Blood Kills, Nanci Rathbun [best books to read for self improvement TXT] 📗

a satisfying pop, the metal caps flew off and we guzzled the cold, sweet contents.

Debby returned, looking more her usual self. Spotting the cola, she said, “I hope you saved one for me.”

Bobbie wordlessly opened a cold bottle and handed it to her. “Oh… need a glass?”

“Nah,” she said, already downing hers.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable in the living room,” I said, “and you can tell us what you’ve decided, Debby.”

“No need to settle. I confess that I’ve been holding on to thoughts of clearing Mick’s name because he… well, he trusted me. That means a lot. And so I want to trust him. But if the expert says that the DNA is conclusively Mick’s and no one else can match it, we’ll call it quits.” With a wistful look, she added, “I’m thinking about keeping this property, though. I love the house. And I could have a horse. That’s been a dream of mine since I first left home.” With a sigh, she said, “Of course, it would depend on whether it’s seized.”

“My aunt would say, ‘Don’t borrow trouble.’ Wait and see,” I said to encourage her. “At the very least, get an inspection and appraisal. The worst that can happen is you’ll be ready to haggle over reimbursement. The best outcome is that it’s yours and you’re ready to decide to keep it or sell it.”

“It’s a mistake to defer your dreams,” Bobbie chimed in with a solemn look.

Debby’s face lit up. “I’ll do it. I’ll ask Spider to give me a name, someone who can tell me if I’m loony for wanting to make this old lady mine.”

Bobbie collected our now-empty bottles and set them in the recycle bin. “Onward, ladies.”

“First,” I said, “let me call Bart Matthews and see if he’ll store the, uh, evidence.” The call went to voice mail, stating that the office was closed until Monday unless there was a legal emergency. “No luck there,” I told them. “Maybe Spider will hold them in his office safe.”

After I explained our find, Spider asked, “Want to bring the vials here today, Angie, or wait until you come over to babysit tomorrow night?”

“Today, please. I feel somehow apprehensive about keeping them with me.”

“See you at the madhouse then.”

I texted Bram that we were headed out, and he replied that he’d take one last look around before leaving too.

Bobbie suggested that he ferry Debby back to her condo and Bleki so that I could head over to the Mulcahey residence with the vials.

It might be crazy, I thought, but I gloved up before carrying the box to my car, still feeling that prickly sense of unease.

Chapter 47

To be prepared is half the victory.

Miguel de Cervantes

From the tree hide, Artur observed the comings and goings of the small team, pleased with the competence of the men he’d assigned to surveillance of Mikhail’s home. He waited patiently, keeping a wary watch on York as he moved about the property. The man had skills, Artur had to admit.

An hour later, the others arrived. Bonaparte, her partner Russell, and the woman who inherited from Mick, Deborah Hill. They emerged with White Hair—that was easier than her Sicilian surname on his tongue—carefully holding a metal box in gloved hands. “What is so precious that you cannot touch it?” he murmured, focusing the high-end zoom lens of his camera on the box. Derma! he cursed when he saw the starshina on the cover. Then he froze. Have they found the samples?

Thirty minutes after they disappeared down the access road, he descended from his hide and approached the house with extreme caution, quickly locating the security panel, with its door hanging open.

“Damn you, Mikhail! Let their blood be on your hands,” he cursed.

He made his way back through the woods to his Jeep, where he placed a call to his second-in-command. “Put two teams of men on her. No contact, just follow her. Trade off so she doesn’t notice the cars. Have them text me every time she leaves the building and at each destination. There will be no mercy if they lose her.”

Chapter 48

All things come round to him who will but wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There was a message from Wukowski on my landline. “Angie, find anything?”

Deciding it would be petty to stonewall him, I returned his call and told Ms. Voicemail that we’d located the samples Mick mentioned and I’d left them with Spider Mulcahey. “Bart Matthews is representing Debby Hill in matters related to Mick Swanson, but his office is closed for the weekend, so Spider’s holding Mick’s evidence. I’m afraid that’s all I can say. Of course, you’re free to contact Bart on Monday morning.”

I hung up with a smug smile on my face, knowing how irritated Wukowski would be when he learned that Bart was a player in this game. They went back a long way, and Wukowski often felt frustrated by the legal shackles that prevented him from nailing Bart’s Family clients.

Then I headed for my second steam shower of the day. Mick’s home hadn’t been dirty, but anytime you invade a wall, you’re bound to feel grimy.

Dressed in loose yoga pants and a cotton top, I settled comfortably on my sofa and called Aunt Terry. “Ready for an evening of little ones?” I asked her.

“So ready,” she said. “I know that David and Emma say they’re done with pregnancies, but I really wish one of them would relent.”

“No more than I do,” I told her, “but it’s their lives that another baby would impact. Now, before we continue down that road, let’s plan for tomorrow. I’d like to get to the farmhouse by six-thirty so the children can meet you and Magdalena can take us through the nighttime routine. How about an early supper at the Delafield Brewhaus, on the way to Spider’s? My treat,” I told her, “and no arguments. You deserve a special meal, with all you’ve done to help Rebecca. And it took a lot of pressure off me, knowing that