Vengeance of the Son
A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series
Charlotte Raine
Contents
Also by Charlotte Raine
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Copyright
1. Tobias
2. Lauren
3. Tobias
4. Lauren
5. Tobias
6. Lauren
7. Tobias
8. The Son (1 year ago)
9. The Son (9 months ago)
10. The Son (6 months ago)
11. The Son (4 months ago)
12. The Son (1 month and two weeks ago)
13. The Son (1 month ago)
14. The Son (3 weeks ago)
15. The Son (2 weeks ago)
16. The Son (now)
17. Tobias
18. Lauren
19. Tobias
20. Lauren
21. Tobias
22. Lauren
23. Tobias
24. Lauren
25. Tobias
26. Lauren (6 years later)
About the Author
Also by Charlotte Raine
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* * *
A Trinity of Death (Romantic Suspense)
Do You Want To Play (Prequel)
Voice of the Spirit
Violence of the Father
Vengeance of the Son
Titanium Blood Series (Paranormal Romance)
Blood Family
Blood Run
Blood Honor
Blood Bound
Blood Oath
Blood Rite
Grace Ellery Series
Teacher Beware - FREE
Disturbed Mind
Grant & Daniels Series
Midnight Sun
Devil’s Dawn
Blood Moon
Complete Series Box Set
The Gun Runner - Short Story Series
Major Threat
Trigger Point
Safe At Last
Complete Series Box Set
Read More Books
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Copyright © 2016 by Charlotte Raine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Tobias
They say the end of the world will be filled with fire and brimstone and I believe it now. The back of the police station is still crumbling, but I can barely make out the damage the explosion has caused because of the dust clouds engulfing the area. The smell is acrid. I pull my shirt over my nose and run to the front doors. I jerk one of the doors open. Dust blinds me for a second, but I keep moving forward. I have to find survivors. I have to find Lauren.
A hand grabs my arm. I instinctively jerk away—I’m not going to risk my life on the assumption that someone is a friend rather than a foe.
“Tobias, it’s me,” a man says. “Jack Hamlin. What the fuck happened?”
“A bomb,” I say. His blonde hair looks brown from the dust. “Why were you down here?”
“I was leaving,” he says.
“Did Lauren pass by you?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. She was heading toward the elevator…”
A silence settles over the two of us, only interrupted by the sound of cement crashing against the ground. I can only hope that the building was built with enough foresight that the destruction of one part won’t cause the rest of it to tumble down.
“Come on,” I say. “We have to check the elevator. The bomb could have caused it to malfunction and come crashing back down.”
I stumble over toward the elevator. I push the up button, but, as expected, it doesn’t react. I press my hand between the two sides of the door, but they won’t budge. I would need something extremely thin to get between the two sides.
“Emergency services will be here any minute,” Jack says. “We should get out of here and wait for them. Somebody will have the master key for the elevator.”
“How can you just wait for someone to help?” I demand. “What kind of policeman are you? We can’t wait for someone to come. People could die within that amount of time. We need to save people.”
“Then let’s save people who are easier to find,” he says. “The bomb came from the back. I think it may have gone off near the holding cells or our administrative office.”
I stare at the elevator. I have to make sure Lauren is okay, but without the right tools, I’m not going to be able to open this door—I’ll be wasting my time while people could be dying. I can’t let my own selfish needs overcome my job to serve and protect.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s get closer to where the bomb went off. There could be people trapped underneath the stone.”
He nods, running toward the back of the building. I follow him, keeping my shirt over my nose. Sunlight begins to shine through the place the roof and the back wall used to be, revealing a cascade of dust. It’s not as bad as I had originally thought—the explosion only impacted the back of the first two floors, though the third floor doesn’t look too stable. Jack rushes to the rubble and begins to dig through it, searching for anybody who might have been trapped underneath it. Maybe I was wrong about him.
As I get onto my knees beside Jack, I can hear the sirens of emergency vehicles. I dig through the fallen cement, mostly praying—I mean, hoping—that I won’t find a body in here because I doubt anybody could survive this much cement falling on them.
As I’m searching, I begin to hear a strange sound that reminds me of a drumline, but much deeper and without the snares. It’s like a group of heartbeats, pounding in rhythm.
“What is that?” I ask. Jack glances over at me before returning his concentration to the cement.
“It’s your cellphone,” he says.
Oh. I pull out my phone.
It’s Lauren.
“Lauren,” I answer. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles. “I think the blast just knocked me over. I’m not sure what happened. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Where are you?”
