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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

The large kitchen knife was sticking deep into his chest. Her hand was still on the blade. It seemed impossible, and it took a moment for him to comprehend what had happened. If he’d come to his senses before that, he might have lashed out with his own blade and finished his last job, but by the time that impulse came to him, his strength was gone. He tried to raise his knife, but she pushed him, and he slipped on the blood-covered floor. He fell hard, and now he was staring up at her. She still held the knife, and he looked down at his chest and the blood pouring out of him.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” she screamed. Of course, it was an absurd order. He would never make it off the floor alive, much less out of the house. She stared at him for another moment, and then ran out of the house, stepping over the body in the doorway.

The last thing Juan Suarez heard was the old, beat-up Honda starting and pulling out of the driveway of the modest little house on L Street.

“No luck,” Cicero reported back to Cormack by cell phone. “Buddy relayed the message to one of the Feds, but it doesn’t seem like they took it seriously. The convoy just arrived and things are really starting to get out of control now. What do you want us to do?”

Cormack was in a near-sprint toward the dry docks, lugging a sack with all of the weaponry that remained in the union office. It wasn’t much—a couple of handguns, two rifles, and a shotgun—but it would have to do.

“Get out of there and get over to the pier at the far end of the World Trade Center!” he shouted.

“What do you want me to do there?” Cicero asked.

“Wait for me! I’ll pick you up!”

“Pick me up?”

Cormack heard the incredulity in Cicero’s voice, but he ignored it, turned off the phone, and shoved it in his pocket. He had other issues to worry about at the moment.

Jim Jackson was a junior at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy, a college on Cape Cod that prepared students for careers in maritime and emergency services professions. He had an internship at the Boston dry docks, where he was supposed to be learning high-level engineering and repair skills. As he’d learned early on in the internship, though, he was assigned primarily menial tasks associated with ship repair work.