Bad News Travels by James Swain (Lancaster & Daniels Book 3)
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller| ePUB |3.1 MB
James Swain is the nationally bestselling author of twenty mystery novels. His books have been named Publishers Weekly and Kirkus Reviews Best Mystery Books of the Year, and he has received three Barry Award nominations and a Florida Book Award for fiction. In 2006, he was awarded France’s prestigio
The shocking suicide of Beth Daniels’s father—a prominent surgeon—has thrown the FBI agent into a tailspin. But when Beth heads to Saint Augustine, Florida, for the funeral, she’ll need more than the emotional support of her boyfriend, retired detective Jon Lancaster. She’ll need his gut instinct for solving a mystery.
No sooner do they arrive than suspicions are aroused. There’s the pair of Russians who seem to be watching every move the family makes. A final, cryptic phone call Martin Daniels made to his granddaughter. Strange blood evidence on his estate. More than $1 million missing from Martin’s account. And his cell phone, wiped clean, along with clues to a double life. To Beth, it’s disturbingly clear: the man she loved was a stranger.
As she and Jon delve into Martin’s past, they have no idea where the secrets will take them. Or how dangerous it will be to expose the conspiracies, the cover-ups, and the terrible truths of Martin’s life—and death.
Holding hands, the sisters started to go in. They hadn’t always been close, but that had changed when Melanie’s daughter had become the target of predators, and Beth had joined forces with Lancaster to stop them. Since then, they’d grown tight, and were now doing a good job of emotionally supporting each other.
“I left my phone in the car. I’ll join you in a few,” he said.
“You better hurry. The service will be starting soon,” Melanie said.
He hurried down the front steps, and walked around the front of the church to Valencia Street, then began circling back to Sevilla. If people had started arriving an hour ago, then so had the Charger, otherwise it wouldn’t have gotten a parking space. So why had its occupants chosen to remain in their vehicle, with the engine running? That was the kind of thing undercover cops did, or criminals looking to settle a score. As far as he knew, Martin Daniels had led a clean life, but you could never be certain. As the naked neck chicken in Mali had taught him, it was better to be safe than sorry.
He hung a right on Riberia Street, and soon was on Sevilla. Not wanting to scare the occupants of the Charger away, he took off his sports jacket and folded it over his arm before approaching the vehicle from behind.
He rapped on the passenger window. It lowered, and a brutish man with a buzz cut and a boxer’s crooked nose stuck his head out. His teeth were stained a hideous brown, and his neck and hands were covered in tattoos in praise of the gangster life.
“What do you want?” the man asked.
His accent was Russian. Every country had criminal gangs, and in Russia they were called khuligans. Down in Fort Lauderdale where Lancaster lived, the khuligans ran strip clubs and escort services, and didn’t like to pay their taxes. They were harder to find in the rest of the state, and he wondered what brought this one here.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m lost,” he said. “Can you help me out?”
The khuligan gave him a hostile look. Lancaster pretended not to notice and removed his wallet. Kneeling, he extracted a slip of paper with the church’s address and held it in front of the man’s face. While the khuligan studied the address, he took a hard look at the driver, who was a slightly smaller version of his partner, his neck and hands also covered in jailhouse art.