The Professionals by Owen Laukkanen Read Free Book Online Page A

big shot. No big deal.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah.” Mouse gave him a smile. “It’s fine, boss. Do your thing.”
    Pender gave it a minute. He shrugged. Of course it was fine. The guy was just pissed off, was all. “Fine,” he said. He went back to Beneteau’s room.
    There, Pender lay out the story, closing with a hundred-thousand-dollar payoff. Beneteau looked like he could stand to pay a premium, and the extra forty grand would make a nice vacation bonus when they hit Florida next week. When Pender finished his spiel, however, Beneteau laughed in his face.
    N ice speech, pal,” he said. “But you won’t get a dime from me.”
    Sawyer smacked him. Beneteau came up bloody, but he kept laughing.
    “We’re going to put you on the phone to your wife,” said Pender, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “You can lay out the situation. Talk it over.”
    “Think about your wife,” said Sawyer. “Think about your kids.”
    “Think about fuck you,” said Beneteau. “Let me go now and maybe you live.”
    Pender picked up the phone. “Call your wife.”
    “Last chance. I make this call and you fuckers are roadkill.”
    Sawyer smacked him again. “Dial the number.”
    Pender dialed. Beneteau put the phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Honey,” he said. “I’ve been kidnapped. Some chumps. I’m all right. They want a ransom. No, listen. Hundred grand. That’s the price. Twenty-four hours. You know what to do … All right. All right.”
    Beneteau hung up the phone. He turned his face in Sawyer’s direction and flashed a bloody grin. “You motherfuckers just made the biggest mistake of your lives.”



twelve
    Y eah, I remember her. How could I forget?”
    Agent Stevens found himself at the Avis counter at the Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport, listening to the clerk nearly blow his wad as he tried to describe the girl who’d rented the brown Hyundai last Tuesday.
    It hadn’t taken much for Stevens to follow the McDonald’s security footage to the rental car agency. Just a couple frames forward on the tape to where the car waited to pull into traffic and Stevens could almost read the full license plate straight off the screen. A few keystrokes later and he’d traced the car back to Avis. If only all police work was that easy.
    “She was
hot
, man,” said the guy, Brian, a fat twentysomething. He leered at Stevens as he spoke. “Big brown eyes, pretty smile.
Nice
rack. She was something.”
    “Curly hair?”
    “Curly hair.” Brian nodded. “A lot of it, too.”
    “She came alone?”
    “Nah, she had this big guy with her. Kind of lurking in the background.”
    Stevens took out his notepad. “Could you describe him?”
    “Probably six-two, six-three, I guess? Mid- to late twenties. Short brown hair. Chinstrap beard. Maybe two hundred pounds.” He shrugged. “I was looking at the girl, you know?”
    “They come off a plane?”
    Brian shrugged. “Hard to say. Didn’t think they had any bags, though.” He glanced up at Stevens. “What’d they do with the car, anyway?”
    “Took it to McDonald’s,” said Stevens. “You got the paperwork?”
    Brian nodded and knelt below the counter. He stood up with a sheaf of documents and passed them across. Stevens took a look.
    According to the file, the renter was an Ashley McAdams. Gave an address in Atlanta, Georgia, a 404 area code. Twenty-six years old. Paid with a Visa card.
    Stevens put down the folder. “You were here when she brought back the car?”
    “Nah. Wish I was, though.”
    “Yeah,” said Stevens. “Can you come down to the BCA tomorrow, talk to a composite artist about these two?”
    “Guess so.” Brian shrugged. “We could do it tonight if you want. I’m off in a half hour.”
    “No, thanks,” said Stevens, already walking away. “I gotta pick up my daughter from volleyball practice.”
    A couple hours later, with Andrea home from practice, dinner consumed, and the dishes done, the kids having