Blood Child by Rose Lucinda

Author:Rose, Lucinda [Rose, Lucinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-06T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Anthony had been my friend for nearly twenty years. We met in boarding school, both outcasts. I was a street kid on a scholarship with a smart mouth, and Anthony was the illegitimate son of a foreign diplomat. He was just as rich as they were, but he was unwanted, and being a bastard marked him. We watched each other’s back and bonded over the stupidity of our rich classmates and the attempts of the Jesuits who ran the schools to get all the students to open their minds to a lifetime of learning.

The priests seriously hoped some of us would become priests. Father Machy had told both of us that the church would pay for our graduate degrees after seminary school. The offer didn’t tempt either of us.

Over the years we had drifted in and out of each other’s lives. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back, but he was still a pretty damn good person. Besides, there was no way I could fit in his big-ass shirts.

Anthony was close to seven feet tall, with skin the color of rich coffee. He was as exotic as I was white bread. Women fell over themselves when he came into the room. They pretty much lost it when he spoke. His words were always smooth and hinted at the sensual without ever trying. Did I have the hots for my best friend? Once upon a time, yes; thankfully, he forgave my foolish attempts to woo him.

As soon as he was clear of the baggage claim, he called me and arranged to meet at the roach motel so I could follow him back to his hotel, a Travelodge next to the colossal courthouse. His rented SUV seemed to know where it was going as it wove through the back streets. It was only about five miles away from the roach motel, but it was a different universe. This was my first trip where I got to see the real O-Town. Like any big city, it had its rough areas. I knew it, of course, but seeing it was different. The most common image of Orlando was theme parks filled with oversized rats and boy wizards. We passed by some one-story concrete row houses. It was a bit jarring to see a housing project from the 1950s just five minutes from the gleaming tower of justice courthouse.

Anthony insisted I leave my hotel as soon as he heard where I was, saying it was no wonder I had had nightmares staying in that place. Anthony was just a cool son of a bitch who believed in karma and good vibes. He listened, listened, and listened some more. Our conclusion after about an hour of me talking and him listening was what I already knew. Em—Emily Bath—fascinated me more than I wanted to admit. My fascination had overcome my better senses, and I was acting like she was a friend, not a story. Not a job. Then I freaked myself out with all the hocus-pocus and gore surrounding the case.

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