Collateral Damage (Volume 17) (Ali Reynolds Series) - Softcover

Buch 17 von 18: Ali Reynolds

Jance, J.A.

 
9781982189167: Collateral Damage (Volume 17) (Ali Reynolds Series)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1982189169 ISBN 13: 9781982189167
Verlag: Pocket Books, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

Ali Reynolds and High Noon Enterprises face the dangerous consequences of one man’s desperate search for revenge in this unputdownable thriller from J.A. Jance, the New York Times bestselling author who “has been delivering must-read books for a long time” (The Real Book Spy).

After spending twenty years behind bars, Frank Muñoz, a disgraced former cop, is out on parole and focused on just one thing: revenge. The wife who abandoned him after his arrest, the mistress who ratted him out for abetting a money-laundering scheme, the detectives who presided over his case all those years ago—they all have targets on their backs.

For Ali Reynolds, the first Christmas without her father is riddled with grief and uncertainty. And with her husband and founding partner of High Noon Enterprises, B. Simpson, preoccupied by an upcoming New Year’s trip to London, she is ready for a break. But when Stu Ramey barges into her home with grave news about a serious—and suspicious—accident on the highway to Phoenix involving B.’s car, things reach a breaking point.

At the hospital, a groggy, post-op B. insists that Ali take his place at a ransomware conference in London, as troubles brimming around High Noon come to light. But questions remain: Who would go to such lengths to cut the tech company from the picture? And what if Ali and the rest of the team are also in danger?

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J.A. Jance is the New York Times bestselling author of the Ali Reynolds series, the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, and the Walker Family series. Born in South Dakota and raised in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. Visit her online at JAJance.com. 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Wednesday, January 1, 2020, 8:00 a.m. (PST)

Frank Muñoz’s first New Year’s Day out of the slammer was a quiet one. He got up, made coffee, and had a bowl of cold cereal—Frosted Flakes—for breakfast. His mother, Lupé, had never bought Frosted Flakes back when he was a kid. She claimed they were too expensive. “Have a tortilla,” she’d always said. “They’re better for you than all that sugar.” Of course Frank realized now that a steady diet of tortillas wasn’t very good for you, either.

After breakfast he switched on his flat-screen TV and settled in to watch the Rose Parade. His moderately priced, fully furnished apartment on Shadow Lane was only a stone’s throw away from Las Vegas Metropolitan Police headquarters. Having lived in lockup for the past sixteen years, being in this clean and comfortably furnished apartment was like living in the lap of luxury. His choosing to live within walking distance of the local cop shop made it appear as though he had nothing to hide—which was exactly what he wanted people to believe.

Frank watched the parade from beginning to end, not so much to see the floats but to catch glimpses of the city of Pasadena itself. Living in self-imposed exile here in Vegas, Frank still missed the place where he’d gone to work fresh out of college. And being occupied with the parade meant he wasn’t keeping an eye on his watch and wondering what was going on. After today, he’d be one step closer to achieving his goal—three down and one to go. By the end of the week, once all four of his tormentors were out of the way, his job would be over, and his score would be settled.

Melinda, his younger sister, called just as the parade was winding down. “Are you coming over to watch the game?” she asked. “Menudo, tamales, and tacos—all homemade and all you can eat.”

He understood why she was calling. Melinda was the baby of the family. Although much younger than Frank, she was incredibly bossy and felt morally obliged to look after him. The problem was Frank didn’t really like her, and he could barely tolerate her husband, either—his brother-in-law, Ricky. But when Frank had been coming up for parole, Melinda and Ricky had suggested he consider moving to Vegas, and that’s why he’d asked to be set up with a parole officer there—to be close to family. Melinda had provided a plausible excuse, but the real reason for Frank’s wanting to settle in Vegas was far more complicated.

Years earlier, and two days before his trial had been due to start, Frank had sat in a jailhouse interview room with his attorney and a US prosecuting attorney who was there to pitch a plea deal.

