Dire Straits Read Online Free Page A

look at my grandfather. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
    He doesn’t blink. ‘He’s going to come around. I would like to know if I need to take measures to guard against him.’
    ‘I think you can hold your own,’ I reply drily.
    ‘Tell me why you tied him up.’
    I’m momentarily confused. Then I realise the handcuffs are still attached to O’Shea’s right wrist. ‘Oh. That wasn’t me. He was already cuffed when I found him.’
    For the first time, my grandfather looks surprised. And worried.
    I lean forward. ‘What is it?’
    ‘They’re yours, Bo,’ he says quietly. ‘They’re your cuffs. I was there when your father gave them to you. I’d recognise them anywhere.’
    I’m taken aback. ‘That’s ridiculous. They’re not mine – he was restrained with them before I arrived.’
    Except I have to admit that my grandfather doesn’t make mistakes like that. My eyes drop to the set of steel rings and I walk over and touch them. They’re still smeared in blood. I think about how easily I picked the lock back at Wiltshore Avenue. I kneel down and examine them further. I wipe away some of the blood with my thumb and my stomach drops. There’s a tiny zigzagged scratch along the side that’s heart-rendingly familiar.
    ‘Well, this is just getting better and better,’ I murmur to myself. It appears that someone broke into my apartment and stole my handcuffs. Then they used them to tie up O’Shea and left him for dead, calling in armed police to arrive the moment I was supposed to enter the house. I’m being set up and I have no idea by whom or for what reason.
    ‘What aren’t you telling me, Bo?’ My grandfather’s voice is quiet.
    I chew on my bottom lip. Whether it’s O’Shea or me who is the focus of this utter bollocks of a situation, he has a right to know. As much as he’s a pompous, crabby old son of a bitch, I can’t keep him in the dark.
    ‘It’s possible I’m being targeted.’ I keep my tone deliberately light.
    There’s no reaction from my grandfather but the length of time before he speaks again is telling. ‘Not the daemon?’
    I shrug. ‘Maybe him too. At this point it’s difficult to say.’
    He nods thoughtfully. ‘So what did you do?’
    ‘Jesus! Why do you always think the worst of me? I’ve not done anything!’
    ‘Bo, I was planning a quiet afternoon of Pimms and bridge. Now I need to batten down the hatches and worry about who might knock on my door. I deserve to know the truth.’
    ‘I’m not lying.’ I hold his eyes. ‘If keeping him here is a problem, then just say so.’
    ‘Why would having a half-dead quarter daemon on my kitchen table be a problem?’ He runs a hand through his shock of white hair and takes a deep breath. ‘He can stay for now.’
    I exhale slowly. Thank God for that.
    ‘So who is he?’
    ‘His name is Devlin O’Shea. He’s suspected of dabbling in black magic.’
    ‘How black?’
    I wave a dismissive hand in the air. ‘More grey than black. I was told he’s been selling a few glamour spells. Just your usual petty witchcraft, nothing to get anyone’s knickers in a twist.’
    ‘Was he selling to bloodguzzlers?’
    I shake my head. ‘Humans.’ At least that’s what I had been told anyway.
    My grandfather sniffs. ‘And you? How are you involved?’
    ‘I was supposed to serve him with a summons to appear before the Agathos court. There was a bonus in it if I caught him in the act of dealing.’ I look away for a moment. ‘The thing is, the summons was only going to be activated at noon. I was to wait until then before approaching him. I may have been a little overly punctual.’
    ‘You were early?’
    I nod.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I wanted to hurry home to catch the afternoon soaps. What does it matter?’
    He growls at me. I don’t care. I’m damned if I’m going to tell him that it was because I needed the loo.
    ‘Have you been nosing into anything you shouldn’t have?’
    I take the question seriously, mulling over all my