Blood Call by Lilith Saintcrow

Author:Lilith Saintcrow [Saintcrow, Lilith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adult, Fantasy, Thriller
ISBN: 9780356506357
Google: HYpvCQAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0316343609
Goodreads: 23587880
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2015-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

Her sizes hadn’t changed much, and she just nodded when he suggested various articles of clothing in a big-box store off Hanon Way. Jeans, a nice dark blue merino sweater over a black T-shirt, a pair of boots that wouldn’t give her another blister—she was stepping with the exaggerated care of a footsore soldier by now. He also bought more bandaging as well as more ibuprofen and a few toiletries. He was a little more sanguine about their chances now; she had clothes that fit, a few pairs of shoes, and two dark coats. They had a clean car, and he had managed to tangle up both the cops and the Mob.

It was a good day’s work, all told. Winter dusk swirled into corners and alleys, rain clouds moving in from the north as Josiah settled himself across the table from Martin Chilwell.

The dapper man’s gaze flicked over Anna once as he laid his tan driving gloves down on the red checkered tablecloth with prissy care. Here in the back of the restaurant, the booth was relatively safe, chosen for its position near the fire and kitchen doors as well as the shelter afforded from peering eyes on the street.

Chilwell was all narrowness, from his slit eyes to his compressed balding head, his slender shoulders, and his skinny, polished wingtips. He wore a natty double-breasted suit tailored to fit over the bulge of his sidearm, and his long dark coat shouted spook.

Unfortunately, Chilwell wasn’t CIA. If the intelligence community was a family, Chilwell would be the cousin nobody ever wanted to talk about or see, working for an agency nobody would admit to even suspecting the existence of. He’d been Josiah’s contact for a good decade, from back in the heyday, and was now—if you could believe the hints he gave—mostly retired, or doing administrative work.

The busboy came, silently setting out goblets of ice water with lemon. “Thank you,” Anna murmured habitually. She always thanked servers, bank tellers, even florists and dry cleaners. It was one more thing he’d missed about her, the tiny graceful manners she took as a matter of course.

Chilwell’s eyebrows went up a little. This was his preferred type of meeting place: good food and several potential escape routes, not to mention a slightly shabby type of elegance. Chilwell’s meets tended to be in cafés that had either outlived their best days or were trying to muscle their way up, right on the fringes of the popular districts. For a man so thin and wasted, he certainly spent significant time stuffing his face.

Josiah laid the file on the table, close enough that Chil could take it if he wanted to. The threadbare red velvet on the wall muffled all sounds. Schumann played softly through hidden speakers and the tables were lit by tiny oil lamps. “Evening, Chilwell. How’s the wife?”

He had no idea if the man was married, though he wore a wedding ring. Often, Chil’s answers were maddeningly imprecise and perverse, and could be taken to refer either to a flesh-and-blood Mrs.

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