Blood Kills

by Nanci Rathbun

  Nanci Rathbun

  Published by Dark Chocolate Press LLC

  https://darkchocolatepress.com

  Blood Kills—An Angelina Bonaparte Mystery Copyright ©2021 by Nancianne Rathbun, Wellington CO. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher / copyright owner / author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. For information, please contact: contact@nancirathbun.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN: 978-0-9987557-8-6 (Print)

  ISBN: 978-0-9987557-7-9 (Digital E-book)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020925342

  Rathbun, Nancianne.

  Blood Kills / Nanci Rathbun

  FICTION: Mystery/Suspense

  Cover design by Nathaniel Dasco BookCoverMall.com

  Edited by D.A. Sarac, https://theeditingpen.com

  Because words matter.

  Published by Dark Chocolate Press LLC

  https://darkchocolatepress.com

  Praise for Truth Kills

  " ... an impressive debut and a promising start to a smart new mystery series." – Kirkus Reviews

  “If you've ever wondered what Stephanie Plum would be like with a little experience in life under her belt, Nanci Rathbun has the answer. Rathbun injects a lot of depth into a standard romantic mystery story. Her heroine is flawed and complex, her plot perfectly constructed to bring out all of the facets she's created. For mystery lovers, or fans of romantic suspense, Nanci Rathbun is one to watch.” – Shelf Awareness

  “In Truth Kills, Rathbun combines sparkling characters, a well-constructed plot, and a dollop of humor and romance to concoct a very entertaining mystery featuring the unique private investigator, Angelina Bonaparte. If you like your heroines smart and sassy, this book is for you. I highly recommend this series!” – Margaret Mizushima, award-winning author of Tracking Game: A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery

  “Nanci Rathbun’s Truth Kills introduces an engaging and credible new private eye who’s determined to live life by her rules for a change. She’s doing the job she always wanted to do and, backed with her training, fitness, and resolve, she presents herself as a formidable private eye indeed. Rathbun’s characters are marvelous, all working perfectly as foils for Angie Bonaparte, and the plot offers the armchair sleuth any number of red herrings to consider. Truth Kills is well-written, fast-paced and a lot of fun to read. It’s most highly recommended.” – 5* from Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorite

  "...attention to psychological depth and detail meld well with the investigative intrigue and moments of comic relief to pepper a story with different twists and turns. This will delight readers who enjoy female investigators with an attitude about life and their work. Add a touch of romance for a fine tale that weaves an older woman's life and perspectives into bigger pictures about crime, love, family connections, and life purposes. Mystery readers are in for a treat when they delve into the deceptions and realities of Truth Kills." – Diane Donovan for Midwest Book Review

  Praise for Cash Kills

  “The last female P.I. who drew me in like this was Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone. I can only hope Nanci Rathbun and her Angelina will be entertaining us for as long as Sue and Kinsey have. Terrific series.” – Sandra Balzo, bestselling author of the Maggy Thorsen mysteries

  “To find justice in the midst of lies and cover-ups, Angie must face her own fear of trusting another. Readers will relate to her humor, vulnerability and dedication to the truth.” – IBPA Benjamin Franklin Silver Honoree for digital ebook excellence

  “Angelina may be in over her head in many ways; but the reader won't be … interrelationships and their logic are deftly portrayed, and Cash Kills follows a time-tested (and successful) path in the mystery genre by creating a spunky protagonist who steps up to the plate to take charge. It's a solid mystery with enough political and psychological depth to keep readers involved to the end.” – Diane Donovan for Midwest Book Review

  PI Angelina Bonaparte "reminded me at times of Parker’s Spenser in her detecting, her sense of humor, and her flamboyant sartorial style. Cash Kills is a first-rate mystery that combines police procedural with private detection and it features a compelling lead character and a marvelous cast. It’s entertaining, fast-paced and suspenseful, and is highly recommended." – 5* review by Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorite

