High Risk by G.K. Parks (thriller book recommendations txt) 📗

the pallet of money in the back of the truck, but the truck was empty. They must have needed the driver for something.”

“Intel.” Fennel let out a low whistle. “He’d know the routes, protocols, pickup times, and other stops.” He dug through the stack of files and pulled out the background info we’d obtained on Lindsey Rook. Nothing indicated Rook was working with them, but Detectives Voletek and Lisco were following up to make sure. “They’re going to hit another truck.”

“Shit.”

“Maybe that’s why they wanted to take Rook’s uniform. Perhaps it fits better than the two ill-fitting ones they snagged from Star Cleaners, or…”

“They got blood on theirs and needed another costume change.” I stared at the mess of data covering the table and the techs who remained hard at work tracking the intel we had. For the most part, they ignored us. “What do we know for sure? At this point, the killers might be wearing wigs beneath their caps. Blond, brown, redhead? And why did they rob the dispensary if the truck was their goal?”

“They didn’t think it was coming,” Fennel said. “Or they got greedy.”

“Twenty grand is just a drop in the bucket when we’re talking about a hundred mill.”

“Unless they knew the truck was empty,” Fennel said.

“How?” Again, we were back to thinking this was an inside job, except we didn’t have any proof.

My partner rubbed his cheek, indicating he was deep in thought. “I bet they had a radio scanner to go along with their signal jammer.” He found a copy of LockBox’s radio transcripts. “According to LockBox protocols, the trucks radio in when they arrive at their location and again when they depart. LockBox received the first call when Rook pulled up to the location. See this.” Fennel pointed, and I read the message. Truck 304 is preparing for its first pickup of the day.

“That’s how they knew. So instead of walking away, they came up with a plan B on the fly. But instead of getting away scot-free, the dispensary owner stopped them. And things got ugly.” I reached for my phone. “We have to warn LockBox that another of their trucks may be hit later today.”

“Or sometime this week. It’d have to be whatever routes and locations Lindsey Rook knew about.”

“That’s assuming he talked. Do you think they tortured him?”

“I’ll get in touch with the ME’s office and find out while you phone LockBox.”

While I was relaying the information and getting updates on their routes and possible targets, one of the techs waved me over and pointed to the screen. Patrol had found the silver sedan from the first scene. It had been abandoned in an alleyway and torched.

I marked the location on the map. Every location appeared random. We might not know who these assholes were, so we had to focus on the where. After setting up police escorts for all LockBox pickups, I turned to Fennel. “We should check out the car, but if another attack is imminent, it’d be a better use of our time to determine their next target. You said you were working on that earlier. Any ideas?”

“No, but this could be something. If we figure out why they dumped the car there or where they went afterward, we might find them.”

“You’re right.” But this felt like a waste of valuable time. The clock was running out on innocent lives while these killers roamed free. I doubted this would lead to anything. They were too careful. Too meticulous. They left the car there for a reason, but my gut said it was to distract us.

Nineteen

The once silver paint was now a peeling, scorched charcoal. The heat inside the vehicle had made the windows explode, and little bits of glass had been blown throughout the alleyway. One of the techs held up a shard with a pair of tweezers before tucking it into an evidence bag.

“We ran the VIN. The car was stolen five days ago.” The patrol officer shrugged. “We never would have noticed it if we hadn’t tracked it on the city’s traffic cam grid. The tech guys got us close, but good old-fashioned legwork is how we found it.”

“What about nearby security feeds?” I asked.

“What security feeds?” the officer asked. “There’s nothing around here. It’s mostly residential, and the few places,” he pointed across the street, “have their cameras facing the other way.”

“And as usual, no one saw anything.” Fennel opened the door and peered inside the car. “What did they use? Gasoline?”

“It looks that way,” the officer said.

Fennel used his pen to sift through the ashes. A moment later, he removed a latex glove from his jacket pocket and picked something up. “I found a lighter. Look’s expensive. Metal. Possibly some sort of engraving.”

I grabbed an evidence bag and held it open for him. “Maybe the lab can clean it up.”

He reached in, searching for the trunk release, but of course whatever was left crumbled in his hand. After we pried open the trunk, we searched the inside, finding nothing but more charred ashes. At least we didn’t find any skeletal remains.

“Get the rest of this bagged and tagged, and put a rush on it.” I followed my partner, who wandered out of the alley and down the street. “Brad, wait up.”

He halted, lost in his thoughts while his eyes took in every inch of our surroundings. “It was still dark out when they abandoned the car. No one was around. No one saw anything. The alley’s narrow. They barely had enough clearance to open their doors and get out. The buildings would have blocked the blaze from view, unless you looked straight at it. They didn’t just find this location. They planned it.”

“What else is new?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, so where did they go from here?”

“Liquor store?” I suggested.