“I’m on the third floor.”
“Stay there,” I say. “The elevator isn’t working. And stay away from the back end of the floor. The first two floors were blown apart and the back of the third floor could fall at any second.”
“All right,” she says.
“And try to stay awake,” I say. “You could have a concussion.”
“Be safe,” she says. As I look around the room, I notice the slightest movement in the corner. It’s a hand.
“I will,” I promise. “I have to go.”
I hang up, running to the corner. Jake Romano is covered from the waist down by slabs of cement. His eyes are closed.
“Romano!” I shout, pulling the cement blocks off him. Hearing his partner’s name, Jack runs over to my side. Seeing his partner, he makes a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat before helping me pull t
he cement off him. Once Romano is clear, I can see his right ankle is twisted in the wrong direction. It looks like a break. I’m more worried about internal damage, though, from the weight of all that cement. I place my hand over his chest. There’s a heartbeat, but it’s slow.
“Who would do this?” Jack asks, his voice filled with bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Who hates us this much?”
But I already know, and I never told the rest of the police force. The Commandment Killer said that if we didn’t stop investigating these murders committed in the name of religion, the police would “face the wrath of our Creator.”
This must be what he meant by wrath. But the wrath of a sociopath will be nothing compared to the wrath of someone who has morality and chooses to ignore it. I’ll show him a whole new meaning of wrath.
* * *
Have you ever been asked to describe someone you see all of the time and you can’t come up with even the simplest details? I’ve seen it a thousand times—a woman goes missing, but the neighbor who waved at her every morning can’t remember if she had blue or hazel eyes; a man is murdered and his siblings can’t remember if his tattoo is on his left or right wrist.
These small details, which seemed inconsequential at the time, become immediately important when that person’s life is in danger, or if they’re already dead. All those details are what make a person. There’s this resounding beat in your heart that tells you that you barely paid another human being the respect that they deserve. It hurts, but it’s normal.
As I sit in the waiting room of Thiessan Memorial Hospital, I watch a doctor talking to a nurse, his hands making wide gestures. There’s a sly grin on his face. The nurse—a petite woman with dirty blonde hair—throws her head back as she laughs. As I look at their facial features, I try to remember what color eyes Romano has—his name seems Italian, so I’d assume they were dark brown, but we’ve worked together so long, they could have been blue this whole time and I just never noticed after I first met him. Then, there’s DeLuca, who works in robbery, and Beale, who’s a patrol officer. I barely knew either of them. I vaguely knew DeLuca from seeing him at the gun range, and I’d noticed Beale before because he was notoriously a suck-up to every higher ranking officer, but their faces are vague in my memory. It amazes me that anyone can do a facial composite sketch of someone who had stolen their purse, because I can’t remember people I see five times a week.
I get out of my chair and stride over to the doctor and nurse.
“I’m sorry, but there are three police officers in this hospital who were injured from a bomb, along with a few that had minor injuries and dozens of other patients,” I say. “I don’t see how you have time to stand around and chat. You’ll have plenty of time to talk when you’re not working.”
Jack puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.
“They’re doing the best they can,” he says. “That isn’t even Romano’s, DeLuca’s, or Beale’s doctor…at least I don’t think it is.”
“I’m a neonatologist,” the doctor says. “I’m not involved with those cases. I’m really sorry about your fellow officers, but he’s right…they’re doing the best that they can.”
“Everyone is doing the best they can,” I mutter. “It doesn’t seem to be good enough.”
I walk back to my chair and slump into it. Jack sits down beside me, resting his foot against the edge of a table that’s covered with magazines that are three months old. How can I trust a hospital that can’t even keep their magazines up-to-date?
“Maybe you just need to step outside and take a breath,” Jack says.
I glance over at him. “I was just starting to like you. Don’t ruin it.”
The door to the operation room swings open. A tall man with stark white hair in blue scrubs steps out, scanning the waiting room until he spots Romano’s wife, Dana. He walks straight toward her.
“Mrs. Romano,” he says. “Your husband is stable right now. Unfortunately, he suffered some internal damage from the blast shockwaves, including pulmonary contusions. This means that there will likely be long-term issues with his respiratory function. He also has a broken ankle, both his knees are fractured, and his right leg is broken. But I’m happy to say that it looks like he’s going to be okay.”
“I…um, thank you,” she says. “I’m so grateful to you for saving him.”
“I’d thank his fellow officers,” he says, pointing to Jack and me. I flush and look down at my feet, but Jack stands up and walks over to Dana.
