Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation Read Online Free PDF Page B

setting in, and I didn’t like it one bit.
    Next to Felicity, Ben Storm was undoubtedly
my best friend in the world. He was exactly the kind of friend for
whom you would do just about anything without question and knew
beyond any doubt he would do the same for you. However, as close as
we were, neither of us were in the habit of calling the other in
the middle of the night just to socialize.
    No, we had been down this road far too many
times in the past few years. If he was calling at an odd hour, it
was guaranteed not to be pleasant news, and more often than not, I
had a pounding headache of ethereal origin to prove it. This time,
however, my head felt just fine. Maybe still a bit groggy but
completely devoid of pain. Given the circumstances, that just
piqued my curiosity even more.
    “Ben?” I replied, this time managing to keep
my tongue from wrapping around my teeth.
    “Yeah,” he replied. “Woke ya’ up, didn’t
I?”
    I cast an eye at the glowing numbers on
the bedside clock. When I replied I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out
of my voice. “What do you think?”
    “Uh-huh, well ya’ can go back ta’ sleep in a
minute, Kemosabe. So listen, can ya’ put Felicity on the
phone?”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m a homicide cop, and it’s three in the
fuckin’ mornin’, Row. Whaddaya think’s wrong?” he retorted, his own
snippet of sarcasm underlining the words. “Lemme talk ta’ your
wife.”
    “Ben…” I allowed my questioning voice to
trail off.
    “Row,” he replied succinctly then fell
silent.
    After an extended verbal staring contest, I
spoke. “Tell me what’s up, Ben.”
    “You got some Twilight Zone goin’ on?” he asked, using his
favorite turn of phrase for my supernatural visions.
    “No.”
    “Good.”
    “Well, should I?”
    “No, so put yer wife on the phone.”
    “But…”
    He cut me off. “Listen, Row, chill out. For
once it’s not all about you, okay? Now, lemme talk to
Felicity.”
    Even though he wasn’t willing to give me the
details, his comment about being a homicide cop spoke volumes. The
fact that he was calling for Felicity also told me that I had been
correct about Murphy and his damnable law. I obviously wouldn’t be
going back to sleep anytime soon.
    I conceded. “Hold on…”
    Out of reflex, I sent my free hand searching
through the darkness and switched on my reading lamp then mutely
cursed myself for the action as I squinted against the sudden
influx of light. With a groan I reached over and gave my slumbering
wife a far gentler nudge than she had previously afforded me. She
shrugged, grumbled something just as unintelligible as her earlier
string of syllables and then tried to roll away as she pulled the
comforter up over her face. I hooked my hand into the bedding and
tossed it back with a quick yank, unceremoniously exposing her to
the cool air in the room. This time I had no trouble understanding
the Gaelic curse that flew from her lips.
    “Damnú ort! ”
she yelped as she flailed an arm about in search of the
blanket.
    Leaning back, I gently caught her wrist
mid-grope then stretched the telephone receiver across the bed. I
stuffed the device into her hand and carefully pushed it toward her
ear.
    “It’s for you” was all I said before laying
back against my pillow.
    I didn’t know why I was even bothering. I was
fully awake now.
    I listened to the one-sided conversation as
she answered with “uh-huh’s” and “umm, yeah’s” for a moment then
finally pushed herself up on an elbow and asked, “Are you sure?…
But I thought… Yeah… Okay then, just a second, let me find a
pen…”
    What I was hearing from this side didn’t
sound good at all. I gave in and pushed myself into a sitting
position then swung my legs over the side of the bed. Felicity was
still searching for something to write with when I stood up and
headed for the bathroom.
    If my wife was about to apply her warm,
artistic talent to the face of cold, brutal reality, I was