Read Unholy Code (A Lana Elkins Thriller) for Free Online

Bay. Pretty sedate for a man who’d been accustomed to flight-or-fight gigs, first by moving tons of bud from Colombia and Mexico, then, following his arrest, as a DEA informant.
    He smiled at her and held up the Bacardi. She shook her head. “Scotch, straight up.”
    “Oh, one of them days, I see.”
    “Yup, one of them days. You?”
    “Don’t ask.”
    Even as he’d settled into domestic life he maintained the pleasantly shaggy appearance and sun-bleached strands of a boatman. Brackish scents of the sea still rose from his skin and collar when she kissed him. She wouldn’t mind if he’d shave every day but he did wield a soap brush and razor when it counted, and it counted often enough that she had no cause for complaint in their bedroom.
    She set her computer case on a counter and glanced at her phone, trying to put aside the winning pair of jacks that still tugged at her attention. She settled on a stool at the island. “So what’s our spawn up to? Or dare I ask?”
    “My guess,” Don lowered his voice, “is they’re rutting like crazed weasels, no matter what his religion thinks they should be doing.” He made an unseemly gesture and grimaced.
    “She’s seventeen. She’s responsible about birth control.”
    Don shook his head.
    “Don’t be such a dad,” Lana said. “You weren’t a virgin at that age either.”
    “But at least I had the decency not to do it with my father twenty feet away.”
    “You’re not twenty feet away. They’re upstairs and I don’t hear a thing.”
    “I’d rather Sufi,” Don’s pointed nickname for Sufyan, “took his sex drive and religion elsewhere.”
    “The more you push her on that stuff, the more she’ll push back.”
    “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s his father, or uncle, or whatever he is.”
    “Uncle.” Which Don knew; he was just being difficult. Sufyan’s father had been killed in the Sudanese civil war, which spurred the family’s emigration to America. Amazing what Don could try to forget, which was just about everything when it came to the Hijazi clan—except that they were Muslims.
    Lana lifted the tumbler and let the Scotch warm her chest and belly before going on: “You’ve got to be careful, Don. You’re starting to sound like a bigot. It’s not appealing.”
    “I don’t care about his skin color—”
    “I know, but it’s still—”
    “You can’t tell me you’re happy she’s going to a mosque. Studying the Quran.”
    “I’m working on my attitude, okay? I’d rather have a good relationship with a Muslim daughter, if it comes to that, than no relationship. I want her to have the life she wants, not what you or I might want. And moderate Muslims are getting it from all sides these days. I don’t want any part of that. Not from you, not from anyone.”
    Lana looked him in the eye. No sense dancing around the subject any longer. She’d been warming up to Don. Well, more than warming up, but his attitude toward Sufyan was starting to harden. Don was better than that, or at least she hoped he was. Bigotry was a deal-breaker for Lana. “How long have they been up there?” she asked, changing the subject.
    He looked at his watch. “Ninety-four minutes. But who’s counting?”
    That did ease a smile from her.
    “And it’s a school night,” he pleaded playfully.
    “I’m sure their hormones noticed.” Lana finished her drink with a gulp. “I’ll go.”
    She walked upstairs to Emma’s room, listening closely as she approached. She found them quiet as church mice. Or mosque mice , she thought. Lana knocked gently. “It’s me, Em. It’s getting kind of late, don’t you think?”
    “Yes,” Emma squeaked.
    Definitely sex . “I think you’d better call it a night.”
    “Why, Mom?”
    More bold than breathy now. Probably the first time Emma had used the breathing exercise Lana had taught her for steadying her nerves. Now if she’d only think about that when her temper flared.
    The front doorbell