Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

federal pinch, but he had heavy local charges. Somehow the judge got the local to run first. Federal time to follow. Either way, doesn't matter. Liam Collins will never see the light of day again."

"I think I'm going to need to have a little chat with Mr. Collins," Kelly said.

"Langston and Salinger are already on their way to do that right now."

"What? Why no call?"

"That's what this is."

"Not what I meant and you know it." Kelly knew he was lashing out at the wrong person and tried to temper his frustration.

"Not my call. I just wanted to keep you in the loop on this."

"Likewise."

"Get some rest. Let Langston see what he can get from Collins and we'll reconvene in the morning. I'm afraid this may only be the beginning." She clicked off the phone.

"That was Lexi." He turned his attention to Barnes.

"We gathered."

"They found the same thing."

"Hey, at least she shared it."

"Yeah. She also shared the fact that Langston and Salinger are heading to speak to Collins right now."

"The feds are taking the lead. It makes sense that they do the interview." Charles played the middleman.

"It doesn't sit well with me."

"What are you going to do about it?" Charles asked.

Kelly grabbed his cell, looked at the time, and then made the call.

"Hello?" A voice came through on the other end.

"It's Michael Kelly."

"I know. What's up?" Halstead’s tone didn’t indicate he was bothered by the late-night intrusion.

"Langston and Salinger are heading to the prison to speak with Liam Collins and I'd like a shot at him too. Any chance you could place a call over to Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center and make that happen?"

"Why don't we let Langston handle this?"

"For the same reason I'm calling you now. Langston didn't tell us about the interview. How much in the loop are we, really?"

"I'll see what I can do. Get some rest and I'll touch base in the morning. Take a few hours. It helps with perspective." Halstead hung up.

The caffeine did nothing. He saw it in Barnes's eyes and felt it in his own. They were at empty, and they needed to recharge.

11

Kelly and Barnes had showered and were now stretched out on the couch. The warm water and soap had washed away some of the acrid smell left on their bodies. It was after 3:00 a.m., but the shower had woken them up and they couldn't go right to sleep. They sat on the couch for a second while Bruschi, Barnes's tabby cat named after the legendary Patriot's linebacker, lay curled on her lap.

Kelly had always been a dog man, and he had at one point thought about getting one for Embry and himself. He had tabled the idea, though; the responsibilities of pet ownership seemed out of reach for him right now in his life. Sitting next to Barnes as she stroked the cat’s brown-and-black-patterned back and feeling his gentle vibrations as he incessantly purred his contentment was enough to make Kelly reconsider.

There'd been an initial feeling-out between the cat and him when Kelly first started staying over at Barnes’s place. It took several visits before Bruschi warmed to him. And Kelly to the cat. Now, he found the feline companion soothing. The cat’s soft fur and gentleness had a calming effect on him. If Barnes ever came back around to the conversation they had earlier about moving in together, then obviously Bruschi would be part of that package. And he liked it.

Kelly reached over and ran his fingers along the fluff underneath the cat's small chin line. Bruschi jutted his head forward, pressing it into the palm of Kelly’s hand. The softness of the fur and Bruschi's rhythmic, contented buzzing served as a natural sleep aid, and Kelly's eyelids became heavy. Barnes bobbed her head as the exhaustion returned. He reached over the cat and caressed her left thigh. Through her thin pajama bottoms, Kelly felt the raised portion of skin extending in a four-inch halfmoon arc on the outside of her upper leg. The scar was a physical reminder of the marathon attack from seven years ago. Even though the wound was healed, Kelly knew the invisible scars of that day would outlast the physical one.

He thought about trying for another round under the sheets. Their morning session, before the run, had been amazing, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. They were new in love and enjoying the pleasures of each other's company the way new lovers do. But the idea of being intimate in the wake of the carnage they'd witnessed felt a bit out of place. Sleep outweighed his lustful desire.

Kelly also noted Barnes’s attention shift to her fireplace mantel. She focused on the glass box frame encasing the racing bib she'd worn when she crossed the finish line in 2013. The white of the bib was covered in faded brown spots as if hot cocoa had been spilled on it. Kelly knew better. Those blotches were blood stains, a constant reminder of the injured people Barnes had helped that day. Whatever Kelly felt at seeing the devastation of the two bombs must have hit Barnes twofold.

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, holding her in the quiet as Bruschi's vibrations resonated between them. She sank into his body and rested her head against his chest. Kelly felt his body calling him to sleep, but he didn't want to move Barnes just yet. She needed a moment to decompress, to reset her mind before closing her eyes. Her subconscious would be working overtime to process the trauma of the day.

"Why do you think she called you?"

The question caught Kelly off guard. His drooping eyelids opened. "Who?"

"Lexi Mills."

Barnes shifted. She kept her head against his body but turned to look up at him with her emerald green eyes. Her freshly washed hair bathed him in the floral bouquet of her shampoo but lingering beneath it Kelly smelled the stink of burned flesh. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, of the three federal agents