Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) Read Free Page B

digital key. He’s probably called you. After we unlock it, I’ll try getting him on callback.”
    “You don’t want to do that,” she said. “He’ll kill me. You too.” Her voice betrayed fear.
    “You say it like you believe it,” I said. “How would you know that? You said you don’t know who your boss is.”
    “I been around. I can tell he’s connected.”
    “You mean the Mob?”
    She didn’t answer. Her eyes flicked left and right. I wondered if she had a comrade sneaking up on me. I stepped to the side, put my back to the wall next to her. Spot was still in front of her.
    “If you don’t know him, how did he find you in the first place?”
    “I’ve worked for him in the past. Way back. A guy he knew contacted a guy I knew. I do easy jobs for him. No laws to break. He pays regular. It went on from there. I haven’t broken any laws.”
    “Including the piece without the permit?”
    “Except that,” she said. “Anyway, I’m from Nevada.”
    “What’s that got to do with it? You think carrying is a residency requirement for Nevada? Even for ex-cons with California licenses?”
    “Practically,” she said.
    A jacked-up pickup pulled into the garage and came near us. Loud music with a booming bass beat came from open windows and throbbed in the confines of the parking garage.
    “HELP ME!” Amanda shouted. “RAPE!”
    The truck jerked to a stop. Both doors opened and two young men, thick with muscles under tight T-shirts, got out. They looked eager to be heroes. They looked at Spot, glanced over at the woman and me, looked back at Spot.
    “Easy,” I said as both guys came close to me and the woman. Their arms hung out from their sides, pushed there by bulging beef. “I’m Detective Owen McKenna. I’m apprehending a sus...”
    The woman bolted so fast that dirt shot back from her shoes as she sprinted away.
    One of the guys took a step forward so that he could grab me if I chased her.
    I thought of sending Spot after her, but that would be excessive.
    “Interfering with a law officer is a crime,” I said.
    “You want us to believe she’s some kind of bad-ass? She’s just a girl.”
    “Git,” I said, “before I call backup.”
    Moving slowly, they got back into their pickup and drove up the ramp.
    I walked to the opening that led to the plaza. Down on the boulevard, a flatbed tow truck was just pulling out with the woman’s Buick SUV on it. The woman who pretended to be, or maybe even was, Amanda Horner was nowhere to be seen. Maybe I could sprint around, check the women’s restrooms, ask passersby if they’d seen her. But my experience suggested that I wouldn’t find her. She’d probably had a lot of experience evading cops.

    THREE

    I took Spot out of the parking garage and over to a bench near the gondola. A small patch of low winter sun came through. Spot stood broadside to the hot sun, and looked at me. His faux diamond ear stud sparkled. I sat on a bench. People in ski suits stopped to hug him. Mostly women. They didn’t hug me.
    I turned on Amanda’s phone and looked at the pass-code screen. It looked very locked.
    I turned it off. Spot looked at me, his brow furrowed.
    “What?” I said.
    He shook his head, jowls flapping. Saliva flew. A woman who’d just hugged him wiped her cheek.
    Spot shifted next to the end of the bench where I was sitting and leaned against my side. A woman with huge purple goggles over her eyes was heading toward the gondola. She stopped a safe distance away, pointed, and said, “Did he hurt his foot?”
    “What do you mean?” I said.
    “He’s leaning on you.”
    “Oh. Danes do that.”
    She stared some more, then headed into the gondola.
    I stared again at Amanda’s phone, wishing I knew a twenty-year-old geek who could hack it, when it rang.
    The display said the number was blocked. But there was an answer button. Apparently, you could receive calls even when the phone was locked. I tapped the button.
    “Hello?” I said.
    There was no