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

if he just disappeared from the scene of the attempted bombing, but we both know that can’t really be what happened, can it? He slipped away, but no matter where he went, a camera, somewhere, will have picked him up. And once one had him, then another will have seen him, and another after that, and another, and so on. Do you understand? I highly doubt he left Dallas on foot. We find the vehicle he took; then we find him. Come on, now, on your feet.” Eric stands, waves for him to do the same. “Let’s go find him together, shall we? Two pairs of eyes are better than one!”

72

Tom has not gone straight back to New Mexico, to the commune. He has remained in Texas, staying off the beaten track, making sure he hasn’t been trailed. It eats at him, knowing that he was caught on camera. Knowing that his face has been flashed across the news.

They haven’t given his name, though. They know it by now, no doubt, but no one’s saying it. They’re keeping it to themselves. More than likely, it’s at the behest of either the CIA or the dirty agents within the FBI – perhaps both. They don’t want to give his name away, not just yet. They know to do so will likely speed up the process of finding him, but at the same time they can’t take a risk of him exposing what he knows concerning members of both agencies.

For the time being, while his face is everywhere, Tom is growing out his beard. He wears a baseball cap everywhere he goes, pulls it down low. While he drives or walks around, he wears sunglasses, too. He’s swapped cars twice already, both taken from small towns with low populations.

He’s in a diner now, stopped for something to eat. His bag is on the seat beside him, containing all the few necessities of his life. Soon, he will return to New Mexico. To his father, stepmother, brother. He won’t be there long. He’ll move on again, keep moving, until all this has blown over and he finds somewhere he can lie low, somewhere he can easily hide himself.

The news is on above the counter. It’s talking about Senator Seth Goldberg, as usual. About his bill. It’s moving along, getting closer to fruition. This time, there is no mention of Tom, no flashing of his picture. He hopes this means it’s nearly over, that the news cycle is moving on to the next big thing.

The diner’s phone rings. The waitress behind the counter goes to answer it. Tom chews his burger, looks out the window to his latest car.

The waitress comes back to the counter, looking confused. “Any of y’all named Tom Rollins?” she says. There are only two other people in the diner; both of them look like truckers. No one says anything for a while.

“No?” the waitress says. “No one?”

Tom clears his throat, gets to his feet. Ignorance is not bliss. Whatever this is, he should answer it.

The waitress points the phone out to him, leaves him alone. Tom grits his teeth. “Who is this?”

The voice on the other end chuckles. “I’m more interested in who you are, Mr. Rollins.” The speaker doesn’t give his name. He talks in a mocking, singsong tone. “Enjoying your meal, are you? I assume it’s not easy to just kick back and relax while you eat, not when you’re on the run.”

Tom is silent. He watches the window. The diner is at the side of the road, surrounded by nothing. “Where are you?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not close. Not yet. Truth be told, by the time I’d be able to get any agents to your location, I’m sure you’d have the time to finish whatever greasy thing you’re eating and move on. No, this is just a personal call. I just wanted to hear your voice, Mr. Rollins, and I wanted you to hear mine.”

“So you’ve heard it,” Tom says. “And so have I.”

“And it was everything I imagined it would be. How is it for you?”

“You’re Carly’s employer, right? The guy who killed Ben?”

“Oh, I won’t deny I had a hand in what happened to Ben, but no, I didn’t do it directly. You already killed the man who did that.”

“So what makes you think it’s wise to try and fuck with me?”

The voice laughs. “Oh, my dear Mr. Rollins, I could ask you the exact same question. I’m going to find you, Tom. Enjoy your time on the run, enjoy what brief freedom you have left, as marred as it will be by your constant checking over your shoulder, wondering who’s behind you. Be seeing you, Mr. Rollins. Stay safe.”

Tom hangs up the phone.

He leaves bills on the counter to pay for his food, then grabs his bag from the booth. He leaves the diner. Doesn’t go to the car. Leaves it behind. Heads off on foot. He’ll find another car on the way.

And he’ll make sure this one isn’t on camera. Make sure this one can’t be traced.

Epilogue

Tom returns to the commune.

It has been a month since he killed the last of the Right Arm Of The Republic, the last of the men responsible for Alejandra’s death.

Anthony looks better, mostly healed. He’s out on the porch as Tom rolls the car to a stop at the foot of the steps. “You got some new wheels,” he says.

“Had to,” Tom says, getting out. “How you doing?”

“Fine.” Anthony comes down the steps. His hair is growing out. It hides what is no doubt a nasty scar from the fractured skull he suffered. “I’ve caught up on what you did in Harrow. Sounds like you cut quite the path of chaos.”

“What do they attribute it to?” Tom says.

“Rival gang activity,” Anthony says. “That what you were going for?”

Tom shrugs. “I didn’t care what they made of it.” He comes around the car and stands in front of his brother. There’s only a couple of