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

has to close them. Tom is checking her pockets. “What’re you doing?”

Tom pulls out her phone, holds it up. “Do you think she was working alone?”

“No,” Ben says.

“Then we need to find out who she’s been in contact with. Do you have someone who can unlock this?”

Ben bites his cheek. Thinks about Gerry. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Tom nods. He understands. “Search the house,” he says. “Find her laptop. Any clues that might give us an idea who’s with her.”

“She never admitted to anything,” Ben says.

Tom looks at him again. A hard, cold stare. “She pulled a gun.”

“You’d broken into her house.”

Tom shakes his head. “It’s a good thing I came along. I wasn’t here, you’d be lying where she is right now.”

Ben looks at her body again. There’s a pang in his chest.

“Go upstairs,” Tom says. “I’ll search down here.”

“I know where her laptop is,” Ben says, going for the stairs. He goes up to her room, goes straight to it, looking only ahead, not to the side of him, not looking at anything in her house that could bring back any memories. He takes the laptop back down. Tom is searching in some drawers in the kitchen. “I’ve got it.”

Tom hands him the phone. “Leave,” he says. “Get those unlocked; get back to me with what you find.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to clear up in here,” Tom says. “And then I’m going back to Harrow.”

50

Anthony has Alejandra’s ashes. He sent his father into the morgue to get them. Told him to say he was her uncle. Anthony holds the urn close to his chest with his one good arm. They’re going back to New Mexico.

He and his father have not spoken since the argument. It has been a long and uncomfortable journey. Jeffrey turned off Springsteen hours ago, and he hasn’t replaced him with anything else. The only sounds have been that of the car. The hum of the engine, the rattle of something indistinct.

As they cross into New Mexico, Jeffrey pulls over suddenly. Anthony looks around. They’re at the side of the road. There’s nothing here. No gas station, no amenities, nothing.

“What’re we doing?” Anthony says.

“We’re talking,” Jeffrey says, turning off the engine and turning to his son. “You gonna talk to me? No? That’s fine, ’cause I’d rather you just listened.”

“I’d rather you just drove. It’s hot, I’m tired, and I’m sore.”

Jeffrey ignores this. “I called Tom, and I don’t regret it.”

Anthony feels a flash of anger. He especially doesn’t want to talk about this, not again. He bites his tongue.

“You’re my boy,” Jeffrey says. “You’re my baby boy, and those Nazi fucks were gonna kill you in the middle of the road like a dog. And they did it to her, and they did it to the baby inside her.” He points at the urn. He looks like he’s trying not to cry. “They killed my grandchild. They were going to kill you. I want them dead as much as you do, but I’m an old man now, Anthony. I’m old, and you’re injured. And Tom is neither of those things. Tom is a soldier. He can do what we can’t. He can make them pay.”

The tears in Jeffrey’s eyes are gone now, replaced instead by an indignant glare. “I’m not going to apologize again,” he says. “I stand by what I did.”

Without another word, he turns the key in the ignition, checks his mirrors, and pulls back onto the road. Anthony watches him. Jeffrey’s jaw is set. His hands are tight on the steering wheel. His eyes stare straight ahead.

Anthony turns his attention back to the urn. He holds it tighter to his chest. This is as close as he will ever get to Alejandra again. As close to his child as he will ever be.

“All right,” he says.

Jeffrey turns his head, an eyebrow raised.

“All right,” Anthony says again. “I don’t agree with what you did, but I understand why you did it. I understand.” His lip begins to tremble. He presses his forehead to the urn. He’s crying.

Jeffrey pulls over again. He reaches over to his son, takes him in his arms, hugs him. He holds him close. Anthony doesn’t feel like he’ll ever stop crying, but he does. Eventually. And then they continue the journey home.

51

Harry picks Steve up from his home, drives him to Michael’s.

“What’s this about?” Steve says.

“It’s good news, don’t you worry,” Harry says, not looking at him, studying the road ahead. “Good for all of us.”

“Is this about the council?” Steve says.

Harry tilts his head a little. “Could be,” he says.

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but Harry can feel excitement emanating from him.

They reach Michael’s. Linda answers the door. There is no sign of Michael. “You know where to find him,” she says. She smiles at Steve.

Steve follows Harry. This is his first time in Michael’s home. He tries not to stare, to look around too much, taking everything in. Harry leads him downstairs, into the basement.

The council.

There’s not much of a council anymore. Just Michael and Harry, co-founders.

Of course, Steve doesn’t know this. He doesn’t know about Ronald’s death – or at least, they don’t think he’s aware. They’ve wondered how big a role he has played in what is happening to them. Is he responsible for Ronald’s murder? For his brother’s? It shouldn’t seem comprehensible, but he’s never been one of them, not really. They don’t know what’s going through his mind.

“Michael,” Steve says, nodding.

Michael returns the nod. “Any plans for that funeral yet?”

“Not yet,” Steve says.

“They’re taking their time.”

“I think it’s to do with how he died,” Steve says. “They’re still looking into it.”

Michael grunts.

Steve looks around the room. This is his first time in Michael’s basement, too. “Peter would tell me about this place,” he says.

“Yeah?” Harry says. “What’d he tell you?”

“He made it sound like some kind of party house,” Steve says.

“Used’ta be,” Michael says, glancing at Harry. “Not so much of that these days. Ain’t really been in the