Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (book recommendations based on other books .txt) 📗

tell the tale. “A car crash. They had come here, to visit my aunt, my father’s sister. They were on their way home, they’d been driving for a very long time, and my father, he … he fell asleep at the wheel.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said again.

She waved her hands like she felt foolish. “Why am I telling you this?” She laughed. “I just met you. We’ve been talking for, what, five minutes, maybe?”

Tom smiled at her. “I’d like to talk for more.”

“I have to work. People will get annoyed if I’m giving one customer all the attention instead of filling their drinks.”

“All right, then. What time do you finish?”

She chewed her lip. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Tom,” he said. “Tom Rollins. You?”

It took her a moment. She looked along the counter, saw a man approach, empty glass in hand, looking for a refresh. “Alejandra Flores,” she said. “People call me Ally.”

“I think I’ll call you Alejandra,” Tom said. “Because Alejandra Flores is the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.”

She hurried off to serve the approaching customer before she had a chance to blush again.

Tom hung around until midnight, until the bar closed and Alejandra was finished work. He stood with her outside while she locked up. “There isn’t much to do, I’m afraid,” she said. “Most places are closed by now.”

“Then I’ll walk you home,” Tom said. “Or close enough to it if you don’t want me to know where you live.”

“My aunt warned me I shouldn’t walk with strange men I only just met.”

“I can understand that.”

“Maybe I’m being stupid.”

“If you think this is a bad idea, then just say so. I’ll walk away right now, no hard feelings. I’d rather you felt comfortable with me than full of worry every single step of the way.”

She looked at him for a long time. She looked straight into his eyes. Finally, she shook her head, said, “No, it’s okay, come on. Let’s walk.”

She led the way, and Tom matched her stride. She didn’t head straight home. They walked for what felt like miles around the town of Harrow, just talking, smiling, laughing.

By the end of the night, as Tom left her at the end of the walkway leading to her front door, her aunt twitching the curtains, watching them, Tom knew he was in love.

Now, in the present, he doesn’t even know where she is. Doesn’t know if she’s all right. There is a pain in his heart, a stabbing sensation.

He knows.

He knows that something bad has happened.

Standing, he goes back inside the house, stepping lightly, his footsteps silent. Goes through to Anthony’s room. He’s still sleeping. Tom takes a seat in the chair by the side of the bed, watches him. Anthony’s breathing is ragged. He moans, turns to and fro.

Tom spent the rest of his leave with Alejandra. He’d visit her at the bar. He’d walk with her. He’d learn of her life, of what made her happy, of what she liked and disliked, what she loved. Of how she missed Mexico, Guaymas, how she wanted to go back, how she couldn’t imagine living the rest of her life without seeing her home again.

“This is where I live now,” she said. “But it’s not really my home. It can’t be.”

His final night, before he was due to ship out again in the morning, he walked her home, and he kissed her on her aunt’s porch. It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever had. Even now, he can feel the brush of her lips against his own, the way her tongue probed gently at his.

By the time he returned from his second tour, she was dating Anthony.

15

Senator Seth Goldberg gets out of the shower, dries and combs his hair, gets dressed and goes downstairs. It is Saturday morning. His wife, Abigail, and his daughters are in the kitchen. Abigail sits at the table, reading a book. She looks up as he enters, smiles, marks her place, puts her book to one side. The girls are in the corner of the room, looking out the French doors at the sunny day.

“Girls,” Abigail says, “breakfast.”

Danielle is six; Deborah is eight. They leave the window, come to their father, say good morning to him, hug him, kiss his cheeks. They all sit together at the table. Seth wears a black suit. Abigail wears a sky blue dress, Seth’s favorite. She looks very pretty in it, like she’s a young woman again, in college, when they first met. The girls are in matching peach-colored dresses. “You both look very beautiful this morning,” Seth says, leaning down close to first Deborah and then Danielle. Danielle giggles.

“What about Mom?” Deborah says. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

“Always,” Seth says, smiling at Abigail over the top of the table. “She’s always the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

Deborah turns to Abigail now. “Do you think Daddy is beautiful?” she says.

Abigail laughs. “Of course!” she says. “But I think he’s more handsome than beautiful.”

Deborah looks like she isn’t sure what to make of this. She turns back to Seth, contemplates for a moment, then says, “I think you’re beautiful, Daddy.”

Not to be left out, Danielle is quick to say, “I do too, Daddy.”

Seth looks at his wife. “There we have it,” he says to her. “You’ve been outvoted. Turns out I am a very beautiful man.”

“Then I must be a very lucky lady,” Abigail says.

They eat bread for breakfast. The girls lean forward over their plates, are especially careful not to get crumbs on their clean clothes. Deborah is more successful than her little sister. When they are done, Danielle has crumbs around her mouth, a few in her hair. Seth takes a napkin from the pile they keep in the center of the table for just such an occurrence, and he wipes her face down, picks the debris from her hair.

“Are we ready to go?” Abigail says.

“If we have to,” Deborah says.

“Yes,” Seth says, smiling. “We do have to. You’ll like it one day.”

Deborah