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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

“Dead. No fuckin’ wonder. Cold as it’s been out there? You go into the harbor in this kind of cold, you come out stiff. Literally.”

Kit Steele stared at the monitor for a few seconds, her mind racing, her heart pounding. “I have to go,” she said at last, struggling to keep her composure. “Keep an eye on him. Anything changes—he moves or talks or has any visitors, or anything—I want to know about it, got it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Teadic replied, confusion in his voice.

As she walked to the door at the far end of the room she wondered whether Teadic had seen it on her face, sensed it from her demeanor. In the end it mattered little. Cormack O’Connell was dead, and the implications of his demise were too complicated for her to even comprehend.

FOURTEEN

Massachusetts General Hospital rose from landfill along the Charles River at the northwest edge of Beacon Hill—the “bad” side of the Hill, as it was known in the past, before every side of Beacon Hill teemed with luxury townhouses and condo complexes where one-bedrooms sold for more than a million dollars. Its location put Mass General a short trip across the river from the Charlestown Shipyard and Pier Six, which still smoldered in the wan early-morning light.

Cicero Andolini walked up the Causeway from the waterfront at ten in the morning, keeping his head down against the biting wind. It was snowing again, and the flakes stung his cheeks. He moved nimbly, his short, narrow frame cutting through the elements like a schooner through rough water. He wore a dark suit and narrow tie, covered by a cashmere-blend charcoal overcoat. A sharp-brimmed fedora clung improbably to his widow’s-peaked forehead even as the gale tried to pry it loose. The elements were no match for Cicero’s unyielding commitment to style.

He turned right onto Cambridge Street and slid down the hill toward the hospital. With his pale skin, sharp features, and dark clothes, the terminal patients might be forgiven for assuming he was an angel of death come to take them away. Truth be told, there were dozens of men over the years for whom Cicero had facilitated the transition from this life to the next. None of them had been ill, though.