“Don’t worry about the cost, Dana,” he says. “I’m absolutely certain the whole police force will chip in to help. We’ll also help him with physical therapy. He’ll be in good shape in no time.”
She nods, wrapping her arms around him. As the doctor steps back, making a move to return to his patients, I stand up and approach him.
“Doctor, there was a Detective Lauren Williams here. She wasn’t an emergency case, but I was wondering if you know what her status is?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think she was one of my patients,” he says. “I can ask around, though.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Do you know the status of the other patients?”
“The two other police officers that required emergency care seemed to be doing well,” he says. “I’m sure their surgeons will be coming out soon. Looking at the fact that this was a bomb, we were rather lucky.”
“A career criminal named Sam Doucette died at the scene,” I say. “Romano had just taken him to the holding cells. Luck is subjective.”
He nods. “I suppose you’re right. Do you have any idea who did this?”
“I have an idea,” I say. “But not a name.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but catch this son of a bitch.”
“I will,” I say.
He leaves, the door to the operation wing locking as soon as it snaps shut behind him. I know promising a citizen that I’ll catch a killer is risky—there’s always a strong possibility that a killer will slip right through my fingers and I shouldn’t vow to do something that I’m not certain I can do. But I want nothing more than to wrap my fingers around this guy’s throat. He wants to be seen as Jesus, but they say Jesus was the Son of God and this guy is just a mortal human. When he dies, he won’t resurrect in three days and even if he did, I’d kill him again. I don’t care. Nobody tries to kill the family that is closer to me than my own flesh and blood. This guy thinks he’s Jesus, but I swear to God I’ll send him to meet Jesus just to prove him wrong.
As I return to my chair, I see Lauren’s grandmother and Peter Luctor, Lauren’s half-brother. I stride over to them.
“Hey, you guys,” I say. Peter jolts, his cane nearly falling from his hands. The two of them are an odd pair. Lauren’s grandmother has a thin body with long gray hair that swirls upward like Lauren’s hair. She’s in her seventies, but her face is still relatively youthful. Peter, who is in his mid-twenties, is blind—only evident by his cane and sunglasses. He has platinum blonde hair, but I can’t tell if it’s dyed or natural. I would think it’s dyed since Lauren’s hair is a light brown shade, but I don’t see any sign that it’s fake. “I guess you’re here for Lauren—do you know how she is?”
“I’m fine,” Lauren’s voice says. I turn around to see her standing behind me, her light brown hair pulled into a ponytail and an ice pack held up to her face. “The doctor said I shouldn’t drive or walk a long distance anywhere, so I called them to pick me up.”
“I could have taken you home,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says.
I lock my hands behind my neck, taking a deep breath as I try to stay in control of my emotions.
“We both could have died today,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “I was the person you called after the bomb went off.”
“Yes,” she says. “I’ll never deny that I care about you, but this doesn’t chang
e anything. I’m going to return to the police station to see if there’s anything I can find that will lead us to who did this. I’ve heard there’re already officers at the scene and that the bomb squad has already swept the area and found nothing. My grandma is going to drop me off and then one of the officers can drive me home.”
“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” I say.
Peter steps in between us. “Lauren, why don’t you go with Grandma to the police station?” he suggests. “I want to talk with Tobias.”
Lauren nods before she and her grandmother walk away. I want to continue my conversation with her, but I can’t ditch a blind man in the hospital. The last thing the police department needs is questions about our attitude toward handicapped people.
I turn to him. He’s still looking in the general direction of where Lauren was standing.
“They’re gone,” I say.
“Oh,” he says, turning toward me. “It’s harder to hear everything here because there’s so much commotion. So, listen, I just wanted to say something to you. You should give Lauren some space for a few days and then you can try to win her back.”
“It seems like she wants absolutely nothing to do with me,” I say.
“Tobias, if your heart is in the right place, she’ll eventually see that,” he says. “But I think when two people break up, whenever they see their ex, their thoughts get too clouded and all they can think of is the break up. She needs time to reflect and if you two are meant to be together, she’ll realize it.”
“And what happens if she reflects and still decides that she doesn’t want to be with me?” I ask.
“Then you have to move on,” he says. “You have to let her go. It’s cruel to keep holding onto her if the relationship is over—for you and for her.”
I look away from him. He’s right. He’s blind and he’s seen what I never wanted to see. I can’t drag her down with me, so if I’m not who she wants, I’ll have to let her go.
Vengeance of the Son (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 3) Page 1