Cooler Than Blood Read Online Free

Pedro Menéndez (Carlos, in happier times, had passed along his sister to be Menéndez’s bride), had killed Carlos after Carlos himself took a few unsuccessful swipes at Menéndez. Evidently, being a major proponent of human sacrifice doesn’t preclude one from eventually having naming rights to half the damn region.
    I had booked a two-bedroom condo—all the condos have two bedrooms—for two nights, and now that Morgan was with me, I was glad I hadn’t opted for a different location. The place was quiet. It was summer, and the western half of the Eastern Time Zone that swarmed the place in March had long departed. Fine with me. When the crowds leave paradise, paradise, not being fond of crowds, returns.
    “Room for Travis, Jake,” I said to the lady behind the counter. She had tousled rust-colored hair that splayed wildly out of an overmatched scrunchie. A USA Today was on the counter, and its colors already looked liked yesterday’s news. To my right was a corner gift shop with resort towels, hats, T-shirts, and tin-soldier sentinel coffeepots waiting for the morning.
    “I see you’re staying for only two nights,” Rusty said. “Gulf front, midlevel, or higher, south side?” I’m picky about the space I occupy. “If you’d like, we can book you for one more night, and the fourth night will be free.” As she spoke, she stared into her computer screen.
    “I’ll pass. I only need—”
    “We’ll take it,” Morgan chirped in.
    I glanced at him. “I don’t think we’ll be here that long.”
    “Two keys for four nights will be fine,” he said, keeping his eyes on Rusty.
    “Certainly,” she said and glanced up at Morgan. “And how will you be paying for this?”
    Morgan said, “I won’t be.”
    I placed my credit card on the counter then scrawled my name on a sheet of paper she’d slid in front of me. When I lifted my head, she was beaming at Morgan as if I wasn’t even there. The man adored redheads and transmitted that five-bar signal with an uncommon clarity. I picked up my duffel and headed toward the elevator. Morgan followed with the box he’d brought out of my house. I double-punched the button while the elevator moseyed around on a higher floor. A woman who smelled like the beach joined us. She wore a floppy wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and a white cover-up. The last item was a real shame, considering what she appeared to be covering up.
    “You forgot to grab shoes,” I said as I stared at the floor. Morgan’s second toe was longer than his big toe.
    “Oops.”
    I looked up at him. “I assume you’ll be in late tonight.”
    “If at all.”
    “What makes you think we need another two nights, even if it’s just the price of one?”
    “I’ll walk to the grocery at midisland and pick up food. We’ll need provisions for breakfast.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.” I hit the elevator button for the third time. I’m sure that helped. “And how can you sit at peace in a truck for two hours without asking why we’re coming here?” He’d done that before—hopped into my truck or boat without voicing curiosity as to the destination or the reason.
    “Remember,” he said, “I grew up on a sailboat. I need a reason to be stationary, not to travel. As for you, you’re as nervous as I’ve ever seen you.”
    “The heck you talking about?”
    “You. Your anxiety level is—”
    “Skip it.”
    He paused a beat then changed tack. “It’s an amazing beach. You do know James Jones pounded out some of his war memories a mile or so up the sand.”
    “King’s Cottage, I believe.” I hit the button again. “But what does that have to do with—”
    “We could’ve driven from here to eternity, and your hands never would have left ten and two.” Morgan rarely interrupted people but had done so twice in a few minutes. “You fought the wheel like I do at the helm of a fifty-footer battling a summer squall.”
    I started to serve up my retort but pulled up as I realized