Blood Relations Read Online Free PDF Page B

man ever. How about that? I’d have to resign from this job, though, to give it my best shot. I can’t do both.”
    Slowly at first, then with a sudden rush of understanding that took his breath, Sam knew where this conversation was going. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep himself steady.
    Mora said, “I’ve been told my name will be on top, but anything could happen.” Smiling, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “So. There’s the situation, Sam. Even small things can be a problem.”
    “And you want my help.”
    “I would be grateful, yes.”
    Three years ago, when Edward Mora, as a political convenience, had been given this position, a man well under forty, with his easy smiles and expensive suits, a man not even from Florida, who had not tried one case in a state court, Sam had kept his mouth shut. He had gone along.
    He had forced himself not to think about how much he had wanted this job. If he had let himself dwell on the years that stretched out ahead of him-most state attorneys in Miami stayed in office until they retired or dropped dead-he might have come close to despair.
    Samuel Hagen, the trustworthy plodder, not known for his flamboyance …
    He kept his expression neutral, but the emotions slammed through his body. He knew then how much he disliked Eddie Mora, had always disliked him.
    Mora was smiling slightly, waiting for an answer.
    “I’ll take care of it,” Sam said.
    “Good.” Mora rose from the chair. “You know, Sam, I feel I ought to apologize, pushing this on you.”
    Standing up, Sam looked at him curiously. “Why?”
    “Well … South Beach. The modeling crowd. It’s got to be hard for you, so soon after your son’s death. Such a loss for you and Dina.” The quiet tone was meant to convey sincerity. “Under the circumstances I’m doubly appreciative. I want you to know that.” He took a hand out of his pocket long enough to grip Sam’s shoulder.
    “It’s not a problem, Eddie.”
    “You sure? Tell me.” Speaking in nearly a whisper now. The brows knitting.
    “I said it’s not a problem.”
    Sam shut the door when he left, then stood there for a moment staring into its slick, painted surface. It had been weeks since anyone outside the family had brought that up. Matthew Hagen. Only nineteen years old. Such a good-looking kid, too. A model. Got drunk at a nightclub and crashed his motorcycle on the causeway at four in the morning. And his father a top prosecutor with the state attorney’s office. What a shame. After eight months, Sam was getting damned tired of polite, phony expressions of sympathy.
    He wondered how long it would be till someone else said how fucking sorry they were for his loss. And if there would come a time when he could think about his son and not want to smash the nearest thing at hand.

Chapter Three
    ingertips moving quickly over the damp earth, Dina Hagen scraped together the leaves and twigs, then tossed them into a brown paper grocery sack. She nudged the piece of cardboard she’d been kneeling on farther along the walkway. Herringbone bricks bordered the screened terrace, leading across the thick Bermuda grass to the redwood gazebo where she had hung her orchids and staghorn fern. She had planted a low hedge of ixora as a border-a mistake, for the plants were far too uncontrolled. It would take some effort to trim them back.
    The clippers fell into a steady rhythm, a counterpoint to the chk-chk-chk of a sprinkler over the wooden fence that circled the garden. The smell of wet, rich earth and blooming gardenia floated in the still air.
    Of course one did not have a garden behind a house in the flat, monotonous suburbs southwest of Miami; one had a backyard. But this was a garden, designed with an eye to color and shape and to the dry or rainy seasons as well, so that the yellow tabebuia would flower in one corner while the red bottlebrush stood dormant in another.
    Just after Dina and Sam and the children had moved in, her brother