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

however Harry makes his money, it ain’t legal, and she’s not going to ask him about it.

He believes her when she says she doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want to know. She may be aware of his affiliations, what he does, what he believes, but that is not her life. She’s not one of them. Unlike Linda, Michael’s wife, who Tom is fairly certain knows everything going on with her husband, and more than likely is an active participant in parts of it.

“You wanna talk about something else?” Beth says.

“Sure,” Tom says, his tone still light, sprightly, his smile still warm, making it look like this hasn’t put him off her, like he’s still interested. “Of course. Tell you what, so far I’ve been leading the conversation, asking all the questions. Why don’t we talk about something you wanna talk about.”

“Sure. Great. That sounds good.” She swallows some melt. “Where do you come from? Tell me about that. Tell me about your hometown, seeing as how you’ve already got a good look at mine.”

Tom takes a bite of his burger and prepares to tell her the lies he already has invented for just such a question.

39

Harry is at home, pacing the floors, bored. He’s tried calling Beth, but there was no answer. She hasn’t called him back, either. He’s getting annoyed. She always answers. When she misses his calls, she always calls him back soon after. She knows better than to ignore him. It’s longer now than she usually takes.

He’s getting suspicious now. It’s in his nature. He tries calling her one more time, still gets nothing. He takes a seat, though he can’t settle. Gives her a chance to phone him back. When she doesn’t respond in an acceptable amount of time, he snatches the phone up, puts it in his pocket, leaves the house. He drives over to her place to see if she’s there.

As he arrives, Beth is just getting back. She gets out of her car, is on her way up to the front door. Harry cuts across the grass to intercept her. “Where the hell have you been?” he says, taking her roughly by the elbow. “Your shift ended hours ago.”

Beth snatches her arm back from him. “Jesus Christ, Harry, that hurt.” She glares at him. “And so what? I got something to eat. That’s none of your business.”

Harry doesn’t care for the way she looks at him, nor for her belligerent tone. “I tried calling you.”

“And I missed it – so what? I’d have called you back once I got in the house. You’re too damn impatient, that’s your problem.”

“Where were you?” Harry says. “Who were you with?”

She doesn’t answer him. She unlocks her front door, steps inside. Harry follows after her, pushing his way in. “I don’t have to come to your place every night,” Beth says. “We were clear on that. That was the agreement we reached. Remember?”

“I remember,” Harry says. “Every other night. But I was bored and lonely, and I wanted to call you. You forget that Peter has just fucking died? I wanted to talk to you.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to come storming over here, demanding to know where I’ve been. This isn’t your night. It’s mine. You know it’s mine.”

“Damn it, Beth!” He’s getting annoyed. Getting that feeling in his hands, that itch, like he wants to grab her or hit her, to make her shut up and just listen.

She flinches at his rising volume. He’s glad to see it.

“If I call you, I expect a damn response,” he says. “Where were you?”

“I already told you, I went for something to eat.”

“Where?”

“I was at the diner. It’s no big deal.”

“With who?”

“No one. I was alone.”

He looks at her, feeling the same way he did when he spoke to Steve. “You sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure. Who else would I be with? No one wants to be near me because of you. All my friends, they all stay away. They’re all scared of you.”

“If I find out you were with someone, and you ain’t admitting to it right now –”

“I was alone!”

“Hmm.” He won’t tell her he believes her, because he doesn’t, but he leaves it at that.

“Are we done here?” Beth says. “Are you satisfied? Will you leave now?”

“I told you, I want to see you.”

“Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when it’s your night.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“We have an agreement.”

“You’re right, we do,” Harry says. “And tonight you don’t have to stay over at my place. But right now, we’re not at my place. We’re at yours.”

She looks at him, realizes what he’s saying. “Please, Harry,” she says, begging, pleading. “Just leave me alone.”

Harry doesn’t budge.

“I’m tired,” she says. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“Then go,” he says. “I’ll be right through.”

He thinks there are tears in her eyes, though she blinks a lot, trying to get rid of them. Harry smiles at them. This is better. This is how he wants it to be, how it should be. She needs to behave herself. She can’t speak to him how she did. She should be subservient to him. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it’ll always be.

She gives up. She turns away from him before the tears can fall from her eyes, and she goes through to the bedroom, her feet dragging.

Harry watches her go. He gives her a moment, and then he follows.

40

Tom heads out into the night. Another round of recon. He wants to see what kind of response, if any, the death of Peter has elicited.

He goes by Harry’s first. All the lights are off. His car is gone. It doesn’t look like he’s home. Tom moves on. He goes to Ronald’s next. On the way over, his phone begins to ring. The number is the one he gave to Steve. He pulls over to answer it, into a parking lot from where he can see the diner where he ate with Beth.

“Harry came