By John Sandford
Our bodies in days. One is homicide. the opposite is suicide. Virgil flora by no means imagined that researching the relationship could lead him into the perverse background of the Minnesota farm neighborhood, and nearly incredible darkness.
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Extra info for Bad Blood
I made another swipe with my loose hand, and this time my fingers held and the helicopter lifted me into the air. My pursuer was right beneath me. His arms closed around my legs, binding, holding tight. It was the Tony Montana wannabe. I twisted, fighting to break free. The chopper tipped and veered to the right. I pulled a foot loose and kicked, hitting him in the forehead with my heel, but he wouldn’t let go. The blades canted, dangerously low to the ground. One hit and it would be over for all of us.
No closed circuit cameras. Probably not needed with an armed guard at the entrance. Even so, I kept my voice low, paranoid about bugs. “D’Angelo? Let me guess. ” Morrissey gave a curt nod. ” When I’d assumed a cover identity in the past, I had prided myself on preparation. Knowing everything about who I was supposed to be and who I was dealing with had saved my ass more than once. This operation had been rushed from the beginning, and now I was supposed to be the pawn of a mob figure I knew nothing about.
Moments after we submerged, I lost Julianne. I was only under for a few seconds, just enough time to stop my downward trajectory and fight my way to the surface, but it felt like forever. It felt like I was going to die. I almost—almost—freaked out, but peeking through the water, eyes stinging, I could see the sun glinting off the waves above me, and my arms and legs scrambled hard and fast, like I was crawling up out of a grave. When my head broke the surface, I gasped too soon. Salt water filled my mouth, making me gag and cough.