Ties That Bind Read Online Free Page A

When he turned to Lori, he tried to look reassuring.
    “I’m sorry, kid. There’s nothing I can do.”
    Lori looked sick. Manuel took her by the arm and led her toward a waiting car. As they faded into the dark, Dupre touched the cassette through the fabric of his coat. Manuel was right. He was out on bail, and his lawyer wasn’t too sure about the outcome of his case. He needed friends in high places, and there wasn’t any place higher than the White House.
    Harold Travis uncurled his clenched fists and noticed that they were covered in blood. How had that happened? He remembered the girl fleeing the bedroom. My, she was fast. Her little rump had been tight and her little breasts had jiggled when she jumped across the bed. He’d let her think she could get away before catching her in the living room. He remembered leaping over the couch and grabbing a fistful of hair, but the rest was a blur. Now, Andrews was sprawled on the floor, her head turned at an odd angle and surrounded by a halo of blood. What a waste.
    Travis closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, he felt calmer and better able to evaluate the situation. No need to get excited, he convinced himself. This was just a tragic accident. The girl must have hit her head on the baseboard and snapped her neck or some such thing. Accidents happened every day. It wasn’t his fault if the girl met with an accident. The phrase itself flooded him with relief. “Met with an accident” was exactly what she’d done. The little blonde was in the living room, and an accident was in the living room, and they’d met, that’s all. It had nothing to do with him.
    Travis caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. It startled him. Blood had turned some of his curly black chest hairs red, and there was spatter on his cheeks and forehead. What a mess.
    What to do? What to do? Take a shower, of course, but what about the body? He wasn’t going to risk getting caught moving it, which meant that he’d have to have Pedro Aragon’s man—Manuel—take care of it. Shower first or call Manuel first, that was the question. There was the sticky problem of getting blood all over the phone, so Travis compromised. He headed for the kitchen sink. It felt good to walk naked through the house. He was in his late forties, but his body was still firm, powerful. He liked feeling strong and sexually potent.
    Travis continued to consider his options as he washed his hands. Manuel had been very efficient that other time. Of course, he only had to take the girl to the hospital and threaten her a little, then pay her something extra. There hadn’t been a body to dispose of, or a room to clean. And the downside of using one of Aragon’s men was that Manuel would tell Pedro, and Pedro’d tell the others, but it couldn’t be helped. He was certain that they would call him on the carpet, as they had before. He smiled as he remembered how they had berated him. He’d hung his head and acted contrite, but inside he’d been laughing. Let them save face, let them think that they were in charge. He was the United States senator. He was the one who would soon be the president of the United States.

four
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    Tim Kerrigan groped for his coffee mug without taking his eyes from his computer monitor. He took a sip and grimaced. The office coffee was vile to start with. Now it was cold. How long did it take for hot coffee to cool? The senior deputy district attorney looked at his watch and cursed. It was already seven-thirty, and his brief had to be in Judge Lerner’s chambers by nine.
    Patrolman Myron Tebo, with all of six weeks on the job, had arrested Claude Digby while he was standing over the battered body of Ella Morris, an eighty-five-year-old widow. The teenage burglar had confessed to the murder but yesterday, moments before court adjourned, Digby’s lawyer had cross-examined Tebo about the circumstances surrounding his client’s statements. It was the