“We’ve examined your financials,” the prosecutor said. “We know for a fact that you’ve been receiving substantial amounts of hush money from the people behind BJ’s, and we have witnesses who are prepared to testify to your having subverted an upcoming vice raid, which allowed ample opportunity for the illegal gambling operation to disappear long before officers arrived.”

That was all true. Frank had been a longtime regular at a local strip joint called BJ’s, but he was also a cop. He had noticed that many people who came through the place exhibited zero interest in the dancers. They all went directly upstairs to a room marked PRIVATE. AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY. Frank recognized a good number of those folks. They were well-known locals, respected politicians and businessmen, whose reputations would suffer irreparable harm if they were caught up in a raid on an illegal gambling den.

One afternoon in the locker room while preparing for his shift Frank had happened to overhear two of the vice guys discussing an upcoming operation—a planned raid on BJ’s. The owner, Betty Jean Parmenter, was a tough old bat who, back in the day, had been a well-known stripper herself. While still in her prime, she had managed to marry into the mob. Her long-deceased mafioso husband and his pals had provided the start-up funds that launched BJ’s originally, and for years it had operated as both a gambling den and a mob-friendly money-laundering establishment.

The very day Frank overheard the vice guys’ discussion, he had shown up in Betty Jean’s office unannounced and sounded the alarm. Once he did so, she had examined him with a disturbingly intense look.

“We know you’re a regular,” she said finally. “We also know you’re a cop. How come you’re telling me this?”

Frank had shrugged. “Just thought you should know is all,” he replied.

He hadn’t known if she’d pay attention to his warning, but when the promised raid occurred, that private upstairs room had been wiped clean as a whistle. The next time Frank stopped by the club and it was time for him to pay his tab, he didn’t have one. Instead the barkeep handed him an envelope with his name on it. Inside was a cool $10,000 in cash.

That Christmas Frank had used his unexpected windfall to play Santa in a big way. The kids at home had all gotten everything on their wish lists, and he’d found a pair of one-carat diamond earrings for Danielle, his sweet little side dish. He’d given her the earrings while they were dining at a fancy restaurant on a night when he’d had a bit too much to drink.

“These are lovely,” she said, “but how can you afford to be so generous?”

With the booze loosening his tongue, he’d told her the whole story. Sitting in the interview room that day, Frank knew Danielle Lomax had to be the one who had fingered him.

“What we’ve got you on so far,” the prosecutor continued, “is enough to put you away for the next twenty years, give or take. We’re willing to cut that down to ten if you’ll agree to name names.”

William Banks, Frank’s supposedly pro bono attorney, had been in the room at the time, ostensibly taking handwritten notes on a legal pad. When the prosecutor’s spiel ended, Banks spoke for the first time.

“I’ll discuss your plea offer with my client,” he said. “We’ll let you know.”

Once the prosecutor had left the room, Banks slid the legal pad over to Frank so he could see what he’d written there:

We are prepared to pay $500,000 in cash due upon your eventual release if you don’t name names.

Obviously Banks didn’t believe the audio/video feed in the interview room had been turned off once the prosecutor left the room, and neither did Frank. What’s more, he didn’t have to think twice about the offer.

Thanks to that little bitch Danielle, he was for sure going to prison. As a former police officer, once inside Frank would automatically be on an endangered species list. As for the people making this very quiet counteroffer? They had every reason for wanting him to stay silent and he suspected they were good for the money they were offering. If they somehow reneged on the deal after the fact, he could always come after them. The statute of limitations might have run out on some of their current illegal activities, but by the time he got out of the joint, there were bound to be more where those came from.

At that point, Frank had placed his hand on the...

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Verlag
Pocket Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1982189169
ISBN 13 
9781982189167
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
432
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV
info@simonandschuster.nl

Herculesplein 96
Utrecht
3584 AA
Niederlande

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