Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(129)

Melanie shoved her down into the chair. “Indulge you?” Lily repeated. “Don’t play bullshit games with me, you psychopath—ow!”

Her voice choked into a squeak as the woman he’d called Melanie twisted her arm up with a jerk that pulled her onto her feet, every nerve in the twisted arm screaming with agony—

“Melanie, that will do,” the guy said in a tone of mild reproof.

Lily’s butt reconnected hard with the chair. She wheezed with pain, feeling her shoulder. Surprised it was still attached at all.

“Melanie? The coffee?” the man reminded her.

The ferocious glow in Melanie’s blank eyes damped down, like someone had thrown the off switch of a machine. She trotted to the corner, where a large coffee carafe sat. Crazed assassin, morphing instantly into perky waitress. It was chilling to watch.

“You have to excuse Melanie,” the man said. “She’s passionately loyal to me. All of my people are. They can’t help themselves.”

“Melanie?” she croaked. “And Hobart. So those are their names.”

The man waved his hand dismissively. “In a manner of speaking. Their names are not registered on any official document. Their names are whatever is convenient to me. Their defining identity is that they . . . are . . . mine.” His toothy smile spread wide, beaming.

Lily stared at the man. New depths of dismay yawned inside her.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “This is worse than I thought. You are totally batshit, aren’t you? All of you guys are.”

Hobart lunged for her this time. She fell off the chair in her effort to scramble out of range.

“Back.” King’s command stopped the younger man as if he were a voice-activated robot. “Really,” he chided his minions. “Don’t take what Lily says so personally. She’s been under terrible stress. And she is soon to be under a great deal more. A little empathy, people.”

That speech went down Lily’s craw like strychnine-laced Kool-Aid. She struggled up to her feet, sat carefully in the chair. Melanie handed her another cup. Lily sipped. Nauseatingly sweet. It made her cough.

It burst out, uncontrollable. “What did you mean by that? About that stress that I’m going to be under?” She hated herself for the weakness that prompted her to ask. More so when King chuckled.

“Hobart, are you filming this with the handheld as well as the fixed vidcam?” he asked, silkily. “I don’t want to miss an instant.”

The guy leaped to obey, and Lily took note of the two video cameras mounted on tripods, which watched her from diagonal corners of the room. Hobart himself held a third in his hand.

He began to circle her, constantly moving. It made her dizzy, the camera’s eye constantly swirling around her, Hobart’s blank gaze above.

“As to that,” King said. “Well, you see, I’ve gambled a great deal of money and manpower on the hope that Bruno Ranieri actually does give a damn about you.” His smiled widened, dimples deepening. So, Lily. Think long and hard before you answer. Does he care?”





Weird, how such a boring, neutral suburban house with a welltrimmed yard and manicured hedges could somehow still be so ugly.

Bruno stared at the front of the house of Giuseppina Ranieri, his maternal grandmother. It was risky, and rude, to come at her with no advance phone warning, but he’d decided that it was riskier to call first. Give her time to organize herself and stonewall him just for spite. Grandma Pina was one of the most dislikeable people he’d ever met. Outside of the maniacs trying to kill him. One thing about psycho killers—they put the gardenvariety *s starkly into perspective.

“So? Shall we come along? Hold your hand? Is she that scary?”

It was Sean, jibing at him, but the jibes had lost their edge. The guy was just trying to rile him up, rev his engine so he could move.

It wasn’t working, sadly. He was dog tired. Shit scared.

Get going. He’d faced bullets, knives, clubs, bombs, and fists. He could face down Grandma Pina.

“Be quick,” Kev said. “We can’t be late to the airport. Or we could pick up Zia Rosa and bring her back, and you can do the family reunion adventure with her. Would you rather have reinforcements?”

He recoiled at the thought. “No. You cannot imagine how much those two women hate each other. What was Zia thinking to fly out to Newark right now?”

“‘Thinking’ isn’t the appropriate word for what happens in Zia Rosa’s head,” Kev said. “Wish someone had stopped her, though.”

“She called a cab and sneaked out,” Sean reminded them. “Not their fault. Nobody knew they were supposed to duct tape her to a chair. Sveti said she was freaked after Petrie showed her the photos of your, ah . . .” He paused, delicately. “Alleged siblings. I can see how that would be nerve-wracking. Since they, uh . . . look like you and all.”

Bruno shuddered. “I’ll talk to Grandma Pina now, and get it over with. Then we pick up Zia. You two stay here. You’d scare her.”

“And you won’t?” Kev pointed out wryly.

Bruno glanced into the rearview mirror and looked away quickly. It was true. He looked like eight different kinds of shit. Vampire pale, eyes bloodshot, six-day stubble. Palpable desperation oozing out of his pores. And a dangerously long interval had passed since his last shower.