Free The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) by Jack Parker

And as I waited, it was that sole sound in the dark office that suddenly brought me crashing back to reality. I found myself looking blearily around the room, suddenly realizing exactly where I was, what time of evening it was, and what I wasn'taccomplishing.
     
    What are you doing, Stikup? My lips twisted themselves into a fair imitation of the frustrated knot in my guts as I answered my own question. You're wasting time that could be better spent sleeping. That's what you're doing.
     
    I wasn't Sherlock Holmes who could simply compute things in his head: I was your average PI and nothing more. I needed facts, motives, and suspects – not ideas, gut feelings, or hypotheses.
     
    Not to say that a better case wouldn't have been nice. I hadn't yet found the heart to tell Miles that most missing items cases are left unsolved. But beggars can't be choosers.
     
    I filled the mug to the brim and blew on the surface of the liquid before taking a careful sip. Immediately, I retched at my handiwork and nearly sprayed the mouthful on the wall. I stared at the black crap in the mug, curling my upper lip in disgust.
     
    "Gross," I said mildly, speaking directly to the coffee. I swilled it around – to make sure that it was really coffee I was drinking – and then tried another sip. There was no improvement, so I dumped the mug in the bathroom sink. That was all well and good, though: I didn't need to stay up any longer anyway.
     
    I shut off the light and stepped back into the hallway, rubbing my eyes in the darkness. I really needed some sleep if I was planning on doing any investigating the next day.
     
    Today , my brain reminded me mechanically, so I hit the glow button on my watch and checked the time.
     
    2:03 in the morning, and it was the second of December already. Much later than I had expected.
     
    Stretching, I yawned and considered my options. Regardless of its appearance, the sofa in my office was extremely comfortable, and I could light a fire to keep me warm. On the other hand, I could drive all the way home to sleep in my bed. But if I did that, I most likely wouldn't actually get to sleep until well after 3:00.
     
    Office it is.
     
    I brushed my hair out of my eyes and trudged back down the hall. I had barely stepped in the door when the old phone on my desk rang. The shrill, piercing shriek shattered the previous stillness and made me jump.
     
    I frowned as a sudden sense of foreboding tightened my guts, rooting me to the spot. After a second and third ring, I realized I wasn't dreaming, so I crossed to the desk and picked up the receiver.
     
    "Yeah?" I asked tentatively.
     
    "Stikup?"
     
    I immediately recognized Kevin Slyder's mouth–full–of–marbles voice but still felt uneasy about his call. What could be so important at two in the goddamn morning? "Y'ello."
     
    "Stikup, this is Slyder," he said unnecessarily. He seemed agitated, which was funny, because I hadn't actually said anything yet. "Had a hell of a time reaching you – called your home and your secretary. We got to get you a fucking pager or something. Look, we need you – now . We've had another break–in: house is number 4 Whitefield Avenue in Richwood."
     
    "Me?" I wasn't sure why I had asked for specification – it wasn't even a joke. My mind wasn't functioning, it seemed.
     
    His tone darkened considerably. "This case is your baby, Stikup. Unless you don't want it, of course. I can find someone else who does."
     
    My blood ran cold at the threat and I swallowed hard. "No, sir – sorry, sir. Same crooks?"
     
    The apology seemed to have satisfied him, although it irritated me that he had almost sounded… hopeful . Like he was looking for me to quit. "Far as we know. Definitely the same getaway vehicle – red Ford, no tags. Glassboro cops responded to the 9-1-1 call and phoned us in. Didn't feel like cleaning up after them, I guess."
     
    I was busy stuffing a few extra 9mm clips into my slacks pocket. "Cleaning up?" I