Fortunate Son: A Suspenseful Psychological Thriller by Bridgeman Andrew

Author:Bridgeman, Andrew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mission Point Press
Published: 2024-09-24T00:00:00+00:00

39

Emma Noble dabbed the blood off her mouth and chin with a warm washcloth. She was in the upstairs bathroom of the farmhouse in Virginia, her blouse a blood-soaked disaster. She inspected herself in the mirror—her nose was a pink balloon. Toilet paper was stuffed up her nostrils; yes, she was battered, but still standing.

She looked down the hallway at the bedrooms that faced one another. George Engel’s mechanic uniform was balled on the floor of the first, a steel camber-top toolbox standing next to it. No way in hell she was getting anywhere near that. She’d leave it as a present for the bomb squad. When she peeked into the second bedroom, a chill shot through her heart. The comforter had been pulled back—someone had been sleeping in this room too. Shards of broken ceramic from a shattered lamp littered the carpet.

Two people had been in the house. Jesus, Emma! She’d lain on the lawn congratulating herself before clearing the house. If George Engel’s friend had still been there—no doubt about it, she’d be dead. That was a big, hairy mistake that she vowed never to repeat—or tell anyone.

Emma knelt on the carpet, looking at the broken lamp. Why would someone smash it against the wall? An argument with George maybe? She stood up and looked around the room. Something was on the bedside table—the white glossy back of a photograph. She held it by the edge and flipped it over. He was a little younger, had a bowl haircut, and the beginnings of a bad moustache, but Emma recognized him. This was Benjamin Danvers’s senior high school picture.

Why would a terrorist have this?

Her internal logic was sending her in only two directions. Either Kimberly Hancock’s son was a target. Or Benjamin had some role to play in the attacks. All she knew for certain was that, as of now, the kid was directly linked to terrorists. And that was very bad news because, in two days, he would be standing by his mother at the inauguration—only feet from the next president of the United States.

Emma slid the photograph into a sandwich bag she’d found in the kitchen, then tucked it into the pocket of her windbreaker to show Briar. Maybe he could make sense of it.

The police sirens were getting closer. Emma walked out the front door onto the wraparound porch, sat in the black wicker chair, and waited for the federal cavalry to descend upon Ewell.

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