FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page A

to Riverside Drive West.
    “Shouldn’t we be going downtown?”
    “We can cut across Martin Luther King,” Willet said. “Avoid the traffic.”
    “You’re the boss,” Alana said.
    “You better believe it.”
    They drove on. Suddenly Alana shook her head.
    “Oh, Christ.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Jeez, I feel dizzy all of a sudden.”
    “Drink some more latte,” Willet suggested.
    “What?”
    He sounded far away.
    “I said drink some more latte. It may clear your head.”
    “Right.”
    Alana did. She was still very dizzy.
    “Why don’t you put your seat back,” Willet said, gently taking the cup from her hand. “The controls are on your right.”
    Alana had trouble finding them but finally was able to recline the seat.
    “Can we pull over, Mr. Willet? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
    “It’s OK. You will. We’re almost there.”
    “Almost where?”
    She could barely get the words out.
    “The George Washington Bridge.”
    “But … my … flight is from … J ...”
    The girl’s head slumped to the side. She was unconscious, although no one outside the tinted-window car would have noticed. Barry, one of his students at Bronx Community College, where Willet also taught some classes, assured him that the Ketamine and GBH combination would keep someone under for at least four hours. The kid, a burnout heroin addict, never asked why his teacher needed the drugs. All he wanted was the hundred bucks, which went to feed his own habit, and a passing grade he never could have earned.
    Willet reached over and patted the unconscious girl’s thigh.
    “By the way,” he said, “I don’t own a Saab or have a place in the fucking Hamptons. And I’m not going to Sint Maarten. Just yet.”
     
    ***
    Once over the George Washington Bridge, Willet took I-80 West toward Stroudsburg. On a good day, it was at most a two-hour drive from the George Washington on I-80 through East Stroudsburg  to Willet’s rented cabin at Pecks Pond in Pike County in northeastern Pennsylvania. But Willet did not trust the druggie, because he was a druggie. So while he was still in New Jersey he exited I-80 at Dover and took State Road 15. It would increase his driving time by a half-hour, but the rural, two-lane road offered many isolated turnoffs that lead to local fishing spots on the many small ponds dotting the area.
    So, an hour into the trip, he took one of the cutoffs and pulled up to a small clearing by the water’s edge. After making sure that there was no one behind him, he got out and opened his car’s trunk, which he had prepared earlier. Then he opened the passenger door, unhooked his captive’s seat belt and dragged her to the rear of the car. Lifting her up, he put her in the trunk and quickly bound her hands behind her back with heavy-duty hemp rope. Then he did her feet. There was plenty of room for her unconscious body, which was why his scuba gear was in the back seat.
    Willet used duct tape to cover the girl’s mouth, being careful to make sure her nose was not obstructed. During the process Alana Dallas barely moved and Willet worried that Barry had provided too strong a potion. But the girl’s breathing was steady. He went through the pockets of her jeans and found her smart phone. There was a small tool box in the trunk. He opened it and took out a screwdriver, using it to remove the license plates from the car, stolen from another car in a long-term parking lot at LaGuardia Airport. He replaced them with his car’s actual plates. He walked to the pond and skimmed the stolen plates into the water. He returned to his car, put the tool box away and slammed the trunk.
    Willet leaned against the Toyota. He was shaking with fear. It took him 10 minutes to get his breathing under control. So far, everything had gone like clockwork. By parking across the street from the girl’s apartment, he avoided being seen by the security cameras that covered the front entrances of all the buildings that