Blood Lines Read Online Free PDF Page B

in Fat Mike’s mind. Thoughts often got that way for him. He was rattlesnake smart and junkyard-dog clever, but his mind tended to run in the same track when left to itself. “Means only one thing. Me and you are getting old.”
    â€œSpeak for yourself. I intend to stay young until they scrape me off the highway.” Victor upended his beer and drained the last of the bottle’s contents.
    Then the door opened and the man Victor was waiting for entered the bar.
    He was young, and his appearance was rough. His road leathers were scarred and dusty. His black hair hung wild and tousled to his shoulders. When he lit a cigarette, his jacket separated long enough to reveal the semiauto pistol tucked into his waistband.
    Most people, Victor reflected as he looked at the guy, would have been surprised to learn that the man was an undercover FBI agent.
    His true name was unknown to Victor, but on the street he went by Thumper. He even had a tattoo of the bunny from the Disney film on one shoulder. Except that the image wore biker’s leathers and breathed fire. One guy had made fun of the tat in a bar, called him Bambi, and Thumper had put him in the hospital.
    Whoever the federal agent truly was, Victor knew the man had been around the track.
    Thumper nodded at Victor, then crossed the room and dropped into a chair on the other side of the table.
    â€œHow’s it hanging, bro?” Thumper asked.
    â€œI’m not your bro,” Victor said. He moved his hand on his thigh slightly. The butt of one of the Glocks was only inches from his fingertips. “I’m here to do business. Not make friends.”
    Thumper smiled slightly. “I can live with that. So tell me what’s on your mind.”

5

    >> Interstate 85
    >> Near Salisbury, North Carolina
    >> 1718 Hours
    For a long moment, Shel thought about just ignoring Remy’s question. He knew if he decided not to answer, Remy wouldn’t push it. Finally he said, “We’ve never talked about family.”
    â€œNo.”
    Since Remy had been pulled into the team to replace Frank Billings, who had been killed in South Korea, he’d gradually warmed up to everyone else. But—like Shel, Nita, and Maggie—he hadn’t talked much about family.
    Only Will and Estrella did that. Will’s current situation was screwed up, what with figuring out the pecking order with his ex-wife’s new husband in the picture. And Estrella had never gotten over her husband’s death. Both of them had pictures on their desks and computers, and they had stories to tell about what was going on in that part of their lives.
    â€œDid you get along with your daddy?” Shel asked.
    Remy looked ahead at the interstate. His face was as expressionless as his tinted sunglasses. “I never knew the man. My grandmère raised me and my brother.” The French Creole influence from New Orleans sometimes crept into Remy’s words.
    â€œDidn’t know you had a brother.”
    â€œI don’t. Not anymore.”
    Shel knew there was a story there. He could feel the jagged pieces of it in Remy’s words. But he let it go.
    â€œMy daddy’s a hard man to get to know,” Shel said. “All my life he’s been distant. Not really a part of my life. Like he was just somebody curious and looking in through a window at me.”
    Remy didn’t say anything.
    â€œWhen Mama was still alive,” Shel went on, “it wasn’t so bad. She buffered everybody. Kept us all on an even keel. But Daddy was distant with her, too.”
    â€œYou ain’t the most talkative man I’ve ever met,” Remy commented.
    Shel had to grin at that. It was true. “Neither are you, kemosabe. And that’s why you and me having this conversation is . . . odd.”
    â€œWe don’t have to have it.”
    â€œUnless we play another basketball game.”
    â€œNever again on Father’s Day.”
    Shel