if he had enough time to open the door and take a quick peek inside. He thought better of it. Even if it were in there it would be closed. He’d
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