  “For a 50-something mom, Angie Bonaparte can sure handle the bad guys. Angie is a believable blend of tough stuff and compassion, and uses both for her clients. With well-placed exposition, and clear introduction of secondary characters, the author sends our protagonist on a seemingly mundane financial inheritance investigation, which soon explodes into an appalling murder and horrific revelations from the Bosnian War. The author does a splendid job of keeping the threads pulled in the same direction, all tumbling toward … a satisfying conclusion to the investigation.” – The Editing Pen

  Praise for Honor Kills

  “Honor Kills ... ticks all the boxes of a good detective mystery, and the lead character Angie is extremely easy to empathize with. The plot was intricate and full of twists and turns. Having read Honor Kills, I am motivated to read the other books in Rathbun's series, which is probably as high a praise as a reviewer can give an author.” – 5* review by Grant Leishman for Readers' Favorite

  “Ms. Rathbun perfectly captures the heart of a mystery, which is all about humans and the complexities of their relationships.” – The Editing Pen Reviews

  “... a superior read in a genre that too often focuses on the 'whodunnit' over the 'why pursue this inquiry' question.” – Diane Donovan for Midwest Book Review

  “Unexpected plot twists and a strong female character makes for a great combination in this story. I can't wait to read the others in the series.” – IBPA Benjamin Franklin Award Judge for Audiobooks

  “A thrilling 'thriller' with an intrepid female PI and a twisting plot. A SILVER MEDAL WINNER and highly recommended.” – The Wishing Shelf Book Awards

  Praise for Blood Kills

  “A vindictive killer has targeted Angelina; a beloved local artist is murdered (which has been predicted by the victim himself, documented in his will); and a Russian mob's involvement keeps Angelina on her toes and in trouble. Blood Kills is a riveting thriller that proves hard to put down, testing the boundaries of family ties, love, and proposals for a new future.” – Diane Donovan for Midwest Book Review

  "Blood Kills... is a complicated intrigue involving the Russian Mafia (Bratva), war crimes in Chechnya, the Milwaukee Mafia, wills, testaments, lots of money, lots of blood, and the miracle of DNA. It will keep you guessing and turning the pages all the way to its conclusion. ... The greatest joy is in the characters Nanci Rathbun creates. Blood Kills is an all-round magnificent pleasure to read." - 5* Review by Jon Michael Miller for Readers' Favorite

  "Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun is a good example of [the thriller genre]. It starts off with a bang - a murder - then the author brings in the bold female private investigator who we confidently know will solve the case. The author then throws in a few twists, a few turns, lots of red herrings and, of course, tops it all off with a dollop of romance. So, if you enjoy thrillers, I can confidently recommend Blood Kills, as this book ticks pretty much every ‘thriller‘ box." - Wishing Shelf Book Reviews

  “Blood Kills [is
] a romantic, riveting, and razor-sharp mystery. The murder of a gifted artist is far more than it may first appear, and it will take all of Angie's investigative skills to unravel this high-brow crime before more bodies are put on display. Peppered with red herrings and a colorful cast of suspects and allies, this is an unpredictable and gripping slice of pulp fiction. All told, Bonaparte is a continually captivating heroine, and Rathbun has added a solid chapter to her sassy saga.” – SPR Reviews

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my granddaughters, Lydia, Lucy and Lauren. You're too young to read it now, but I hope that when you're grown up, you'll love Angie and think that Nana wrote a cool story. I love you to Pluto and back!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wish to thank my critique partners at the NoCo Writers Group in Colorado for their encouragement, support and eagle eyes as the manuscript progressed.

  I also thank my beta readers, Barb Russell and Randy Troyer, for their invaluable feedback.

  And what would a book be without those who inspire it? Thanks to my friend and talented fabric artist, Deb Richards, upon whom some aspects of Debby Hill were based. I've always admired the way you bring joy to others with your talent.

