The Informationist: A Thriller by Taylor Stevens Read Free Book Online Page B

drop these off at your hotel as soon as I get back into town.”
    “Don’t bother,” Munroe said. “I’m not planning to read them anytime soon. I just wanted to have copies handy. When’s your flight?”
    Breeden glanced at her watch. “About three hours.”
    “Let’s get some coffee.”
    “Does that mean you’re considering Burbank’s offer?”
    “Perhaps.”
    Two blocks down the street, they found a coffee shop, cozy and quaint, and when the caffeine had for the most part been quaffed and all that remained of the scones and muffins were a few crumbs that had tumbled onto the table, Munroe shifted the conversation back to the offer Burbank had made. “I’m going to take the job,” she said. “If Burbank will agree to several concessions.”
    Breeden put down her mug and pulled a handheld from her purse.
    “I want the two-point-five million up front,” Munroe said, “plus expenses.” She paused for a moment and tapped her fingers on the table in a rhythmic pattern that resembled Morse code. “If I can deliver hard evidence on the facts surrounding his daughter’s disappearance,” she continued, “then I want an additional two-point-five upon delivery, and I want to work alone—no tagalongs. I may have a few more stipulations, but the tagalong is the only one he’s going to balk at. Wait at least seventy hours before you submit the terms—I want to buy time to change my mind.”
    Breeden nodded and jotted notes.
    “I also want the names and numbers of every person involved in any investigation that has ever been done into Emily’s disappearance. I have questions that weren’t answered by the information Burbank sent you.”
    Breeden finished tapping on the handheld, tilted her head, and whispered, “I would really love to know what made you decide to take the assignment.”
    “Because I think I can get further than they have.”
    “And the money’s good.”
    Munroe smiled. “A year of my life is a year I’ll never get back. But there was something in the file that needled me, something I couldn’t put my finger on until the ride down. Every time people have gone in search of Emily, they’ve always started where she disappeared. I think the answer lies in Europe.”
    “With the guy—oh, what’s his name? The boy that’s in the institution?”
    “Yes, with him. He was there. He should know what happened.”
    “But people have tried talking with him. He makes no sense.”
    Munroe nodded slowly. “I realize that.” She drew a long sip from a glass of water. “Perhaps they weren’t speaking his language.”
    T HE RETURN TO Dallas brought Munroe to the hotel by midafternoon, and Noah’s business card, still on the desk where he’d left it, was the first thing she saw as she entered the room. She dropped the backpack and helmet on the bed and moved to the card, picked it up, and flicked it against her hand. His name and business address stared out at her. The clock by the bed read four-thirty—still time to see him before his flight.
    In the silence of the room, the pressure in her chest began to build. The voices were there, low and quiet but still with her.
     … Why do the heathen rage …
    She ran her fingers over the top of the card, the raised ink, braille through her fingertips, translated memories of his face.
     … The kings of the earth set themselves and the rulers take council …
    She let the card fall into the garbage can.
    Time to go.
    She gathered her few belongings and tossed them into the backpack; she would drop them off with Logan on her way out of town. She’d contact Breeden before the self-imposed deadline expired, then ride until exhausted and find someplace to collapse for the night. On impulse she headed for Colorado Springs, cutting across the vast, cold emptiness of North Texas.
    It was on the outskirts of Amarillo, shortly before midnight, that she stopped for fuel. The station was poorly lit, and only after getting off the bike and removing the