“You mean the city?” Munk scowled into the phone receiver and thought up a choice way to kill his client as he rode back down the elevator he’d just ridden up from the hotel parking garage. He should be knocking down a shot of smooth whiskey right now, not heading out to fix his client’s screwups. “Yes, the city.” Ryder thought he could escape? Munk should have taken the shot when he had it and to hell with this client. “I just spent the night traipsing around the woods, taking missed shots. That’s fucking bullshit and not what I do.” “Ryder left a message that he’ll be back by Monday. Some bunk about needing a couple of days together, but I don’t believe it. I’m sure he’s running to keep her safe, which is perfect as long as you find him before Sunday.” What was going down on Sunday? Munk’s extra sense, the one that kept him alive, was telling him this operation was falling apart and that he shouldn’t be anywhere near his client when Sunday rolled around.
