Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Connie Suttle
left Wlodek's office as quickly as he'd arrived.
* * *
Breanne's Journal
It didn't matter that I'd saved three women. Two others died anyway. At least these were last seen at a third club. The news described the two as a couple who had teenaged children at home. I was so angry I could spit.
These two were dumped at a house in Daly City. It looked as if they were killed after I'd taken care of the thugs the night before, so either this was a copycat crime or there was more than one team at work. More than one team wouldn't surprise me, with a Sirenali and an obsession on the loose.
Another house was shown, with more crime scene tape draped around it. With very little hesitation, I Looked to see where it was and turned to mist.
* * *
Scents came, which might help me find the killers. With an obsession clouding two murderers, I couldn't Look to get their location. I'd had to mist through the Daly City location, too, because it was still under investigation. A few investigators still wandered through the property, looking for anything they might have missed during their initial round of evidence collection. They had no idea I was there for the same reason.
While at the Daly City location, I found scents from the two murderers at the Oakland house, plus older scents from the three men I'd dispatched in Sausalito. Nobody was at the Oakland house, either, when I returned for a second time—they'd removed the crime scene tape already after gathering evidence.
I'd materialized inside the room where the bodies were found, and there was little blood. I wondered where they'd been killed, but with the clouded obsession blocking my way, I couldn't make a determination.
That meant one thing—I'd have to go looking for scents or other evidence around the clubs where these had disappeared. I knew what kind of clubs they were—the same kind Hank owned. Breathing a worried sigh, I misted home.
* * *
Here's the mail I thought you might want to see , the note read. It came in a large envelope sent by Terry. Inside were a few thank you cards from children who'd benefited from my charity. They had no idea who I was—my name wasn't attached to any of the funds, but they'd taken the time to write anyway. I wiped tears away after reading them.
At the bottom of the packet, I found another letter. This one had been addressed to me in care of Terry Johnston, Attorney at Law. Terry had opened it to read the contents, since I wasn't available for more than two years. The return address bore Mercy Crossings' logo. I pulled the letter out and began to read.
Dear Ms. Hayworth , it began. Regarding recent events, i.e., the publication of Torture in Texas (yes that's what they'd named the fucking book), our legal department has advised us to terminate your association with the Mercy Crossings organization, as the book's impact could give our charity an unwelcome negative image.
While we sympathize with you for any pain and suffering you may have experienced in your past, it is our hope that you will understand our position in this and accept it for what it is—an attempt to dissociate our organization from such deleterious social implications. Sincerely, Barry Stokes, Director.
Well, that spelled one thing to me—Barry didn't want to offend any contributors who might have been (or still were) Joyce Christian fans or supporters. I sighed and folded the letter before slipping it back inside the envelope.
While I had no plans to return to Mercy Crossings—too many people would stare and whisper and I certainly didn't want that—this was a blow I hadn't expected. He hadn't even bothered to thank me for the service I'd given to the charity—in fact, he'd glossed over it altogether. Well, maybe he was a Joyce Christian fan, too. If so, I didn't need him or Mercy Crossings. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I wiped tears away.
* * *
"Opal, I'm not sure we ought to close the files on Oscar Forde and Keir Arthur," Bill sighed. He
* * *
Breanne's Journal
It didn't matter that I'd saved three women. Two others died anyway. At least these were last seen at a third club. The news described the two as a couple who had teenaged children at home. I was so angry I could spit.
These two were dumped at a house in Daly City. It looked as if they were killed after I'd taken care of the thugs the night before, so either this was a copycat crime or there was more than one team at work. More than one team wouldn't surprise me, with a Sirenali and an obsession on the loose.
Another house was shown, with more crime scene tape draped around it. With very little hesitation, I Looked to see where it was and turned to mist.
* * *
Scents came, which might help me find the killers. With an obsession clouding two murderers, I couldn't Look to get their location. I'd had to mist through the Daly City location, too, because it was still under investigation. A few investigators still wandered through the property, looking for anything they might have missed during their initial round of evidence collection. They had no idea I was there for the same reason.
While at the Daly City location, I found scents from the two murderers at the Oakland house, plus older scents from the three men I'd dispatched in Sausalito. Nobody was at the Oakland house, either, when I returned for a second time—they'd removed the crime scene tape already after gathering evidence.
I'd materialized inside the room where the bodies were found, and there was little blood. I wondered where they'd been killed, but with the clouded obsession blocking my way, I couldn't make a determination.
That meant one thing—I'd have to go looking for scents or other evidence around the clubs where these had disappeared. I knew what kind of clubs they were—the same kind Hank owned. Breathing a worried sigh, I misted home.
* * *
Here's the mail I thought you might want to see , the note read. It came in a large envelope sent by Terry. Inside were a few thank you cards from children who'd benefited from my charity. They had no idea who I was—my name wasn't attached to any of the funds, but they'd taken the time to write anyway. I wiped tears away after reading them.
At the bottom of the packet, I found another letter. This one had been addressed to me in care of Terry Johnston, Attorney at Law. Terry had opened it to read the contents, since I wasn't available for more than two years. The return address bore Mercy Crossings' logo. I pulled the letter out and began to read.
Dear Ms. Hayworth , it began. Regarding recent events, i.e., the publication of Torture in Texas (yes that's what they'd named the fucking book), our legal department has advised us to terminate your association with the Mercy Crossings organization, as the book's impact could give our charity an unwelcome negative image.
While we sympathize with you for any pain and suffering you may have experienced in your past, it is our hope that you will understand our position in this and accept it for what it is—an attempt to dissociate our organization from such deleterious social implications. Sincerely, Barry Stokes, Director.
Well, that spelled one thing to me—Barry didn't want to offend any contributors who might have been (or still were) Joyce Christian fans or supporters. I sighed and folded the letter before slipping it back inside the envelope.
While I had no plans to return to Mercy Crossings—too many people would stare and whisper and I certainly didn't want that—this was a blow I hadn't expected. He hadn't even bothered to thank me for the service I'd given to the charity—in fact, he'd glossed over it altogether. Well, maybe he was a Joyce Christian fan, too. If so, I didn't need him or Mercy Crossings. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I wiped tears away.
* * *
"Opal, I'm not sure we ought to close the files on Oscar Forde and Keir Arthur," Bill sighed. He
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