everyone involved.
John Crow understood that too, I’m sure, and I didn’t fear that he’d seek retribution again. Not from any of us, at any rate. He’d returned to Miami to nurse his busted arm, and to organize his search for Charles White.
I had no regrets over killing the Rude Boys down in Jamaica, or indeed the baldy who’d accompanied Crow, and who now inhabited an unmarked grave in the lot behind the building in which he’d died. However, I regretted that a boy should be maimed, and that his girlfriend should be a witless pawn of her uncle’s scheme, and for that reason I swore that Charles White would be made to pay. That was, if I could discover his whereabouts before the Albino Vulture did.
But that was a job for another day.
I said my good-byes and put away my phone.
I was sitting outside Jolie’s café with the sun on my face, sipping the best brew that money could buy, enjoying both. Jolie was standing with her arms folded as she leaned against her doorway. She had other customers but I could sense her scrutiny on me, and knew that she had guessed what had gone down with the Jamaicans, but I trusted her to be as discreet with her suspicions as when a dangerous man had tried to coax my whereabouts from her.
I was a good customer. I’d be back. She could count on it.
I looked at her, offered her a conspiratorial wink.
She winked back.
Respect.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Matt Hilton’s upcoming novel
BLOOD AND ASHES
On sale June 2013
PROLOGUE
B rook Reynolds woke up screaming without knowing why. The last few minutes were a blur; she could recall thinking of her children but why would that make her scream? She only knew that it was the right thing to do.
Then, with a jolt, it all came back: how everything had changed so horribly in a matter of minutes.
She remembered the car behind hers, barely a distraction at first. Her thoughts were fully on her husband and children. Brook smiled as she pictured their faces. Soon she’d be home and there’d be hugs all round. She’d missed them all while away on business.
The mountain roads were familiar, if twisting, and her mind was preoccupied with the impending happy reunion, so the following vehicle didn’t register with her too much. Not until it moved in close and her rearview mirror reflected the harshness of its lights. Her pulse fluttered in her throat and her eyes stung at the glare.
“What in God’s name are you playing at?”
The vehicle was a silhouette beyond the stark beams, and it loomed massive in her mirrors. Brook couldn’t see the occupants, but they must have been reckless idiots. Didn’t they know the road took a series of sharp turns just ahead? As a gentle reminder she touched the brake pedal, hoping they’d back off. She watched the vehicle dwindle, but had to tug her eyes from the mirror when its lights were flicked up to high beam.
“Asshole!”
She didn’t want to get into a sparring match, but she had to warn this lunatic to back off. Again she toed the brake, and her lamps turned the night red. The following vehicle speeded up, and the interior of her car was invaded by its lights. Its horn screeched.
“What the hell are you doing?” She shouted this time, touching the gas pedal to avoid a collision. She pushed the car into the first bend, snatching her attention from the curve ahead to the blazing lights behind, back to the road again. Then, coming out of the curve, she put her foot down. Unperturbed, the car shot by her, spitting up grit from the side of the road. Brook avoided looking at the driver: probably some crazy redneck high on something. This was the last thing she wanted. All she needed to do was get home.
The car roared on and into the next bend.
Thank God, it kept on going.
Brook didn’t slow. She kept her foot steady on the gas.
Coming around the tight bend, she saw the dark form of the other car in her path. It was parked across the narrow road, lights extinguished, someone
John Crow understood that too, I’m sure, and I didn’t fear that he’d seek retribution again. Not from any of us, at any rate. He’d returned to Miami to nurse his busted arm, and to organize his search for Charles White.
I had no regrets over killing the Rude Boys down in Jamaica, or indeed the baldy who’d accompanied Crow, and who now inhabited an unmarked grave in the lot behind the building in which he’d died. However, I regretted that a boy should be maimed, and that his girlfriend should be a witless pawn of her uncle’s scheme, and for that reason I swore that Charles White would be made to pay. That was, if I could discover his whereabouts before the Albino Vulture did.
But that was a job for another day.
I said my good-byes and put away my phone.
I was sitting outside Jolie’s café with the sun on my face, sipping the best brew that money could buy, enjoying both. Jolie was standing with her arms folded as she leaned against her doorway. She had other customers but I could sense her scrutiny on me, and knew that she had guessed what had gone down with the Jamaicans, but I trusted her to be as discreet with her suspicions as when a dangerous man had tried to coax my whereabouts from her.
I was a good customer. I’d be back. She could count on it.
I looked at her, offered her a conspiratorial wink.
She winked back.
Respect.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Matt Hilton’s upcoming novel
BLOOD AND ASHES
On sale June 2013
PROLOGUE
B rook Reynolds woke up screaming without knowing why. The last few minutes were a blur; she could recall thinking of her children but why would that make her scream? She only knew that it was the right thing to do.
Then, with a jolt, it all came back: how everything had changed so horribly in a matter of minutes.
She remembered the car behind hers, barely a distraction at first. Her thoughts were fully on her husband and children. Brook smiled as she pictured their faces. Soon she’d be home and there’d be hugs all round. She’d missed them all while away on business.
The mountain roads were familiar, if twisting, and her mind was preoccupied with the impending happy reunion, so the following vehicle didn’t register with her too much. Not until it moved in close and her rearview mirror reflected the harshness of its lights. Her pulse fluttered in her throat and her eyes stung at the glare.
“What in God’s name are you playing at?”
The vehicle was a silhouette beyond the stark beams, and it loomed massive in her mirrors. Brook couldn’t see the occupants, but they must have been reckless idiots. Didn’t they know the road took a series of sharp turns just ahead? As a gentle reminder she touched the brake pedal, hoping they’d back off. She watched the vehicle dwindle, but had to tug her eyes from the mirror when its lights were flicked up to high beam.
“Asshole!”
She didn’t want to get into a sparring match, but she had to warn this lunatic to back off. Again she toed the brake, and her lamps turned the night red. The following vehicle speeded up, and the interior of her car was invaded by its lights. Its horn screeched.
“What the hell are you doing?” She shouted this time, touching the gas pedal to avoid a collision. She pushed the car into the first bend, snatching her attention from the curve ahead to the blazing lights behind, back to the road again. Then, coming out of the curve, she put her foot down. Unperturbed, the car shot by her, spitting up grit from the side of the road. Brook avoided looking at the driver: probably some crazy redneck high on something. This was the last thing she wanted. All she needed to do was get home.
The car roared on and into the next bend.
Thank God, it kept on going.
Brook didn’t slow. She kept her foot steady on the gas.
Coming around the tight bend, she saw the dark form of the other car in her path. It was parked across the narrow road, lights extinguished, someone
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