Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun (book club reads .TXT) 📗

“A thrilling 'thriller' with an intrepid female PI and a twisting plot. A SILVER MEDAL WINNER and highly recommended.” – The Wishing Shelf Book Awards

Praise for Blood Kills

“A vindictive killer has targeted Angelina; a beloved local artist is murdered (which has been predicted by the victim himself, documented in his will); and a Russian mob's involvement keeps Angelina on her toes and in trouble. Blood Kills is a riveting thriller that proves hard to put down, testing the boundaries of family ties, love, and proposals for a new future.” – Diane Donovan for Midwest Book Review

"Blood Kills... is a complicated intrigue involving the Russian Mafia (Bratva), war crimes in Chechnya, the Milwaukee Mafia, wills, testaments, lots of money, lots of blood, and the miracle of DNA. It will keep you guessing and turning the pages all the way to its conclusion. ... The greatest joy is in the characters Nanci Rathbun creates. Blood Kills is an all-round magnificent pleasure to read." - 5* Review by Jon Michael Miller for Readers' Favorite

"Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun is a good example of [the thriller genre]. It starts off with a bang - a murder - then the author brings in the bold female private investigator who we confidently know will solve the case. The author then throws in a few twists, a few turns, lots of red herrings and, of course, tops it all off with a dollop of romance. So, if you enjoy thrillers, I can confidently recommend Blood Kills, as this book ticks pretty much every ‘thriller‘ box." - Wishing Shelf Book Reviews

“Blood Kills [is] a romantic, riveting, and razor-sharp mystery. The murder of a gifted artist is far more than it may first appear, and it will take all of Angie's investigative skills to unravel this high-brow crime before more bodies are put on display. Peppered with red herrings and a colorful cast of suspects and allies, this is an unpredictable and gripping slice of pulp fiction. All told, Bonaparte is a continually captivating heroine, and Rathbun has added a solid chapter to her sassy saga.” – SPR Reviews

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my granddaughters, Lydia, Lucy and Lauren. You're too young to read it now, but I hope that when you're grown up, you'll love Angie and think that Nana wrote a cool story. I love you to Pluto and back!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to thank my critique partners at the NoCo Writers Group in Colorado for their encouragement, support and eagle eyes as the manuscript progressed.

I also thank my beta readers, Barb Russell and Randy Troyer, for their invaluable feedback.

And what would a book be without those who inspire it? Thanks to my friend and talented fabric artist, Deb Richards, upon whom some aspects of Debby Hill were based. I've always admired the way you bring joy to others with your talent.

Thanks, too, to my friend, all-round handy guy and inveterate punster, Roy Brouwer, who served as the inspiration for wood artist Roy Ballard. It's always a joy to be the target of one of your groaners, Roy.

Lastly, I extend my sincere gratitude to my amazing editor, D.A. Sarac, whose input made Blood Kills better in so many ways. Any remaining mistakes are purely my own.

Prologue

This is the law: blood spilt upon the ground cries out for more.

Aeschylus

A quarter mile from the shop, Artur Hunter slowed his jog to the steady walk of a man on his way to work. Keeping one hand inside the pocket of his bulky jacket, he used the other to assure himself that the ball cap was pulled low over his forehead, almost touching the large-framed tinted eyeglasses he wore despite the predawn twilight.

Once at the target area, he scanned for potential observers before slipping into the dark alley and maneuvering to the loading dock behind the shop. Recon earlier that week had revealed that the closest security camera, mounted in a stationary position at the top of a warehouse several hundred yards away, remained fixed at the building. Foolish to spend money for a camera that didn’t move, but he could use it to his advantage.

The loading dock’s big overhead door was open. Good. Mikhail was inside then. Maybe expecting a shipment. One he would not live to accept.

Before edging carefully along the perimeter of the storage area, Artur drew the Ruger from his pocket and attached the silencer. If the police approached as he made his way to the shop, he could quickly discard the illegal attachment. He quietly entered from the workshop next to the dock and cleared the small back office and bathroom before stepping into the well-lit sales area.

Mikhail turned at the sound of Artur’s almost silent footsteps.

“Hello, cousin.” Artur’s gravelly voice carried a threat to match the weapon he began to raise. “I have come to reclaim what is mine.”

“Yours? Have you forgotten all the times you swore it was mine alone?”

Artur shrugged. “A difficult situation for you, I admit. Still, it is time to stop the game of… what is it they say here, cat and mouse? Return it to me and I will leave. You will never see or hear from me again.”

With a derisive snort, Mikhail said, “We both know that is a lie. You will kill me whether I give it to you or not. So why should I make it easy for you?” In a blur of motion, he reached for the combat knife in its ankle sheath, wheeled, and hurled the weapon.

It lodged deep in Artur’s arm, causing blood to fountain down onto the shop floor. “You are a dead man,” Artur shouted. Switching the Ruger to his other hand, he took aim and fired.

The bullet penetrated Mikhail’s chest, taking him down, but his eyes remained fastened on Artur. “You will never get it now,” he whispered.

“Let our blood mingle once more.” Artur wrested the knife from his forearm and used it to slice