Blood Runs Cold

Gary had once said to her, ‘I swear Domenica Val Pando has an island somewhere where she breeds those fucked-up goons.’

Ren disagreed. She just breaks into your nightmares and takes out the very worst parts – right at the black peak that wakes you up screaming – and she crosses them with an animal that, for a fraction of a second, can convince you he’s a man.

Epilogue

Ren walked the polished steps and shiny hallways up to the third floor of the beige brick building. Denis Lasco was on a call when she arrived in to his office. He put down the phone.

‘Hello, Ren.’ He was shaking his head, checking his watch. ‘You know, you think you are going to have a nice easy evening and now I hear that two bodies have been found in a house in Breckenridge.’

‘Ridge Street?’ said Ren. ‘Older male, younger female, GSW?’

Lasco frowned. ‘Yes. Did you flee the scene?’ He smiled.

‘I guess you could say that. But that’s not why I’m here.’

He rolled his chair back and turned it toward her. ‘Sit down. I’m surprised to see you here after everything.’

She sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Well, I have a favor to ask of you. A couple of favors, actually.’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

‘You know what you said about those greedy people who show up and take stuff when their relatives die? I was wondering if … if I told you a little story, you might like to help me out.’

Ren tied the little white headphones around her rear-view mirror and let the shiny pink iPod shuffle swing in the sunlight; two hundred and fifty songs, a personality preserved in music. She thought of Salem Swade and his eighteen-year-old smile and his perfect uniform and his shaved head and his heavy boots and his blown-apart hopes and his lost friends and his thirteen meds and his free breakfasts and his pale eyes and his skinny shoulders and his big, tortured heart.

She pulled out on to the highway. She was going the wrong way for Glenwood. She pushed her foot down on the accelerator, passing all the cars that wanted to slow her down.

Vincent. Paul. Billy … a complex tangle of emotions. Throughout her life, tiny threads had come together, wrapped around each other, twisted, frayed and unraveled. She glanced at herself in the mirror and saw eyes trying to harden. What is wrong with you?

Then she felt something at her neck – a warm, gentle comfort. She smiled, reaching her hand back, rubbing the soft, black, furry jaw.

Misty, take it easy. No barking. I’m not dead yet.

Acknowledgments

My first thank you, as always, goes to my agent Darley Anderson and the outstanding team at the Darley Anderson Literary, TV and Film Agency.

He is an editor, a publishing director, a cheerleader: he is the one and only Wayne Brookes. Love you loads.

Thank you to Amanda Ridout, Lynne Drew, Moira Reilly, Tony Purdue and everyone at HarperCollins for their support and commitment.

Thanks to Anne O’Brien for her razor-sharp copy-editing.

I am, as always, blown away by the experts who take the time to help me with my research, not just for the information given, but also the welcome, the kindness and the hospitality.

Very special thanks go to SSA Phil Niedringhaus – I couldn’t have done it without you. And thank you to everyone at the FBI Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force.

Thank you to George Fong, Unit Chief for the Safe Streets and Gang Unit at FBI Headquarters, for making it all possible.

Thank you to Special Agent Rene Vonder Haar for co-ordinating my visit.

Thank you to Special Agent Kenneth Jackson from the Glenwood Springs RA … and to his family for their warm welcome.

At the Summit County Sheriff’s Office, big thank you to Sheriff John Minor from the capital of Ireland; Undersheriff Derek Woodman; and Captain – Operations, Jaime FitzSimons.

Thank you to Summit County Coroner, Joanne Richardson, aka “the deadchick”.

Many thanks to Andy, Niki and Robin Harris from the gorgeous Fireside Inn in Breckenridge. No prizes for guessing the inspiration for the Firelight Inn.

Thank you also to Otto Appenzeller MD., Ph.D.; Joan M. Brehm, Illinois Search Dogs Inc.; Professor Marie Cassidy; Glen Kraatz, Mission Coordinator, Summit County Rescue Group; Elliott I. Moorhead; Luke Pally, David Siderfin, Silverthorne PD; Phil Walter, Special Agent, FBI (retired).

Thank you to my family who are a constant source of inspiration and guidance. You mean more to me than any acknowledgment can ever say.

For fun and games, friendship and support, thank you to Kefi Chadwick, Damien DB, Maggie Deas, Gerry Fahey, Ian Fahey (awesome), Sue Booth-Forbes, Matthew Higgins, Chris (Rex) Lander and Scott Lander, Ger McDonnell, Leah McDonnell (awesome), Mary Maddison, Aideen and Brendan Mulligan, Joan Murphy, Vanessa O’Loughlin, Anna Philips, Julie and Ronan Sheridan in da house, Maureen and Donal O’Sullivan and family inc. the wonderful Louise.

To Mauser and Little Dick – you rock stars. And mind-erasers.

To everyone at The Copper Kettle – thanks for having me.

Finally, not everyone who helped me can be named. But you know who you are. And you know how much it means … seriously.

About the Author

Blood Runs Cold

Alex Barclay lives in County Cork, Ireland. She is the writer of two other bestselling thrillers, Darkhouse and The Caller.

For more information on Alex Barclay visit www.alexbarclay.co.uk

Also by Alex Barclay

Darkhouse

     The Caller