Blood Score Read Free

lifted his face toward the hot stream to let the spray hit him. He stood under the showerhead and breathed in the steam, letting the hot water trail down his chest and back before he grabbed the body wash. Once again, his thoughts turned to Livie and the mystery photographer that had become more than a troubling nuisance.
    Something didn’t feel right.
    ***
    From a small hole above Ethan, a tiny fiber optic camera clicked to transmit its feed to another location and within minutes, Tim McFarland settled onto a sofa and licked his lips. Waiting. He had Ethan Chandler to himself—recorded in the privacy of the violinist’s home. Nothing happened there without him knowing it.
    Nothing .
    At first his craving for the world class musician had been prurient, a compulsion he had to satisfy in secret, as he had done with other young men who lived in his building. Serving on the residents’ board, he received listings of property closings and had volunteered at key times to gain access to the private residences of those he took special interest in to do final inspections or play a role as the welcoming committee. All volunteer time, of course. He made sure that when it counted, he’d have time alone to wire his own surveillance gear as part of his appreciation package.
    But it didn’t take long for Ethan Chandler to become his whole world. The violinist had earned his total devotion. The boy had unleashed Tim to become what he was always meant to be.
    In a very private room, he fixed his gaze on his small screen, captivated by Ethan in the shower—his favorite location feed to record. The young man had interesting sexual desires that fascinated him, but as soapsuds slid off the musician’s muscular shoulders and down his taut belly, Tim watched with sweat trickling down his brow. In the dark of his special room, the one he shared with Ethan, he felt the power surge within him. Here he had control. He could do whatever he wanted. The sound of his breathing grew louder and filled the dark room, masked only by the ethereal strains of the violinist’s music, as he built to a crescendo of his own.
    In his mind Tim McFarland conjured what he’d do to Ethan—what he would do again and again— if he could .
     
     

South Chicago – 11:35 p.m.
     
    Angelica Ramirez thought of a million other places she’d rather be, but considering she had a personal stake in coming, she had no choice—not if she wanted to find Gabriel Cronan.
    She stood under a red glow of flickering neon and filled her lungs with the last breath of night air before she went inside an old brick building at the end of a shadowy alley. She’d gotten word to use the back entrance only. Although she had an idea what to expect inside, she dreaded it. She slipped off her wedding ring to improve her chances of getting in and put it in the pocket of her jeans.
    Two men stopped her before she reached the door. A baldheaded man with no neck in a tight black tee grabbed the door handle before she did. Muffled shouts erupted inside, and baldy’s clone closed ranks and crossed his meaty arms. They made a beef wall inked with tattoo graffiti.
    “ You sure you want in here, sweet cheeks?”
    “ Yeah, I’m addicted to belching.” She raised an eyebrow. “And ball scratching is a real turn on.”
    One guy snorted a laugh. The other shrugged and said, “In that case, have at ‘er. We got a target rich environment.”
    The two bouncers exchanged smirks and let her pass, no doubt dismissing her as harmless window dressing. She guessed the steroid twins were the first line of defense if cops showed, but given the location in the dark alley, uniforms weren’t likely to get nosey.
    She pushed through the back door, and the pungent tang of cigar smoke, beer, and body odor hit her in a heated rush. Her clothes would be a magnet for every foul smell, and her skin already felt gritty. Her perfume and shampooed hair would go down for the count in no time, but she’d come for a