Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (korean ebook reader txt) 📕

blows air out of her pursed lips. She doubts this.

They leave the house. There are agents outside, guarding them. Seth notices, as he and Abigail strap their children into their seats, how the bodyguards speak into their wrists, alerting others to his whereabouts, preparing for his departure.

There have been death threats since the introduction of Seth’s clean energy bill. As it makes its way through Congress, these threats have intensified. Seth wouldn’t mind so much, he could shrug them off, knowing they come with the territory. He knew when he started this thing that he was going to upset a lot of people. What perturbs him, however, are the threats against his family. Against his daughters. The things they say they’re going to do to his wife and a pair of little girls. The threats that mean his children must now be accompanied by Secret Service agents when they go to school. The threats that mean his wife can never be left alone in the house. That mean they are trailed at all times.

This is what he has trouble with.

But, as Abigail has told him, “Stay the course. You knew this was going to be difficult. You can’t give up now.”

“But you and the girls –”

“Are all very proud of you. This thing that you’re trying to do is bigger than us, than all of us. Keep going.”

Parked across the street are reporters. They observe every move of Seth and his family, report on the taking out of trash as if it’s a major world development. The reporters don’t come any closer, though. They’ve been warned, sternly. They will, however, follow him to synagogue.

One agent car leads the way; the other follows, the Goldbergs sandwiched in the middle. They arrive early for Shabbat morning service. There is a gathering outside the synagogue already, people exchanging greetings before they go in for worship.

“This crowd gets bigger every week,” Abigail says.

Seth concentrates on parking the car, doesn’t answer.

He knows what she’s implying. As his bill gains more momentum, more and more people turn up to the synagogue, all of them eager for a glimpse or a word. On the plus side, they’ve all been supportive.

They approach on foot, agents at their flank and sides. Abigail holds the hands of both children, as she knows Seth will need to keep his free. Sure enough, as they get close enough, there is a lot of shaking of hands, patting of backs. People express their support for him, how proud they are of him for taking a stand against big business. The Secret Service agents stand close by, watching the people, keeping some at bay, all the while trying to usher Seth and his family inside.

This is the routine every Saturday morning. This is where they come. This is where they worship. This is where they can be found.

Senator Seth Goldberg and his family.

This synagogue.

Every week.

Every Saturday morning.

16

It’s dawn. Anthony is awake. Tom hasn’t slept.

Tom brings him some water and painkillers. It is more obvious now, as he moves around, how badly damaged his face is, as well as his skull and his arm. It is badly cut and bruised. These wounds were not so clear when he was sleeping, as if every little cut had settled into his features, become part of them. Now, when he moves, they crack, they bleed.

“Where’s Alejandra?” Tom says.

Anthony shoots him a look, eyes blazing.

Tom grits his teeth, knowing he shouldn’t have opened with this. “How you doing?” he says, sitting down.

Anthony pops the pills into his mouth with his good hand, the glass of water balancing on the mattress and leaning against his belly, then takes a drink. He doesn’t drink much. He pulls his face like he feels sick, like he might throw up. “How’s it look?” he says.

“Bad.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Anthony lies back, flat, lets out a long breath. He sounds tired despite his constant flitting in and out of consciousness. He tries to move his left arm in its cast, winces at it like it’s a great weight, gives up.

Tom gives him a moment. He notices how Anthony is not looking at him, almost like he won’t. “What happened?” he says.

Anthony doesn’t answer. He shifts around on the bed, unable to get comfortable. “Jesus, everything hurts,” he says. “And I feel like I’m gonna throw up all the damn time.” There is a bucket at the side of the bed. There is a little bit of spit and bile at the bottom of it.

“You’ve got a fractured skull,” Tom says.

“You think I don’t know that?” Anthony still isn’t looking at him. His face is turned toward the ceiling; his eyes have closed.

“What were you involved in, Anthony?” Tom says.

Anthony doesn’t answer.

“Who did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Tom waits. He’s patient. He’s waited this long just for him to wake up.

Anthony lies very still. Tom wonders if he’s feigning sleep. He’s not very good at it. The way his face and his body twitch, it’s clear he wants to move, that he’s not comfortable, that he’s in pain.

“Look at me, Anthony,” Tom says.

Anthony opens one eye hooded by a bandage.

“What happened?”

“That’s my business,” Anthony says.

“Then color me curious,” Tom says.

“I’m not gonna color you anything.”

“Were you dealing again?”

There is a slight hesitation; then Anthony says, “No.”

Tom doesn’t believe him. “Bullshit. Is that who did this to you? You owe money? You were robbed? What is it?”

“That what you think of me, huh?” Anthony says.

“It’s what I know,” Tom says. “From past experience.”

“Past experience. You got it all wrong. You don’t know a damn thing going on here. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“So tell me.”

“No. I don’t want you to fight my battle for me, Tom. Not this time. All my life, you’ve fought my battles. Every single issue I’ve gotten myself into, you’ve pulled me out. Not this time. This time’s mine. I have to deal with this myself.”

“At least tell me what the battle is.”

Anthony says nothing.

“You’re in no condition,