Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

the video was a man, but Jason couldn’t swear to it. Without her heels, she might be about the right height, judging by the roof of the 4x4. Maybe she had seen him emerge from the museum and thought he knew something, because who else could she be watching?
    Jason nonchalantly pulled his phone from his pocket, fired off a text to Amy, and walked off down the road. If he was wrong, no harm done. If he was right, though … this would be the breakthrough they needed to feed this case and reclaim the painting. It would be nice to see his name on some positive news stories for a change.
    He walked past the Main Building and right up a ramp to the made-over Biomedical Sciences building. The nauseating smell of formaldehyde oozed from the basement windows, the signature scent of the preserved human bodies the medical students dissected here.
    At the ramp, he turned left and flattened himself against the wall. Looping his Bluetooth headset over his ear, he heard Amy’s voice as clearly as if she stood next to him.
    ‘Main Building camera too far for a face, but she’s definitely on the move. Stand by.’
    He could tell when Amy had been watching too much crime drama because her phone calls were styled after police radio. He forced his shoulders to relax, a stance of readiness not rigid tension. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but one always seemed to find him anyway.
    ‘On the ramp. ETA twenty seconds.’
    He was cutting off her supply of
Homeland
. It was the only solution.
    The woman rounded the corner and Jason moved, crowding her against the wall without laying a finger on her.
    ‘You my secret admirer?’
    She arched an eyebrow. ‘What’s to admire, Mr Carr?’
    The tension flooded back, setting his teeth on edge. ‘Who says?’
    She withdrew a leather cardholder from her pocket and Jason internally groaned before she even flipped it open.
    ‘Frieda Haas, National Crime Agency. What’s a notorious thief doing at the scene of an art heist, hmm?’
    ‘I work for Amy Lane, Police Consultant. I was there on official business.’
    However long he spent out of jail, he would never shake the label of
thief
. No matter how many cases he solved with Amy, the past wouldn’t leave him alone.
    ‘Your private investigator licence, please.’ She held out her hand, but in a way that meant she knew he had nothing to show.
    ‘I’m her assistant. I fetch and carry, run errands.’
    Jason had no idea whether Amy had a licence, but he suspected the answer was no. She could probably find one at short notice, however. The advantage of knowing the back doors of so many government departments.
    ‘The legislation doesn’t come into force until next year.’ Amy’s voice returned to his ear.
    Shit, he’d been played.
    ‘Is that badge legit?’ Amy continued. ‘I’ll check the National Crime Command database.’
    ‘Can your employer verify—?’
    ‘Have you met Bryn yet?’ Jason asked. One sure-fire way of checking her out.
    ‘Bryn?’ she said blankly, setting off all sorts of warning alarms in his head. But then the mist lifted. ‘You mean DI Hesketh? I’ve not yet had the pleasure.’
    ‘You often start snooping around before letting the city cops know you’re here?’
    ‘You know a lot about cops, don’t you? Comes from staring at them from across the interrogation table.’
    ‘Why don’t you come down the station and learn with me? I’m sure Bryn would love to interrogate you.’
    ‘Are you arresting me?’ Her voice was mocking, almost teasing. ‘Or did you leave your handcuffs at home?’
    Something about her gnawed at him, like an itch that needed to be scratched. She was hot, no denying it, but her cool blue eyes gave away absolutely nothing. He wondered what it would take for her to show her hand.
    ‘Don’t trust her.’ Amy again. ‘Don’t go anywhere with her alone.’
    Jason slipped the headset from his ear. ‘I’m sure you’ll come quietly.’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’
    Her