Deadly Rumors by Jeanne Foguth

Author:Jeanne Foguth [Foguth, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Jeanne Foguth
Published: 2014-02-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Doran felt like he’d pulled an all-night stakeout, instead of a half night. He settled onto the stiff-backed office chair and sipped coffee thick enough to cut. Quinn raised the remote control, which he'd specially built so he could rule his domain. Pointing it, he pushed a button; the thick, ivory drapes closed to block the morning sunlight. Lowering it, he keyed in the video player. As the picture came into focus, wind gusts from the approaching storm bounced a Styrofoam cup across PBCO’s shadowed parking lot. Lightening flashed in the distance. "One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two," Quinn softly counted. Doran glanced at this partner. He grinned. "I was timing the storm. Thunder hit at 7 seconds." Doran nodded and watched the vacant parking lot. As promised, thunder rolled.

"That was thrilling," Doran said. "You got anything interesting off the tap on Kelsey's phone, yet?"

Quinn grinned and paused the tape, then keyed on the audio system. "Rams, get over it," Kelsey said."

"The nights are the worst." Ramsey's voice sounded slurred over the speakers.

"I've noticed."

"I can't live without Ab-n-Jen."

"Yes, you can. You just need to realize that you can, decide that you will and quit drowning your sorrows. Lucky needs you."

Quinn flicked off the recording and gave him a triumphant look. "They're cagey, but we'll crack the code."

"What code?" Doran asked.

"The drug names for one abengin has to be an anagram for something and she tells him that the cartel needs him."

"You think Lucky is a code, too?" Quinn nodded. Doran laughed. Quinn glared at him. Doran sobered. "Lucky is a pet rabbit with big enough ears to make belong to some sort of retro elephant."

"You going soft of the MacLennan’s?"

Doran shook his head.

Quinn reactivated the image of the closed factory with the remote in his hand. He pressed another key. 11:59 appeared in the lower corner of the screen. "My informant mentioned that the meeting would take place at midnight. With the storm that close and no one there, I'd decided to give it a half-hour; if no one showed, I was going to go home and get a decent night’s sleep."

Headlights flicked off as a white Mercedes crept into the parking lot. Like a ghost, it moved from shadow to shadow then finally disappeared in the deep darkness cast by a magnolia. Over the recording, Quinn hummed softly as the angle of the camera shifted and focused on the license plate. As the numbers came into focus, Doran leaned forward. Even without checking his list, he knew the plate belonged to Ramsey MacLennan.

“Gotch’a,” Quinn chortled.

A man stumbled out of the driver’s seat, tugged his wide brimmed hat down to combat the wind and turned up the collar of his trench coat. The furtive figure peered into the gloom. Satisfied that no one could observe him, he limped toward the building, relying heavily on a brass-topped cane.

Lightening flashed.

The man lurched, twisted, knocked his hat backward and landed hard on his injured leg. Thunder boomed just as the residual light dimmed. The man shuddered and the first large drops smacked the asphalt.

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