Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

of cash stuffed in several bags in the corner.

Focus, Cal. Where would they put the keys?

He couldn’t find them anywhere.

Cal had almost forgotten about the other men until he heard the roar of an engine just outside the building.

He let out a few expletives and scanned the room again. Then he saw a glimmer on a table a few feet away. Cal darted toward it and scooped up the keys, but not before his prisoner started screaming something in Russian.

Why didn’t I gag him?

He knew why—it’d take too long. But he made the decision and he’d have to make the best of it now.

All four men stormed into the building and started firing at Cal. He was at least fifty yards away and he crouched behind a forklift. He spied a door a few feet away, one that he hoped led to the outside and not a janitor’s closet.

Cal sprang from his position and headed toward the door. He saw a bullet strike the door just to the right of his head.

Focus, Cal. Focus.

He hit the button on the fob to figure out which car the keys belonged to. A black BMW sedan blinked and Cal didn’t hesitate. He dashed toward the car and climbed inside, wasting no time to push the button to start it.

The engine roared to life as he stomped the gas pedal and sped away from the warehouse. He glanced in his rearview mirror to see if they were coming after him.

Headlights flickered on in the distance and he watched a car lurch forward.

Cal realized he had no idea where he was—or any way of finding out. His phone wasn’t in his pocket and he didn’t see one sitting around in the car.

As he drove, he started to dig around under the seats. No luck.

Then he heard a bullet whistle past the car.

Cal glanced in the mirror and applied more pressure to the gas.

Then Cal realized where he was.

Water Street.

A lengthy reconstruction project along the Water Street strip had moved slower than expected due to financial issues with several of the developers involved. As a result, several buildings that remained an eyesore were rented out while developers acquired more funding. It was a perfect hideout for a group that didn’t mind a month-to-month lease.

Cal veered onto the 9th Street Expressway. At this time of night, it wouldn’t take him more than five more minutes to get to his location—Scott Perry’s office on K Street.

***

CAL PARKED ON THE STREET and dashed toward the entrance. It was locked. A lone security guard sat staring at a bank of monitors just inside the lobby.

Cal tapped on the glass.

The security guard looked up, pointed at his wrist and mouthed the words, “It’s closed.”

Cal remained determined to get in. He rapped on the glass again, drawing an eye roll from the security guard. The guard plodded toward the door.

“Sorry, man. We’re closed. If you don’t have a security badge, I can’t let you in.”

“Look, I left my badge at home and I left my girlfriend’s birthday present inside,” Cal pleaded. “You gotta help me out.”

The guard shook his head.

Cal then dug into his pockets and fished out a $20 bill. He pressed it against the glass. “Come on, man. Help me out.”

With a sigh, the guard slid his key into the lock, opening the door for Cal. He snatched the money out of his hand.

“If you weren’t so pathetic—” the guard said, letting his words hang.

“Thank you,” Cal answered. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Whatever, man.”

Cal headed for the elevators. However, he stopped short when he noticed the guard’s phone lying on the counter in plain view. Cal peeked back over his shoulder to see the man relocking the main entrance. Then he swiped the phone and slipped it into his pocket. It was open to a game of solitaire.

“Wave at me on the camera when you get to the door on the—” the guard paused. “Where did you say you were headed?”

“Perry and Associates,” Cal shouted back.

“Got it.”

The elevator opened almost immediately after Cal pressed the button for the 12th floor. He’d been to Scott Perry’s office several times for different features he was writing—but never like this. Nor did he like prowling around or confronting him. Not that he expected to find Perry there. All he was after was some proof about what was going on, something that could make his story rock solid in the eyes of Hale and keep the paper’s lawyer satisfied that they wouldn’t be open to any lawsuits.

As the elevator began to ascend, Cal couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the situation. A journalist was breaking into the same building that housed the corporate offices of The Washington Post—The Times’ rival newspaper, no less—to uncover a scandal. If only politics had been involved.

Cal strode to the Perry and Associates office and looked up and waved at the camera. The door clicked as the guard unlocked it as promised.

Cal walked directly toward Perry’s office before he froze. He would’ve sworn he saw a shadowy figure in there. Cal waited for a few more moments. Nothing.

Then he jiggled the handle and the door swung open—just before he absorbed a swift kick to his face.

CHAPTER 42

SCOTT PERRY DRAGGED CAL into his office and shut the door. He pounded his fists on the desk and glared at the man who was trying to thwart his escape.

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Perry growled.

Perry watched Cal check the corner of his mouth for blood. He huffed as he put his hands behind his head and paced around his office.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Perry muttered.

Cal stood up. “So, how was it supposed to go? You just murder your client in cold blood for leaving your agency?”

Perry stopped and shot Cal a look. “It’s not like that.”

“The whole world is going to know about this soon enough once my editor runs