Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) Brian Shea (black authors fiction txt) 📖

best effort at a smile. "And if the guy inside that restaurant is involved, then no political power he possesses will stop me from bringing him down. I don't care what office he's running for, even if it’s the next mayor of Boston with sights on the presidency. None of it matters to me if the guy's guilty. One thing I know for certain…I don't want one more body to drop in this city, or any other, because we didn't have the balls to go inside and confront this guy."

"I'm all for pushing the envelope. But don't we run the risk of exposing what we know before we have the evidence to back it?"

"What's the real harm? He'd deny it anyway. We'd see through his bullshit. But you know as well as I do that putting him on the spot will expose him. He'll react. We'll see it. We'll know. And if we're wrong, then it's back to the drawing board."

"We're tipping our hand if we go in there."

"Absolutely! You don't think he knows that we’re onto him? At the very least he's got to assume we suspect his involvement. He knows we're digging into him just as we would everyone else on that list. Each and every one of those bombing victims' lives are being examined under a microscope in the hopes of shedding light on any possible connections to this case." Langston’s smile dropped. "After our little chat, we're going to dig so deep into McLaughlin's past that we’ll know if he pissed his pants in third grade. I'm willing to turn this guy's life inside out if it leads us to one breadcrumb of truth that will help put a face on this bomber."

"Good by me. Let's get in there and look McLaughlin straight in the eye. And if he's the guy, well then, guess what? I'll spend the rest of my career, if it takes that, to make sure I can put him away for the rest of his life."

"And if we're wrong, then maybe we'll scare enough sense into him that he'll stop making stupid decisions that put other lives in jeopardy."

They pulled up in front of the Oyster House Tavern. It wasn't overly swanky, but it held an air of sophistication. They decided to park a distance away where they had a good line of sight to the entrance. They'd arrived seven minutes before McLaughlin pulled into the lot with Hodges as his escort. The driver dropped them off at the door before parking around back.

McLaughlin waited outside for several minutes until another car arrived, this one driven by a female. She was tall, with short brown hair and a curvy physique. The schedule noted the dinner engagement at the Oyster House was listed “campaign prep.” McLaughlin’s brief interaction with the brunette looked more personal than professional.

Hodges entered first, with McLaughlin and the attractive woman following the head of security into the restaurant. Kelly and Langston agreed to give it a little time before they entered. They wanted to see who else might join the party.

About half an hour passed as the two sat idling in the Caprice. Langston had figured it was a good idea to let McLaughlin soak in a little drink and relax before confronting him. Kelly knew both he and Langston secretly hoped the bomber would show.

"Ready to go and say hello?" Langston's forced smile reappeared.

"I'm all for making friends in high places." Kelly chuckled softly as he got out of the car. Laughing felt good, even if it was a bit forced. It alleviated some of the stress that he'd been feeling since the first bomb had gone off in earshot of his early morning run. Had it really only been less than two days? It felt more like a month.

Kelly was side by side with Langston when the restaurant’s front door exploded. He felt the glass and debris pepper his flesh as he was knocked off his feet, tumbling several times before skidding to a halt on the asphalt and banging into the curbing nearby. He looked over at Langston, who was on his knees coughing violently. Their eyes met. Langston's eyes widened as he met Kelly's dazed ones.

Langston scurried over to him. "Kelly, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. What are you talking about?" Kelly tasted it. At first, he thought it was sweat, but it was too bitter. And then he recognized it and understood why Langston had been so concerned. Blood.

Kelly put his hand on his face, blindly navigating his way across his skin. When he brought it back down, he saw his palm was painted bright red. "How bad?" he asked, still unable to find the cause.

Langston looked like a gorilla grooming his young as he parted Kelly's hair. "It's pretty deep. You're definitely going to need some stitches. Anything else hurting?"

They both did a quick once-over. Nothing broken and no other significant damage. Kelly reached up and felt the gash. It was bad, but not unmanageable. He'd had head wounds before, from both the job and the ring, and knew they always tended to bleed more and look worse than they really were.

Catching sight of himself in the reflection of a nearby car window, he understood why Langston had looked so concerned. The wound would need stitches, but the pressure he applied had already slowed the bleeding.

Sirens bounced off the surrounding buildings, announcing their pending arrival as Kelly felt wooziness creeping in. He tried to get up but immediately sat back down.

"Take it easy," Langston said. "Cavalry's on the way."

"What are the odds McLaughlin survived that?"

Langston looked toward the gaping hole where the front door had been only moments ago. "I'd guess zero."

33

Kelly sat on the ambulance bumper and watched as crime scene techs, bomb technicians, and a smattering of law enforcement and EMS scurried about. His head was throbbing as whatever bit of metal or debris that caught his forehead finally started to announce its presence. He had his third gauze packed