Finders/Keepers (An Allie Krycek Thriller, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

like Juliet, Alice; knowledge is not your friend.”
    “Ignorance is bliss, is that it?”
    “In this case, yes. The truth is, you work for Dwight and me. And we work for them. That’s all you need to know.”
    “What if something happens? What if we get separated and I need to contact them?”
    “You don’t. Ever. There’s a reason all communications go through us. Through me, specifically. Your job—your only job—is to keep the girls cooperative until we deliver them. Nothing more, nothing less. When we get paid, you get paid, and not a second before. It’s the same for all of these guys. Besides,” Reese continued, “what’s that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Do yourself a favor and don’t be so curious, Alice. Do your job and go home and be glad, because this will, in all likelihood, be the easiest money you’ll ever make. You’ll thank me when this is over.”
    Allie clenched her teeth but didn’t say anything.

Four
    H e couldn’t go meet the girl while both his legs were feeling as if they were engulfed in flames for some damn reason, so Hank took a quick detour. Kent Whitman’s pharmacy had a small line of people at the front register, but Hank bypassed the woman working behind the counter and went straight to the back.
    “What do you want?” Whitman said when Hank pushed his way into the back room. The pharmacist was in the middle of separating stacks of pills.
    “I need the good stuff,” Hank said.
    “What ‘good stuff?’”
    “You know what good stuff.” Hank pointed at his right leg, though of course Whitman couldn’t see anything through his pants. He had re-bandaged the wound the best he could while Diane’s voice nagged at him to go to the hospital and get it properly looked at.
    Whitman didn’t even glance down at Hank’s leg and instead returned to his work. “I’m not giving you anything without a prescription.”
    “Ain’t got time for that.”
    “What’s wrong with your leg?”
    “Someone shot me.”
    “Someone shot you?” The pharmacist looked back at him. “Jesus Christ, Hank. I thought you were retired?”
    “I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still get shot. Now you going to give me the good stuff, or not?”
    “No,” Whitman said, and shook his head for emphasis.
    Hank sighed and leaned on the counter, staring at Whitman. “Eight years ago, you came to me asking for help…”
    Whitman didn’t let him finish. “Okay, okay. Jesus Christ, how long you going to hang that one over me?”
    Whenever I need something from you , Hank thought, but said, “This is the last time.”
    “Yeah, right,” Whitman said, but he abandoned his work and headed farther into the back. “Wait here.”
    Hank leaned against the counter and wondered what Diane would say about him blackmailing one of their oldest friends.
    I did it for a good reason, sweetheart.
    Well, mostly.
    And he could be wrong—and it was likely all in his head—but Hank swore the pain had started to lessen in both legs almost right away.
    Yeah, keep telling yourself that, old-timer.
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    T he address the girl gave him was for a motel along the interstate in the neighboring state, and it took Hank over three hours to reach her. He spent that time mulling over everything he knew about the robbery at the diner—which wasn’t very much, when he really thought about it—and how much of a bad idea this was. Hank was glad he didn’t carry a cell phone, otherwise he wasn’t sure if he could fight the temptation to call Miller and tell him everything. The lack of a phone, as well as a general dislike of the young turd, helped Hank to keep on course.
    By the time he pulled into the motel parking lot, the sun had begun to dip in the horizon and the establishment’s glowing neon sign had flickered to life in the background. From the number of vehicles, the rooms were only half full today, most occupied around the central hub where the manager’s office was located. The room the girl gave him