No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) Read Free

about Michael’s welfare, but he couldn’t disguise the excitement. His young protégé might be back.
    “ It’s been over two years,” Michael said. "I think it might be time." 
    Lowell thought for a moment. “Are you here now?”
    “ No, I’m at the airport.” Michael looked at the line of passengers winding through a series of ropes, and disappearing through the gate assigned to his flight. “My plane’s about to take off.”
    Lowell asked for Michael’s flight information, and then told Michael that he was going to send a car for him when he arrived. “You can stay in my guesthouse.”
    “ You don’t have to do that.”
    “ I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lowell continued. Everything was a negotiation. “And what was the name of that friend of yours?”
    “ Andie Larone,” Michael said. “She was arrested yesterday. Don’t have many details because Andie doesn’t know much herself.” Michael felt his stomach flip. “When she asked for an attorney, the cops stopped talking to her. That’s why I need the investigator.”
    “ We can talk more about that when you get here.”
    Michael said goodbye, and just managed to get out a quick “thank you” before the chips, beer, and tequila from the previous night crept upwards.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Michael’s ears popped at 28,000 feet. Noise filled his head. He was swimming in sounds –  the rattling coffee cart, the coughing man in aisle 8, the snoring woman in aisle 17, and, of course, the bing-bing of the seat belt warning light turning on and off, off and on.
    Michael raised his small plastic cup and rattled the remaining cubes of ice. The stewardess noticed him, gave a nod, and then worked the beverage cart back. With each step she smiled, then snapped a wad of gum, smiled, and then snapped again.
    “ Another rum and Coke.” Michael handed her the cup.
    “ Just enough Coke to make it brown?” she asked with a Southern lilt.
    “ A very light tan.” Michael opened his wallet and removed a few bills.
    “ This one’s taken care of, sweetie.” Her smile maintained, but Michael continued to hold out the money, expecting the stewardess to take it. “It’s all paid for,” she said, again. “That gentleman in the back already gave me the money.” Smile, snap. “Said he was a friend of yours and figured you’d be a little parched.”
    Michael turned, and scanned the seats behind him with a lump in his throat. “Which man?”
    The stewardess looked, initially maintaining her chew of the gum and perky demeanor, but quickly the smile faded.
    “ Now that’s a weird ‘un,” she said; snap with no smile this time. “I don’t see him no more.” She shrugged her shoulders, handed Michael his drink, and then continued down the aisle with her cart.
    The smile and snap returned after just a few steps, but for Michael everything became a little tighter. His seat became smaller. The row in front of him became closer. The ceiling dropped a foot, and the other passengers crowded in.
    He got up and walked down the aisle. Michael looked for someone, although he didn’t know who. Up the aisle, and then back again. Nothing. 
    Michael returned to his seat. A weight pressed down on his chest.
    He reached into his knapsack, and removed the red envelope from the bottom of the bag.  He stared at the large block lettering on the front of the envelope. It was addressed to him: Michael John Collins, Esq.
    He had received the envelope two weeks earlier. It had been a lazy day, sunny and typical. After a morning of Hemingway and an afternoon of poems by Ferlinghetti, Michael had wandered back to Hut No. 7 to wash up and change clothes for dinner with Andie. A new Italian restaurant had opened up on Avenida Juarez in Playa del Carmen, and although it was hard for Michael to believe, he was actually excited to taste something made without avocados, lime or cilantro.
    Michael hadn’t seen it at first. The envelope was on his pillow, and it wasn’t