Blood Runs Deep by Doug Sinclair

Author:Doug Sinclair [Sinclair, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-ONE

Callahan found the cottage deserted, yellow crime-scene tape stretched across both front and back doors. From the darkness between the trees, he spotted a white box on a window ledge. Jake had delivered, if only to get rid of him.

He skirted the tree line to the side of the main house, then sprinted low and quiet to behind the garage. Through a window, he saw Jake’s Range Rover but no Aston or Ducati. Jake was home but Liam was out, which suited him. The missing Ducati suggested Amanda was away, too.

He found a spot from where he could watch both properties. Stretched out on a bed of damp leaves, he pulled his parka hood over his head for warmth and to hide his ashen-white face.

Thirty minutes, he’d give it. He used to spend hours on recce like this, shifting only inches every five minutes to stave off cramps, but the last few days had shredded his nerves and he couldn’t calm himself. He willed himself into the zone, motionless but alert and focused. But he couldn’t find it. The first time since Helmand he needed his old talents, and he couldn’t think straight for needing to get his hands on that box.

With his chest tight and his guts churning, he made a move for the window ledge.

Adrenaline burned in him, made every small sound a threat, every step forward a point of no return. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He feared sudden violence from any direction but couldn’t drag his eyes from the box on the window ledge, under a broken roof slate.

Despite his mounting crisis, he hesitated. Why the roof slate? No wind tonight, or rain. Had Jake booby-trapped it? Or alarmed it? His vision narrowed. The pounding in his ears surged, an overwhelming roar of rushing blood that thundered through his head like all hell breaking loose.

He lifted the roof slate. Nothing happened. Disgusted by his own fear, he threw it into the trees and grabbed the box before he could overthink it anymore.

The box was too light. Empty.

Something slammed into him from behind. His face smashed into the wall, but he twisted his head enough to avoid losing teeth. The impact winded him, stunned him, and Robbie McGuire’s nasal whine buzzed in his ear.

‘Message from the family, psycho. You’re not…’

He slammed a fist into Callahan’s right kidney.

‘Fucking…’

Another punch, harder.

‘Welcome, you mental bastard.’

Before a third punch could land, Callahan jabbed his elbow up and backwards. It slammed into flesh. He heard teeth snap off.

McGuire staggered back, clutching his mouth. Callahan swung a roundhouse kick at his head, slammed his steel toecap into his ear. McGuire went down.

Only then did he notice Robbie’s more vicious and unstable brother, Mitch, and two others. One was Fat Frankie, his nose dressed, his bruised eyes furious. The other was Paul, a bouncer from Liam’s strip bar, The Peach Pit. Even with an axe to grind, Fat Frankie was no real danger, but Paul was handy, a competition level kickboxer.

Mitch hissed at his brother.

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