Blood Lines

was looking forward to it. To her surprise it was only eight fifty-three. Why did she feel like it should be later? Time flies when you're having fits …
    With Henry safely and infuriatingly tucked away, she'd roused Tony, reassured him, and popped him onto a subway heading toward his current job site, shoving five bucks into his hand so he could buy breakfast when he got there.
    Then she'd taken transit in the other direction, paused only long enough to pick up a snack and a short lecture on nutrition from Mrs. Kopolous at the store, and had just rounded the corner onto Huron Street and home. They left Henry's condo at ten to eight, it was now ten to nine. An hour seemed about right…
    'Daylight savings time. My body thinks it's ten to ten." She sighed. "My body is an idiot. My emotional state is completely unreliable. Damn, but it's a good thing I'm so smart."
    The legal side of Huron Street was, as usual, parked solid, so Vicki paid less than no attention to the brown sedan that had pulled over illegally in front of her building. She moved onto the walk, heard a car door open behind her, and froze when a familiar voice called out, "Good morning, Nelson."
    'Good morning, Staff-Sergeant Gowan." She pivoted around to face him, the smile she wore completely unconvincing.
    Staff-Sergeant Gowan had resented everything about her while she'd been on the force, his resentment growing with every promotion, every citation, every bit-of praise she got until it had festered into hate. To be fair, she despised him in turn. "Oh, and I see you brought Constable Mallard." She'd once turned Mallard into the Police Review Board for conduct unbecoming a human being. As far as she was concerned, the uniform meant responsibility; it didn't excuse the lack of it.
    Her palms began to sweat. They were both out of uniform. Whatever was going to happen, it didn't look good.
    'So, what unexpected pleasure brings you two out so early in the morning?"
    Gowan's smile spread all over his face. It was the happiest she'd ever seen him. "Oh, a pleasure indeed… We have a warrant for your arrest, Nelson."

    'A what?"
    'I knew if I waited long enough, you'd go one step too far and piss off the wrong person."
    She backed away as Mallard approached.
    'Looks like resisting arrest to me," he murmured and swung out with the nightstick he'd been holding, hidden, behind his leg.
    The blow came too fast to avoid. It hit her hard across the solar plexus and she folded, gasping for breath. He always was a fucking hotshot with that thing . Each man grabbed an arm and the next thing she knew, she'd been tossed across the back seat of the car. Mallard climbed in with her. Gowan scurried around to the front.
    The whole operation, from the time Gowan had first spoke, had taken less than a minute.
    Vicki, her face pressed hard against musty upholstery, struggled to breathe. As the car began to move, Mallard yanked her arms back and forced the cuffs around her wrists, closing them so tightly the metal edges dug into the bone. The pain jerked her head up and his fist slammed it down.
    'Go ahead, fight." He snickered and she felt him drive his forearm across the small of her back, immobilizing her with his weight.
    Her glasses were hanging off one ear and losing them frightened her more than anything Mallard or Gowan could do.
    Although it wasn't going to be fun… she'd seen prisoners both men had released into holding cells. Apparently, they'd fallen down a lot.
    When he started fumbling with the waistband of her jeans, she got one leg free and attempted to drive the heel of her sneaker through his ear. He grabbed her foot and twisted.
    Goddamned, fucking, son of a bitch!
    The pain gave her something new to think about for a few seconds and the lesser pain of the needle almost got lost in it.
    Needle?
    Oh, shit…
    The drug worked quickly.
    Chapter Thirteen
    'Nelson Investigations. No one is available to take your call, but if you leave your name and number as well as a brief outline of your problem…"
    ' You're my problem, Nelson," Celluci growled as he dropped the receiver back into the cradle. He glared at the clock on the kitchen wall. Ten twenty-five. Even at this hour of the morning, theoretically well past rush hour, driving from Downsview to the center of town was going to take just about all of that thirty-five minutes. He couldn't afford to wait any longer; Cantree had an understandable objection to his detectives wandering in to work when it suited