A Ghost of Justice by Jon Blackwood Read Free Book Online Page A

Steve had tried to share in her and their parents’ love of classical, but he never could do more than 'kinda like it.'  He really loved rock and rap and pop and slip, and continued to as an adult.  And it paid a benefit, helping to make him a bit more popular with students, because he really knew all the groups, or so it seemed to her.  Lazer Wrath, HEAT II, Beyond It All, Lumpy Gravvy, Lower Earth.  She even liked some of the last group's work.  Beyond that, she knew none of it.
    She felt better with the long dead composers.  It seemed only fitting.  She studied  people who were way long dead .
    It was a waste of his best talents to have left the classroom for administration.
    God, he was a good teacher, she thought.  If only Steve could understand what that little bastard took from them, then he'd understand why she would pull the trigger on the worm with pleasure.
    The long day disappeared into a blurred mix of old memories intruded upon by endless hours of wet gray highway, music played, switching drivers, a forgettable meal somewhere, rain upon rain sprayed up by other vehicles.  And that was if the pavement was good.  Twice they had to leave the main highway to detour around repair work.  And if there was no rain then it was mist, and still the spray from tires.
    Traffic around Washington was thick and slow on the beltway, in spite of the excellent surface.  To the inside of the belt she saw a large mass of people milling around in project housing.  They were surrounded by what looked to be several hundred police.
    It was nearly midnight when they got back on 29.
    The next thing Emily knew, she was waking with a start.  Alarmed, she realized she was in a fast moving car.   She blinked hard and shook her head to clear the disorientation,  calming when she saw her father, alert at the wheel, breath visible in the glow of taillights.
    "How long have I been sleeping?"  Her own breath issued out a cloud.
    "About an hour."
    She concentrated for a few seconds, trying to think coherently.  She remembered that Eric had been at it since before the Capital.  Traffic was still atrocious, the road more rough than smooth.
    "You've been driving for hours.  Are you okay?  Do you want to change?"
    "No," he said.  "I'm fine; not sleepy."
    "How much longer?"
    "We just got past Baltimore.  About another hour.  The traffic should thin out soon."
    Emily gazed out at the red-amber taillights, blurry-clear-blurry-clear as the wipers went back and forth.  She adjusted the seat up some, but not all the way, leaving it at a comfortable recline.  Despite the long nap she was still tired.  Not sleepy anymore, but weary.  Letting the seat back support her, she turned slightly toward Eric.  A shiver ran through her and she pulled the cotton hoodie tighter.  It was considerably colder than back home.  Unreasonably cold.
    Eric noticed her chill and turned the meager heat up.
    "Thanks.  I'm glad you told me to pack for this.  I didn't really think about it."
"We've had our minds on…things. Other things."
    Emily leaned against the door, looking at Eric.  Through the haze of her fatigue, she was surprised to find herself thinking clearly now.  Something was nagging at her, but the harder she tried to figure it out, the faster it fled ahead of her consciousness.  Still, she was vexed by the unshakeable and unsettling notion that it concerned her father.
    Giving up, Emily decided her problem was one of continued orbiter lag.  Had they really been digging under a hot Egyptian sun only a couple of days ago?  That thought wouldn't leave her alone, either.  Her brain kept repeating: blissfully working with Dad and on my doctorate while my brother was beaten to death .
    That moment of ignorance galled her.  Bad as it was, at least she had been present and aware when her mother died.
    She shook her head.  It just made no sense.  Not this.  Not Steve.  Why did John Hardy have to kill them?  Over some money and old