Read Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) for Free Online Page A

be dealing with a lot more.”
    “And the pressure-cooker bombs,” I said. “Have they been confirmed?”
    “From what we can piece together, there were three. Damn things shot shards of metal out as fast as bullets. Some of the victims had over thirty pieces of shrapnel stuck in them.” He raised a brow. “How do you know about the bombs? Have you been to see Giovanni?”
    Even the sound of his name pained me. “Carlo.”
    “Special Agent Luciana. Figures. What else did he say?”
    “Not much. Any suspects?”
    “The task force thinks we’re dealing with a terrorist group.”
    “Based on what? This isn’t New York City.”
    “The festival is a big deal, Sloane. You’ve got people flying in from all over, from multiple countries, celebrities, media coverage. Who knows how many other buildings might be targeted. We’ve got tourists leaving here in droves, most of the films have been shut down, and airport security is on high alert.”
    “I understand taking precautions, but until you have a better idea of the person or group you’re dealing with—”
    “There’s no way to know right now. We’re talking to everyone who was near the building for any reason over the past several days. So far we’ve got nothing. No one saw anything. We’ve got a few people of interest based on their backgrounds, but to be honest, I think they’ll all check out.”
    Maddie, who up to this time had been silent, spoke up. “So when do I get access to the bodies?”
    The chief sighed. “You don’t, hun. I’m sorry.”
    “Isn’t that why you called me back?”
    “I did everything I could to stall, but they couldn’t wait.”
    “They wouldn’t wait is what you mean to say, right?”
    “Madison, you know I want you in on this.”
    “Who’d you give it to—who’s the ME?”
    “Katherine Gellar.”
    “Kate’s good, but she’s not me,” Maddie stated, arms crossed.
    For a moment the chief forgot where he was—his lips brushed across Maddie’s cheek. “No one is.”
    “Will I see you later?” she asked.
    “I hope so.”
    “Is there any chance I can take a look at the scene?” I asked.
    He frowned. “That’s the other reason we’re out here and not in there. I know this is like an itch you just gotta scratch, but I need you to stay away from this. We’re handling it. With the task force here, you can’t come barging into my office like you usually do when you want something. Understand?”
    “But I—”
    “No, Sloane, and that’s final.”

CHAPTER 8
    No was one of those words that practically begged defiance. The first time I remember hearing it uttered to me was at the tender age of six. I asked for a bicycle. My father laughed at my request, shutting down my dream because we didn’t “have enough money.” What he should have said was we didn’t have the money because he spent it all on booze whenever he wasn’t working, and I doubted he clocked more than twenty hours a week.
    Racked with guilt over the rejection, my mother helped me set up a lemonade stand by the street sign at the top of the hill. She even helped me color it. I drew yellow lemons across the top and bottom and gave each lemon a happy face. I thought if people driving by saw the smiley faces, it would make them happy, and then they’d buy my lemonade.
    After sitting outside all day, every day, for two weeks, I’d finally earned enough money. That night I counted it all up, making sure I had just the right amount. Then I put it in a clear Mason jar and set in on my nightstand. I drifted off to sleep dreaming of popping wheelies and putting playing cards in the spokes of the bicycle wheel like all the other kids did.
    It wasn’t to be.
    The next morning I woke to find an empty jar on my nightstand. A note scribbled with a dull pencil was crumpled in front, waiting for me. It said: IOU, Dad.
    Funny thing about IOUs.
    Some people don’t have any intention of paying them back.
    My dad was one of those people.
    Still a bikeless