  Thanks, too, to my friend, all-round handy guy and inveterate punster, Roy Brouwer, who served as the inspiration for wood artist Roy Ballard. It's always a joy to be the target of one of your groaners, Roy.

  Lastly, I extend my sincere gratitude to my amazing editor, D.A. Sarac, whose input made Blood Kills better in so many ways. Any remaining mistakes are purely my own.

  Prologue

  This is the law: blood spilt upon the ground cries out for more.

  Aeschylus

  A quarter mile from the shop, Artur Hunter slowed his jog to the steady walk of a man on his way to work. Keeping one hand inside the pocket of his bulky jacket, he used the other to assure himself that the ball cap was pulled low over his forehead, almost touching the large-framed tinted eyeglasses he wore despite the predawn twilight.

  Once at the target area, he scanned for potential observers before slipping into the dark alley and maneuvering to the loading dock behind the shop. Recon earlier that week had revealed that the closest security camera, mounted in a stationary position at the top of a warehouse several hundred yards away, remained fixed at the building. Foolish to spend money for a camera that didn’t move, but he could use it to his advantage.

  The loading dock’s big overhead door was open. Good. Mikhail was inside then. Maybe expecting a shipment. One he would not live to accept.

  Before edging carefully along the perimeter of the storage area, Artur drew the Ruger from his pocket and attached the silencer. If the police approached as he made his way to the shop, he could quickly discard the illegal attachment. He quietly entered from the workshop next to the dock and cleared the small back office and bathroom before stepping into the well-lit sales area.

  Mikhail turned at the sound of Artur’s almost silent footsteps.

  “Hello, cousin.” Artur’s gravelly voice carried a threat to match the weapon he began to raise. “I have come to reclaim what is mine.”

  “Yours? Have you forgotten all the times you swore it was mine alone?”

  Artur shrugged. “A difficult situation for you, I admit. Still, it is time to stop the game of… what is it they say here, cat and mouse? Return it to me and I will leave. You will never see or hear from me again.”

  With a derisive snort, Mikhail said, “We both know that is a lie. You will kill me whether I give it to you or not. So why should I make it easy for you?” In a blur of motion, he reached for the combat knife in its ankle sheath, wheeled, and hurled the weapon.

  It lodged deep in Artur’s arm, causing blood to fountain down onto the shop floor. “You are a dead man,” Artur shouted. Switching the Ruger to his other hand, he took aim and fired.

  The bullet penetrated Mikhail’s chest, taking him down, but his eyes remained fastened on Artur. “You will never get it now,” he whispered.

  “Let our blood mingle once more.” Artur wrested the knife from his forearm and used it to slice viciously through Mikhail’s left forearm, mirroring Artur’s own injury. After a minute, he said, “That should be sufficient.” He forced Mikhail’s hand around the Korshun knife while his cousin’s still-beating heart expended its last efforts on pumping blood onto the floor.

  Then, standing over Mikhail, Artur calmly fired again. A quick death. He owed Mikhail that small mercy.

  Ripping open a package of shop rags from a shelf, he tightly wrapped his wound, and bending down, he dragged Mikhail’s body across the floor and placed it where his own blood lay puddled.

  A quick surveillance assured him that, like the outside area, the shop was not covered by cameras. Men like them never wanted security cameras around nor did they want police summoned in the event of a break-in. Mikhail shared his aversion to dealing with the authorities or having his face entered into a database.

  Artur’s Garmin D2 Pilot watch read 6:18. He should have at least an hour before the other shop owners arrived at the strip mall. Time enough to search the office.

  Mikhail kept a traditional paper calendar on his desk. How amusing. With alarm, Artur noted an entry for today: 6:30—Bonaparte panels.

  The sound of a truck pulling up to the loading dock brought his head up. Dermo! No time to find what he came for. He quickly exited from the front of the store, crossed the street to a recessed doorway, and waited.

