Witness Chase (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Read Online Free Page A

a lot in the future in the subdivision would have to use one of the five ‘approved’ builders to construct their house. Now, some jerk wanted to buy a lot and use an outside builder. Travis wouldn’t sell the lot to him. So the want-to-be buyer sued, claiming that the approved-builder system was an illegal tying arrangement, an antitrust violation, in that someone couldn’t buy a lot without being tied to a group of five particular builders. Travis wanted to discuss defense strategy. Emmit Jackson, one of the firm’s law clerks, was researching the law for her. He was supposed to e-mail her a memo by nine tonight, but it hadn’t showed up by a quarter to when she left the house. Worst-case scenario, she’d fill the breakfast with smiles and let Travis spend some time with a younger woman.
    Maybe she’d wear the black skirt and a white sleeveless blouse if he was lucky.
     
    SUDDENLY MICHAEL STARTED OFF, with a short honk and a rigid thumbs up. Kelly fired up the engine—it started just the way it was supposed to, bless those Germans—then looked at her watch. It didn’t have a second-hand. The realization unnerved her. So basic, yet missed.
    What else had she overlooked?
    No time.
    One thousand one.
    One thousand two.
    One thousand three . . .
    One thousand thirty.
    Pulling out, according to plan, she brought the car up to twenty-five and held it there. The half-mile to Rick’s Gas Station took no time. The place was a two-pump, paint-peeling shack with a neon sign in the window that said Bait and another one that said Coors Light. No video cameras, which is why they chose it. The women’s car, now recognizable as an old green four-door sedan, sat on one side of the pump, the side closest to the station. Northway’s van sat on the other side. At first Kelly didn’t see any movement and wondered if something had gone wrong.
    Then everything happened at once.
    Michael appeared from around the back of the van, dragging a limp body that was unmistakably a woman’s. For some reason, he didn’t look like himself, really strange, some kind of trick of the night. Two women came out of the station, walking towards their car. One of them looked in Michael’s direction and started to yell.
    Hey, what the hell . . .
    Game time.
    Kelly stopped the car and dialed 911.
    A voice answered, a calm woman’s voice, asking her short questions that sounded like they came off a cue card. Now Northway’s van was pulling out, fast, but not powerful enough to squeal the tires.
     
    The cops showed up almost immediately, within three or four minutes max. Way too fast. Damn it. What if they actually caught him? Three police cars, pulling in from the same direction she’d come from, slid to a stop. Red and blue lights bounced through the air and suddenly made everything very real.
    She bit her lower lip and clenched the steering wheel.
    One of the cops was out of his car now and running over to her.
    He had a hand on his gun, as if ready to draw.
    “What happened?”
    “A man . . . he took a woman.”
    “What is he driving?”
    “A van.”
    “What color?”
    “I don’t know . . . dark . . .”
    “Did you get a license plate number?”
    “No.”
    “Okay. Which way?”
    She pointed.
    “That way.”
    “How long ago?”
    “Just a few minutes.”
    He ran back to the car, shouting “Stay where you are,” over his shoulder.
    Get to the fucking freeway, Michael.
    Goddamn it.
    Interstate 25 was a mile up the road . . .
    Two of the cop cars squealed off and the smell of rubber filled the air. The third car stayed behind. There were two cops inside. One of them talked into a radio, very excited.
    The other two women stood by their car. A man had joined them, someone with baggy jeans and a flannel shirt, undoubtedly the person who worked at the gas station. The women were attractive, somehow that came through even at a distance. The flannel shirt looked like he might be coming on to them. He was standing a little too