Fatal Read Online Free Page B

of gold, all right. It had been hard and cold.
    He kissed his hand and touched the urn plastered into the headstone. His father’s ashes. The vessel was minuscule and inconspicuous. Like his father’s personality had been when he was still alive.
    Perreira had loved his father. They played soccer in the evenings, went fishing over weekends, went for morning jogs at the break of dawn. He had been a brilliant boxer, a title contender; he won thirty of his professional bouts.  
    And the man had never lifted his hand against his wife.  
    One morning while preparing their breakfast, his father had told him his mom was having an affair. She was still in the bedroom, sleeping off her previous night’s hangover. His father had come home early from work, caught her red-handed. Perreira hadn’t known what to say while his father wept like a child.  
    She had never respected him, talking to him as if he were a piece of scum, always ridiculing him in front of friends. And the man had accepted her taunts with a smile, like she was joking.
    And it had killed him. His father worshipped his mom, looked after her, spoiled her. But then, one morning, his life had changed forever.
    He remembered walking back home from school. A crowd had gathered outside their home and people were staring into the windows of their home, jostling for position. An ambulance had pulled into their driveway, a police car with flashing blue lights parked behind it.
    Perreira had been met by a police officer at the gate. His mom was sitting at the breakfast table, eyeliner smudged and messy, resting her head on her hand. She didn’t look up when he entered the room.  
    He was taken to a female social worker and she led him outside. His dad had committed suicide, shot himself in the head. She didn’t want to leave him with his mom, who was incapable of looking after him. And his mother didn’t want him anyway.
    Miguel Perreira, at the age of sixteen, was taken into foster care. The foster parents in Mozambique didn’t do it for the love of children. They did it for the government grants. They received nine hundred meticais for every kid they took in. Perreira shared a room with seven other kids. Food was scarce. Foster parents spent the money on themselves; none of what they received trickled down to the children.
    He had hated his life. His so-called parents. He ran away, joined a gang, then learned to fend for himself. He had never seen his mom again. He despised all women.  
    He sobbed and made the sign of the cross. Why, he didn’t know, probably out of habit. He pushed himself up, then spat on the tombstone. Bitch .
    He trudged away. He would never be as weak as his father had been.

Neil and Alexa strolled on the beach towards the hotel’s beach bar. They sat with their feet in the sand on low reed chairs. Alexa ordered drinks and brought them to the table. Neil thanked her and took a sip of beer, observing the people glancing their way as they trundled past their table, probably trying to figure out who the movie star was sitting opposite him.
    He shifted his gaze to Alexa. “So what is this all about, then?”  
    She traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “My entire life I've needed to live undercover.” She shrugged and looked up. “Seventeen years ago, my dad and Bruce broke up a smuggling ring. They were sick bastards. They’ve been hunting us ever since.”
    Neil frowned, scratching his chin. “Hold on a sec, I thought Bruce was your dad.”
    Alexa nodded. “He is. He adopted me when I was seven.” She took a sip of her cocktail. “A man named Miguel Perreira killed my dad,” she said, studying his face.  
    Neil nodded slowly. “I knew Perreira.” The pieces clicked into place. “Captain Zachary Cohen was your dad?”
    Alexa sat back and gazed out over the ocean, a faraway look in her eyes. “Perreira shot him in cold blood. Bruce has been looking after me ever since.”  
    Neil patted her arm. “I’m sorry,