  Chapter 1

  The mind is found most acute and most uneasy in the morning.

  Johann von Goethe

  One Hour Earlier

  I swatted the alarm. Five thirty a.m. Groaning, I struggled into my robe and made my way to the kitchen and the first cup of what would surely be several coffees this morning.

  My steam shower perked me up somewhat. After toweling off and applying moisturizer, I pulled jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from my big walk-in closet, formerly a small bedroom, and grabbed the top bra-and-panties set from my underwear drawer. No need to ponder the choice like I used to… at least not yet. I dressed for the day, ran a styling brush through my hair, and applied minimal makeup—blush, mascara, and lipstick. Good enough for an early-morning visit to Mick’s shop, I decided.

  As I quickly made the bed, I paused at the nightstand to gently run a finger across the framed photo of me and my guy, Wukowski. At least I hoped he was still my guy. Our long separation ended in sixteen days, and the copper panels I would pick up soon were the final touch in my newly redecorated boudoir. I wanted to appeal to his sensual side and also make him feel as if the formerly very feminine room welcomed the masculine in him.

  Filling my to-go cup with more caffeine, I headed down to street level to await my ride. Last year, I’d finally traded in my beloved post-divorce black cherry Miata convertible, whose advancing age and failing reliability pushed me to the decision. Being a two-seater, my new Tango Red Audi TT Roadster didn’t qualify to transport large objects like the panels. However, its speed, comfort, and appointments suited me perfectly, and there was plenty of leg room for a tall man… like Wukowski.

  The big Ford F-450 pulled up in the driveway, and Bobbie Russell hopped out of the passenger side. Even at this ungodly hour, he looked gorgeous. I once referred to him as a young Rock Hudson, but he corrected me. “Nobody remembers him, Ange. I’m going for the Colton Haynes look but without the bleached hair.” At my blank expression, he added, “You know, the guy from Arrow.” I nodded, as if recognizing the reference.

  Bobbie made partner in my PI company, AB Investigations, two years ago, and his skills had blossomed alongside our friendship ever since. “Hey, Angie. Ready to haul metal?”

  “I am,” I told him. “I can’t wait to get those panels hung and put the last touches on the bedroom.”

  With a snicker, he said, “There’ll be some touches after the separation ends, I imagine.”

  The driver, Bram York, leaned over to the open door. “B
obbie,” he drawled, “that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

  “Girlfriends talk like that, Bram,” he said.

  Yep, Bobbie bats for the other side, which has disheartened more than a few women of my acquaintance.

  With help from Bobbie and a hand up from Bram, I levered my five-foot-three self into the very tall truck.

  “In, shorty?” Bram asked, teasing.

  “Hey,” I protested, “I may be somewhat height-challenged, but I’m a mighty woman.”

  “That you are and no mistake,” he agreed.

  The acknowledgment from the former special-ops guy—I didn’t know which branch; he kept that part of his life private—meant a lot to me. He and his current employer—they had served together—had brought a whole new meaning to the word protection when a former client and I received threats from a war criminal.

  I swayed slightly between the two men who shared the bench seat with me. “Thanks a lot for helping me out, especially at such an early hour. It was the only time Mick could meet with me. He’s leaving for his cabin at seven this morning.”

  “No problem,” Bram assured me. “We’ll get your panels home, and Bobbie and I will help with the installation. It’ll take more than one set of hands. Got my toolbox in the truck bed.”

  “I’m equipped,” I told him. “A woman needs her own tools. But I’ll be glad of the assistance. And breakfast is on me this morning.” I saw Bram shift slightly and knew the Southern gentleman in him felt uncomfortable accepting a meal from a woman. “No arguments, Bram,” I said in my stern mom voice.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sunlight hadn’t yet broken over the horizon as we drove past the front of the U-shaped Arts Galleria.

  “Looks like an interesting strip mall,” Bobbie said. “All artists and crafters, right?”