Blood Trilogy (Book 2): Draw Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

daughter’s name, and yet something is keeping him from revealing himself. For a long moment, he can only hold his breath, trying to make sense of the strange conversation he just overheard. He shakes his head, unable to process. And then the imagery conjured by their words brings back the image of Rachel blasting through the door to find him. Did that really happen? He still has the sensory memory of the shattered door handle; he can still see the shredded veneer. The tacky blood smeared across the floor, starting to stink.
    And now these words.
    He almost feels that, if he could only slink back to Rachel undetected, he could steal her away from this crazy place, and go home. Go back to where things might still make sense.
    Finally he clears his throat and calls out, “Hello?” The word comes out raspy and not loud enough to be heard in the lobby. He tries again. “Hello! I’m unarmed!”
    The group is startled, each person wearily frozen in his or her tracks, watching him emerge from the hallway. The cop has some kind of large weapon at his side, loosely at the ready. It appears to be a police-issue patrol rifle. As Michael makes his way fully into view, the cop relaxes into an odd expression of resigned satisfaction. He’s a clean-cut young man, former military, Michael is sure.
    “Oh my God, look who it is!” Bonnie has a look of glad surprise on her dirty, lined face. Michael sees relief, surprise, and also melancholy in this stranger’s expression.
    Patches of the woman’s skin and great swaths of her clothing have been splattered and even drenched with blood. The same is true of all of these people.
    “Rachel’s dad!” the large man says, stepping forward. He brings up a meaty hand holding a red ball cap, secures it on his head, then reaches for a handshake. Michael tentatively lifts his own hand and returns the gesture. His hand is engulfed. “Name’s Kevin. It’s good to see you alive, brother.” The man is sweaty and filthy, obviously fatigued, and after only a brief moment of gladness, his features bend toward a stark solemnity.
    And then Bonnie is embracing Michael, hard. He grimaces not only at the jarring clinch, and the way it seems to clang his loose skull like a bell, but also at the smell of her. He detects the sharp tang of sweat, but also a coating of blood—wiped at but still evident in the creases of her flesh—and what he imagines to be the stink of an awful experience. Perhaps the same experience that Rachel went through.
    “I’m Bonnie,” she says into his chest. “I was afraid I’d never see you conscious.”
    “My name is Michael,” he says to the group over her shoulder. “Do I—do I know any of you?”
    “Oh, we know who you are!” Kevin says.
    Bonnie murmurs quiet laughter and pulls away. There are actually tears in her eyes. She glances back at the cop, as if searching for what to say.
    “You have no idea what happened, do you?” the cop says. It’s his turn to step forward, switch the rifle to his left hand, and shake hands with Michael. The man has that confident way of carrying himself that speaks of good upbringing and strong training, and he has a powerful handshake. Michael has never met this man, and yet the cop greets him as if he has known him for years and is relieved to see him alive.
    Michael can only shake his head in response to the cop’s question.
    “I’m Joel.” A small smile takes hold of his lips. “Michael, huh?”
    “Yeah.”
    “All this time, you’ve been ‘Rachel’s dad’.”
    Kevin murmurs a laugh. “True.”
    Joel gestures behind him, toward the three young women. “That’s Chrissy there—she and Rachel are pretty tight—and the twins, Chloe and Zoe.”
    The young women nod to him, too tired to do anything more. Chrissy, the petite one, is in gray shorts and a blue tee shirt that is spattered with dried blood. She looks to be in her early twenties and has a dark, haunted quality to her face. Her eyes and face are red as if