By Kathleen George
A homicide sends a baby into foster care and drags a detective right into a feverish hunt for justice
Nadal watches for weeks prior to he first ways the boy. it doesn't matter what Maggie Brown says, he’s yes Matt is his son, and a boy may still be aware of his father. After their first disagreement, Maggie must have run. She must have hidden her baby. yet she underestimated the fellow who was her lover. With self-righteous decision, Nadal is going to her apartment. He calls for to spend time with the boy. whilst she refuses, he reaches for a knife.
By the time murder detective Richard Christie arrives at the scene, all that is still of Maggie Brown is a bloodstain at the ground. The killer has vanished, and Matt is simply too scared to recollect whatever yet his mother’s worry. As Christie appears for the killer and Maggie’s acquaintances struggle to maintain Matt out of the fingers of kid prone, Nadal watches the inside track and waits. A boy can be together with his father. He’s going to get his son.
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Additional info for A Measure of Blood (Richard Christie, Book 7)
Holding on for her life, before it slipped away entirely, in falls and headaches and the horrifying sense of sliding away into insanity. All the bad things simply . . stopped. Her taut muscles loosened, her eyes closed, her nose was buried in a sweater that smelled of fabric softener and man, with a faint tang of smoke. She was being held tightly, engulfed in strong arms and warmth and her mind simply blanked. She was so used to the background buzz of anxiety and fear in her head, a constant hiss of static tinged with darkness, that she simply blissed out at its absence.
Interested. ” It had been so long since she‟d felt anything like this, since she‟d been part of that whole manwoman thing. Her only contact with men over the past nine months had been with doctors and physical therapists, then lawyers as she settled her father‟s estate. She‟d nearly forgotten that she was a woman. Daniel Weston made her feel female once again. She felt a connection to him and even though it was probably a sign of her craziness, because the connection was in her dreams, right at this moment she didn‟t feel cold and alone and listless, which had been her default emotional setting for more time than she cared to think about.
He touched his baseball cap with his index finger in a salute, then took off with a squeal of t ires, leaving her completely alone on the deserted street. The trip had been such a nightmare. She‟d regretted it the moment she‟d left the house in the pouring rain. The taxi had got caught in a jam due to the sudden downpour, tipping her out at departures barely in time to make it to the gate. Two huge Airbuses were boarding and the gates were crowded with far more passengers than the relatively small Tampa airport was equipped to handle.