Thread of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

and focused on his words once more. This was a funeral, after all.
    An occasion worthy of respect.

Gin Blanco
     
    Jonah McAllister dropped his eyes from mine, shifted in his seat, and stared at the minister again. Despite the minister’s somber words, McAllister’s thoughts must have been happy ones, because his mouth curved up into a thin smile, despite the smoothness of his features.
    I frowned. The lawyer was up to something. I didn’t know what yet, but I knew it probably involved me—and my messy death. It seemed like McAllister was always planning that. If that was the case, he was once again going to be sorely disappointed, because I had no plans to follow Mab to her grave anytime soon.
    A flash of light caught my eye. I blinked, thinking that it was just the sun reflecting off someone’s necklace or tie pin, but the light flashed again, and I realized it was coming from up in a towering maple treeabout twenty feet behind the coffin. I squinted against the midafternoon glare, trying to see through the leafy branches and figure out exactly what was making that bright spot.
    Suddenly a beam of light slashed across the ground, and a small red dot appeared on Owen’s arm before zooming over to my chest—a sight that was all too familiar to an assassin like me.
    “Get down!” I screamed, and immediately threw myself on top of my lover.
    Crack! Crack!
    Two gunshots shattered the solemn silence, drowning out the minister’s words and kicking up tufts of grass and dirt where Owen and I had just been standing.
    A second later everyone was in motion. Surprised shouts and screams ripped through the air as the semicircle splintered and folks scrambled to take cover behind the tombstones and trees that dotted the landscape. The giant bodyguards shoved their clients down onto the grass, covering their bodies with their own larger, bulkier ones. By the time five seconds had passed, the cemetery looked deserted, as if no one were there instead of everyone hiding behind whatever they could. Whether they lived in the genteel confines of Northtown, the rough projects of South-town, or somewhere in between, most everybody in Ashland recognized the sound of gunfire when they heard it. You didn’t live long in this city if you didn’t know how to duck and cover when the shooting started.
    More red dots popped up here and there in the cemetery as the sniper kept firing, spreading his shots out over the crowd. At first, I thought he was just picking targets at random, but he focused several shots in the direction of Ron Donaldson and Lorelei Parker, even though they were both on the ground being protected by their giants. But not all the crime bosses were cowering behind or underneath their bodyguards. Beauregard Benson remained where he was, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face, as if he were enjoying the chaos and the screams of those around him. Phillip Kincaid was also standing, peering around the side of a statue of an angel as if trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. I couldn’t quite tell from this angle, but I thought Kincaid had a gun in his hand, like he wanted to take out the sniper himself.
    Roslyn and Jo-Jo had both ducked down behind a square headstone, and Jo-Jo had one hand on her hat, trying to keep it in place. Sophia stood her ground, looking for the source of the shots, since her thick musculature would stop most bullets before they reached anything vital. Beside me, Finn had put himself on top of Bria and had already drawn the gun out from against the small of his back, although my sister was trying to wriggle out from under him and was reaching for her own weapon.
    “Sniper!” I yelled at Finn. “In the maple tree! Cover me!”
    Finn nodded, rose to one knee, and trained his gun in that direction. I got to my feet and sprinted across the grass.
    Crack! Crack!
    More shots rang out. I saw wood splinter on the tree ahead of me, and I knew that Finn was laying down the