by Dom Testa
“Another sad pawn. Steffan exploited her ruthless side while stringing her along with phony romance. Which, come to think of it, is exactly what she did with Aiken. So they all turned out to be one big lying, dysfunctional collection of cads.
“Anyway, Parks never cared one bit about Jayanti. It explains why he didn’t mind using her to rope Aiken into helping. Or, for that matter, why he was fine letting her be the prime suspect for the murders in Santa Fe. She died never knowing that everything he did with her was one big act. Or hell, maybe she knew and didn’t care. People put up walls. If she hadn’t murdered me I might even feel sorry for her.”
“Look, you prevented 42 gallons of tabun-based poison to filter through a city’s water supply. Our guys say that was plenty in the short term to kill at least ten thousand.”
We lapsed into silence again until I changed the subject. “There’s a loose thread we’re going to have to talk about eventually.”
“The Arcetri.”
“Yes. As much as we’d like to believe Steffan’s arrest means the end of them, I wouldn’t be surprised if they resurfaced.”
“Because?”
“Because their skills are boundless and their grievances are legitimate.”
She sat back and considered that while she took a long drink of water. Then she said, “We’ll begin compiling a dossier on known and potential members. Just in case.”
“Right,” I said. “Just in case.”
The last steps up to the 7th floor of the Stadler Building were always hard. I still refused to take the elevator.
Inside my condo I didn’t bother to hang up my coat, throwing it across a bar stool in the kitchen. I’d just opened the bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir and was filling two glasses when the panel in the living room slid open. A moment later Christina was by my side, an arm around my shoulder. She planted a loving kiss on my cheek.
“Welcome home,” she said into my mangled ear. Then she stubbed it with a finger and frowned. “This is truly disgusting. I don’t suppose you’d have some plastic surgery done on it.”
“No chance. But think about it this way: I might be killed soon and you won’t have to look at it after that.”
“No,” she said. “Just my luck you’ll have this body for a year. I guess I’ll just have to live with it for a while.”
I started to hand her one of the glasses of wine, but she waved it away and held up the mug of tea she’d brought over. We touched glass to mug and each took a sip.
She pointed to a package I had on the counter. “What’s that? A surprise for me?”
“One for you and one for Poole. I promised her a treat from New Mexico, but actually got it in Arizona. It’s called Horno Bread.”
She gave me a real kiss this time. “You’re the sweetest spy I’ve ever known.”
We walked into the living room where I opened the curtains, exposing the view I didn’t appreciate often enough. We settled next to each other on the couch.
“I’m assuming your case ended well,” she said.
“It did for me and the citizens of Arizona. But everyone around me seemed to get shot.”
“By you?” she asked.
“Very funny. You’ll be happy to know I didn’t even go through an entire magazine’s worth of ammunition on the entire case.”
“Well, don’t tell me what you did use.”
“Not even the syringe? That was pretty cool.”
“No. Let’s just enjoy the pretty lights.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. I kicked off my shoes and put my feet up on the coffee table, a move that was forbidden on Christina’s side of the living quarters. I stroked her hair for a minute then said, “You wanna know the strangest part of this trip?”
She mumbled a contented yes.
“I captured an old girlfriend and turned her over to the police.”
Christina laughed. “The one you told me about from college?”
“The same. For murder, even.”
“Good thing you dumped her back then.”
I couldn’t bring myself to set her straight. Better to let her think she’d won the prize.
“I have some good news, too,” I said. “Quanta is adamant that I’ll get at least ten days off.”
“And you believe her?”
“I want to.”
“So I have you until you need to save the country again.”
“Correct.”
She squeezed my arm. “That’s great, babe. I might need your help around here.”
Laughing into her hair I said, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I don’t have a single handyman gene in any of my bodies. Besides, I intend to spend all ten days either right here or in one of our beds.”
“Oh, I’m not asking you to fix the sink or put in a dimmer switch.”
I raised my wine glass to my lips and, just before taking a sip, said, “What kind of help do you need, then?”
She pulled away from me and looked right into my eyes. Her face was beaming and her eyes had never looked more beautiful.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I’ve never been pregnant before.”
Poison Control: Eric Swan Thriller #2
By Dom Testa
Copyright © 2020 by Dom Testa/Profound Impact Group
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations contained within critical articles and reviews. For information, contact the publisher.
This is a work of fiction, and a strange one at that. All organizations, events, and characters portrayed in this work are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity or resemblance to any person, living or dead — or reinvested — is not only purely coincidental, but incredibly bizarre.
Published by Profound Impact Group
PO Box 506
Alpharetta, GA 30009
Reach us at EricSwan.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917955
ISBN: 978-1-942151-09-8
Cover art by Damonza
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