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Back Blood in the Water
Chapters (82)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. FIFTY-FIVE
  59. FIFTY-SIX
  60. FIFTY-SEVEN
  61. FIFTY-EIGHT
  62. FIFTY-NINE
  63. SIXTY
  64. SIXTY-ONE
  65. SIXTY-TWO
  66. SIXTY-THREE
  67. SIXTY-FOUR
  68. SIXTY-FIVE
  69. SIXTY-SIX
  70. SIXTY-SEVEN
  71. SIXTY-EIGHT
  72. SIXTY-NINE
  73. SEVENTY
  74. SEVENTY-ONE
  75. SEVENTY-TWO
  76. SEVENTY-THREE
  77. SEVENTY-FOUR
  78. SEVENTY-FIVE
  79. SEVENTY-SIX
  80. Praise for Blood in the Water
  81. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  82. Newsletter Sign-up

And in this instance, she supposed that played to her benefit. If he was out getting laid last night—and maybe even again this morning—he might be relaxed enough to deal with her request. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference. He was stoic and hard to read under the best of circumstances. How he would handle this was anyone’s guess.

She glanced at her hands again. Maybe she could have been a musician. Or an actor. Or a ballerina. It’s funny to think about what a person might have been if they’d grown up in a different fishbowl. She supposed it didn’t matter. You make the most of what you have to work with. There was no shame in that.

She heard the lock turn in the front door.

Cormack O’Connell had been lost in thought on the drive home. It was a dangerous game he was playing, even for someone who had played the game for as long as he had. Boston was one of the largest ports in the country, and for years he’d controlled it with a certainty that was unchallenged. The world was changing, though, and he could feel others jockeying for position behind him. As a result, he’d started to cut some corners and seek help from people he never would have imagined working with before. He wondered whether his luck was running out.

As he stepped out of his Buick sedan in front of his house, he felt an ache in his back and his knees. Approaching fifty, he was no longer a young man, though he didn’t quite feel old. He sometimes did feel tired, though—particularly after nights like this. He stretched his back as he closed the car door and looked around. It was a modest but pleasant life he’d created—certainly more modest than most in his position would have adopted. He’d never cared about flash. He cared about respect. And he had enough of that to be a burden.

As he turned the lock in the front door, he felt the familiar satisfaction of coming home. This was his sanctuary. It was the place where the rest of his life melted away and he could be normal. His daughter, Diamond, was a large part of that. He remembered the moment he’d been told that she would have to live with him, after her mother had gone missing. He’d never known real fear until that moment.