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

She waves her hands. “It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s just a joke.”

He isn’t so sure. “Anyway, say, I was wondering, is there anywhere good to eat in this town?”

“You’ve been here long enough. You haven’t found anywhere yourself yet?” She’s grinning.

Tom laughs. He’s being charming; they’re both being flirtatious. He scuffs his boots on the floor. “I’ve found some places, but nowhere I’d really consider good.”

“I can give you some names,” Beth says. “There’s a diner I usually go to.”

“That sounds promising. But I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I’m wondering if maybe I could get some company when I go out to eat. I’ve been flying solo the last few nights. I was thinking it would be good to have some company.”

“You asking if I’d like to join you?” She smiles coquettishly.

“Y’know, if you want to.”

“Sure,” she says. “I get off in an hour. How about then? Can you hold out that long?”

“For the company of a pretty lady? Of course. I could hold out longer if I had to.”

“An hour will be just fine. Meet me back here?”

Tom starts backing out of the lobby, raises his watch high so she sees him check the time. “I’ll see you then,” he says, winking. Then he leaves, turns his back; his smile is gone. He returns to his room.

36

Harry goes to Steve’s house. Ostensibly, this checkup is to see how he’s doing after his brother’s death, but really he, Michael, and Ronald know that he is going to gauge how he is acting, how he’s taking it.

They didn’t trust Steve before this happened. How he behaves today dictates how much they can trust him going forward.

Harry doesn’t think it’ll be much of an improvement.

“Took the wrong fuckin’ brother,” he mumbles to himself as he gets out of the car. He goes up the walkway to the front door, knocks, rings the doorbell.

It takes Steve a while to answer. The door opens just a crack, the chain still on. The inside of the house is in darkness, but this isn’t exactly anything new. Harry can’t make Steve out, though. His features are hidden by the shadows.

“Oh, Harry, hi,” Steve says, his voice sounding muffled. “Just give me a second.” The door closes again. There’s another moment before he hears the chain slide off the lock. The door opens fully. “You wanna come on in?”

Harry does so. They go through into the front room. Steve collapses into a chair. There’s a lamp on in the corner, the only light. It offers Harry his first good look at Steve. He looks like he’s been crying, but Harry can’t be so sure. His eyes, and the skin around them, are red. Harry knows this effect could easily have been created by his rubbing at them.

Steve sniffs. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m just checking in, Steve,” Harry says. “See how you’re holding up.”

“That’s real thoughtful of you,” Steve says. His voice is low, hard to hear. He sniffs again, clears his throat. If the crying was faked, he’s committing to it with these sounds.

“When’s the funeral?” Harry knows from conversation with Peter that their father is dead, and their mother left when they were both young. Left Peter to raise his younger brother, who now has to organize his burial.

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Not until they release the body. I can’t do anything until then, and I don’t know when that’s going to be. I’m thinking I’ll just get him cremated. It’s cheaper, and from what I hear, he’s already halfway there.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“The cops.”

“They been by to see you?”

Steve nods.

“They didn’t see anything they shouldn’t have?”

“No, of course not. Why do you think the place looks so tidy? This ain’t how I usually live.”

Harry watches Steve while he talks. Judges his tone, his mannerisms, his reactions. “They say anything to you about how he died?”

“No, they didn’t,” Steve says. “Just that he died in a fire. But Ronald already told me the truth.”

“And what d’you think of that?”

Steve stares at the ground. “What am I supposed to think? Someone killed my brother, then tried to burn the place down to hide the fact they did it.”

Steve answers well, he acts well, but there remains something off about him. Something Harry can’t put his finger on. Perhaps it’s his own doubt, clouding what he sees, swaying his perceptions. “Whoever they are, they could be coming for the rest of us next,” Harry says. “We think it has somethin’ to do with Anthony Rollins. Some friends of his.”

“Could be,” Steve says, looking up.

“What you think of that?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You spent a lot of time with Anthony, and now he’s responsible for your brother being dead.”

“Well, I’m thinking if we get hold of one of his buddies who’s come to town, then we can make them talk, find out where it is he’s gotten himself to.”

“That ain’t a bad idea.”

“Yeah, well, that happens, you know where to find me. Be sure to send me an invite. I’ll be straight over.”

“Mm.” Harry taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa he sits on. “Why don’t you go get the takings for the week? I might as well take them now, seen as how I’m already here.”

“Sure,” Steve says. He gets to his feet, leaves the room.

Harry glances around, like there’s going to be some clue left out in the open that will answer all his questions. but if Steve knows who’s responsible, he’s doing a good job hiding it.

Steve returns with the cash, hands it over. While Harry is counting it, Steve says, “Listen, I wanna make a request.”

Harry doesn’t respond until he’s finished counting. He pockets the money, says, “Shoot.”

“With Peter dead, with his killers still out there, I wanna step up.”

“How so?”

“On the council. I wanna take his place. It’s what Peter would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted me to be more proactive, to take his place, to know he left his