“No—you set me up.” She stepped away from the couch, closing on the wheelchair. “You used me. That’s what really hurts. I trusted you, and you used me.” She stared down at him for a long moment, then turned away. “I don’t like to be used. And that’s something I can’t forgive.”
Neither of them said anything more for a moment. She was tired of talking, tired of being here. The little bit of trust she’d learned had been unlearned. The little bit of closeness she’d risked had set off a chain reaction that killed Alec Dante and Aaron Walling and Frank Lazzaro and Patrick Chiu and all the others. And her, too, very nearly.
What was that thing about the butterfly that flaps its wings and starts a hurricane halfway around the world? Des was the butterfly. And the storm he’d unleashed had ended up with one hell of a death toll.
Outside, a distant siren whooped—cops or first aid on the way to another emergency. It faded, and there was only the tense silence between them.
“So what does this mean?” Des asked quietly. “We’re done, just like that? We’re over?”
When she spoke, her voice was steady. “Yes. That’s what it means.”
He swung the chair around with a sudden violent lurch of his shoulders. “Then go back to being alone. Don’t reach out. Keep your distance from everybody. It’s what you do best.”
She nodded. He was right. She only wished she hadn’t needed him to show her.
“Goodbye, Des,” she said, walking out of the living room, to the front door.
He came after her, his face ablaze.
“I’m not sorry for what I did, Parker. That son of a bitch deserved it.”
“Maybe he did. But I didn’t.”
The door closed behind her, pushed shut by the wind.
Bonnie returned to the Jeep. The sun was higher now, and patches of sky were clear. She drove away, going nowhere, needing simply to be in motion, constant motion. Sharks were like that. They had to move or die. And she was one of them. She always had been, and she wouldn’t fight it anymore.
She was a shark, and she swam alone, and where she swam, there was always blood in the water.
From the author ...
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Please be aware that there are at least two other writers using the name "Michael Prescott" (or "Michael J. Prescott"). These writers have no connection with me. For a complete list of my titles, visit my author site.
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Thanks!
Michael Prescott
Author’s Note
First, I invite readers to visit me at michaelprescott.net, where you’ll find links to all my books, news about upcoming projects, contact info, and other good stuff.
Blood in the Water is a sequel to Cold Around the Heart, which introduced Bonnie Parker. This book grew out of my own experience of Hurricane Sandy, which made landfall on October 29, 2012. Writers are always told to write what they know, and though I’ve seldom followed this injunction, I did so in this case.
The lines of poetry at the front of the book were written by the historical Bonnie Parker, partner of Clyde Barrow, as part of a long poem titled “The Trail’s End.” I’ve taken the liberty of changing plural pronouns to singular.
Many thanks to my friend and fellow author J. Carson Black for helpful feedback on the cover design, and to Diana Cox of www.novelproofreading.com for her usual fine job of proofreading the manuscript—and for catching one major inconsistency in the plot.
—MP
Also by Michael Prescott
Kane
Shiver
Shudder
Shatter
Deadly Pursuit
Blind Pursuit
Mortal Pursuit
Comes the Dark
Stealing Faces
The Shadow Hunter
Last Breath
Next Victim
In Dark Places
Dangerous Games
Mortal Faults
Final Sins
Riptide
Grave of Angels
Cold Around the Heart
Steel Trap and Other Stories
Chasing Omega
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From the author ...
Author’s Note
Also by Michael Prescott
Blood in the Water Page 25