Blood Relations by Michelle McGriff Page B

DA’s office, I do believe that Roman isn’t far from her doorstep.”
    Lawrence smirked at what seemed to be a wild, off-the-wall and far-stretched connection between Rashawn Ams and Allen Roman. “And why would that be? She have a kidney he might want?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, yes. She’s got his son.”
    Lawrence couldn’t help but reach for the file Ovan had—the “borrowed” one he’d refused to touch earlier, claiming that he wanted no part of such ill-gained information. “I thought of just bogarting over there earlier but changed my mind entirely—that’s definitely not the way to do this,” Ovan admitted.
    â€œBut what you’re really saying is that you still have no proof that this Roman cat is really alive, and didn’t want to get stuff started for no reason.”
    â€œOh, I know he’s alive. Remember, I’m the one who tried to apprehend him yesterday evening, but nooo, your over-eager beavers stopped me.”
    Lawrence rolled his eyes.
    â€œHe’s taunting me, you know ... begging for me to enter his game,” Ovan said, pointing his finger at Lawrence, who now had his head buried in the file.
    â€œThe game?”
    â€œYes, international cat and mouse. He’s leaving trails, everywhere he goes, like breadcrumbs the size of dead bodies ... dead doctors, two so far: one in Jamaica, one in London, both dying of heart attacks after dealing with him. There’s plenty of proof that he’s up to something maniacal beyond just murder.
    â€œRight, right ... maybe,” Lawrence mumbled, not really listening.
    â€œI’m just waiting to hear back concerning Craven Michaels’s autopsy, but if what I suspect is true and there’s a connection between how these surgeons died and what Roman is up to ... Sure, they all had heart attacks, I get that, but I’m saying if those heart attacks were ...”
    â€œWere not natural ...”
    â€œExactly! That’s my thought. Then I just need to know what they did to cheese him off. I know what you’re thinking, that I can’t prove to you that Allen Roman is even alive—but he is. I chased him, nearly had him my clutches.”
    Lawrence again sighed and swooned at Ovan’s dramatic speech.
    â€œFine, disbeliever, you’re just going to have to trust me. Oh, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Well, Ovan, how is he killing people who are having heart attacks, aren’t the heart attacks killing them?’ “Do the math.” Ovan went on.
    â€œTake Craven, for example. I really don’t think a healthy woman of thirty-five is gonna just drop dead that way. And trust me, she was pretty healthy, if you know what I’m saying.” Ovan snickered wickedly without saying what would probably either come out wrong or be taken wrong. He didn’t know Lawrence well enough to let him in on everything that rolled around in his mind that was even slightly off police work. He’d even avoided fully disclosing how he got the file from the office of the DA.
    But apparently Lawrence had caught on, slapping his head in disgust. “You and my partner! What’s with the view you two have of women? Just because a woman has a nice body or fat ass, that doesn’t mean healthy in the biological sense. It doesn’t mean anything—”
    Ovan held up his hand to stop Lawrence’s diatribe before it got too far. “Trust me, it was more than a fat ass that told me that about Craven,” he said, allowing his sexually charged chauvinistic attitude to come through now. “I know healthy when I ...” Suddenly his mind clicked and his finger snapped. “Juanita! Yes. The fat-assed woman who ran into the back of my car this morning! Yes ...”
    â€œExcuse me?” Lawrence said, trying to follow his thought pattern. Jim often jumped around too when following a hunch.
    â€œShe hit