Eric Lustbader - Blood Trust

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Fraine sighed. “Nona, I think you know.”

“The Feds.”

He nodded. “A whole platoon of them appeared at the island and commandeered the crime scene. Our people were summarily dismissed.”

“So we have nothing?”

“Less than nothing.” Fraine couldn’t meet her fiery gaze. “I’ve been given orders to forget the incident ever happened.”

“Forget? How can I forget—?”

“Nona, I’m very sorry.” Fraine shook his head. “As of now, you’re on leave.”

“What? You mean I’m relieved of duty?”

“I mean you haven’t taken a vacation in, what?”

“How about never.”

“Okay, then.” He brightened. “No time like the present.”

“This is total bullshit,” she said.

“This is my decision, and it stands.”

She sat up straighter. “How could you?”

“Nona, I want you out of harm’s way. Now. Before something really bad happens.” His eyes met hers at last. “I chose column A. Was I wrong?”

She was so angry sparks should have been shooting out of her eyes. “Alan, this blows.”

“I hear you.”

“Scylla and Charybdis.”

He cocked his head. “This is what comes of being so well read in a dumbed-down world.”

“Trapped between two monsters. There is no good choice.”

He shrugged. “Life works that way sometimes.”

“Tell that to Naomi Wilde.” Her voice had turned savage. “Who’s going to be her advocate? Who’s going to speak up for what was done to her now that it’s going to be swept under the carpet?”

Fraine leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Nona, listen to me. I understand what you’re feeling—”

“How can you?” She looked away for a moment. “Sorry. It’s unfair to snap at you.”

“Nothing about this situation is fair.” He lowered his voice. “There are some very big fish involved in this mess. The best thing for you now is to disappear, at least until it blows over.”

“Yeah, I could go to Sicily like Michael Corleone.”

“I’m deadly serious. Nona, you’ve got to forget about Naomi Wilde. You got the guy that killed her. Leave it at that.”

She looked at him for a long time. She hated the sickly sweet medicinal smell of hospitals. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. At last, she nodded. “Okay, okay. You’ve gotten through to me. I’ll take that long-delayed vacation.”

“Thank God.”

She lay back and closed her eyes. “Maybe I’ll head down to New Orleans, see some old friends.”

“Sounds good.”

At that moment, two federal suits entered the room. One was Midwestern blond, the other dark-haired, old-school Ivy League.

“Chief Detective Nona Heroe?” Ivy League said.

She opened her eyes. “Who wants to know?”

They both revealed their IDs. They were DoD, not to be trifled with. Fraine rose and immediately realized the gravity of the situation.

“This can wait until Chief Heroe has fully recovered.”

Blondie nailed him with a glare. “For our purposes, Chief Heroe is fully recovered.”

Ivy League brushed past Fraine. “Chief Detective Heroe, you are formally charged with the capital offense of the willful murder of a federal agent. You are hereby directed to come with us immediately.”

“But—” Fraine began.

Blondie swung on him. “One more word and you go, too.”

“No buts,” Ivy League said to Heroe. “No ifs, no ands. Get up now or I do it for you.”

Heroe rolled out of the bed, gathered up her clothes, and went into the bathroom. As she dressed, she fished out her cell and sent the following text message to Jack: MIDDLE BAY BANCORP. Hurriedly, she continued drawing on her clothes. She was just about to step into her shoes when a rude knocking rattled the door.

“Let’s go.” She heard Ivy League’s voice. He sounded irritated.

She opened the door and stepped out. As she brushed past Fraine, she handed off her cell. He gave her a quick look and she gave him a tentative smile back.

“Don’t worry, Nona,” he said.

Blondie smirked as he took her into custody. “Those are the last words the condemned always hears.”

“NOT TONIGHT.” Vera wrapped her raincoat around herself.

Gunn stirred on the bed. “Why is tonight different from any other night?”

“My medical leave is over.” Vera stepped into the new Louboutins he had bought her. Actually, he’d bought her two pairs. He could be generous like that. “I have to get back onto campus before midnight.”

Rolling over, Gunn checked the alarm clock on the bedside table. “There’s still an hour and a half.” He wore underpants and nothing else. That’s how he slept.

“Andy, I don’t want to get into trouble my first night back.” She picked up the shopping bag with the second pair of Louboutins. “Besides, I’m dead tired. Even you’ve got to admit it’s been a long fucking day.”

He took her hand and began kissing it, rising up her arm. “Tish,” he said with a fake Spanish accent, “you know how your words inflame me.”

“Poor Gomez,” she said with Morticia’s cool, regal voice. “You’ll just have to take care of yourself tonight.”

OUTSIDE, THE night air refreshed her and she began to walk. The stink of blood and brains remained in her nose, and she snorted like a bridling horse. At a brisk pace, she walked three blocks west, then one block south, where she paused to look around, as if getting her bearings. As she did so, a black Lincoln Town Car appeared around a corner and cruised slowly toward her. She ignored it until it began to slow, then watched as it stopped abreast of her. It had smoked windows, so it was impossible to see inside. The front passenger’s window slid down and the driver, leaning her way, said, “Would a hundred dollars do it, doll?”

She leaned down. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

The driver shrugged. “Five, then. How about that?”

“Yeah, how the fuck about it?”

She pulled on the handle of the rear door, it swung open, and she climbed in. The moment she plunked herself down on the backseat, the Lincoln took off. She noticed that the partition between the front and back was up. It, too, was opaque.

“How’d it go today?” Henry Holt Carson said from the other side of the seat.

Vera gave him a vulpine smile. “You know, Daddy, you really are a sonuvabitch.”

JACK WAS briefing Paull on the situation back in D.C.—minus Annika’s involvement—when he received the text message from Heroe. Reading it, the hairs on his forearms stirred. Middle Bay Bancorp. Could this be the nexus point that linked all the disparate elements together?

Wondering why Heroe had texted him instead of calling and explaining herself, he punched in her number. The phone rang four or five times before a man’s voice answered.

“Who’s this?” Jack said.

“I’d ask the same of you,” the voice said.

Something was very wrong. “Jack McClure. Where’s Chief Heroe?”

“This is Alan Fraine, Chief of Police. I’m Chief Heroe’s boss. Unfortunately, Nona has been taken into custody by the Feds. She’s been charged with the murder of Secret Service Agent Peter McKinsey.”

“What the hell happened?”

Fraine told him about Heroe’s trip to Roosevelt Island and the discovery of two bodies, one being that of Agent Naomi Wilde.

Jack’s heart sank. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “That second body is without doubt Arjeta Kraja, an illegal alien and part of the white slave trade business that Heroe and I and Naomi were investigating. McKinsey was involved in the ring in some way none of us yet understand. But it’s clear that he murdered Naomi Wilde because she got too close to identifying certain individuals connected with the ring.”