Blood Score by Jordan Dane Read Free Book Online Page B

a long moment, Mrs. Davenport stood and stepped toward a cabinet. She pulled out a burgundy leather photo album from a lower shelf and rejoined her husband on the sofa.
    “I started this when Olivia moved out. Whenever she sent photos, I put them here.” She rubbed a trembling hand over the cover before she opened it and took out a photo of her daughter in happier times. “Take this one. She looks so pretty.” Her tears returned when she handed the photo to Angel.
    Cronan leaned forward and grabbed the woman’s hands in his, fixing his gaze on Olivia’s mother.
    “We’ll find who did this,” he said. “I promise you. Someone will pay for what they did to your daughter.”
    Charles Davenport could no longer hold back his tears. He nodded and choked on a stifled sob, slowly losing it. But Elizabeth Davenport looked at him with her eyes welling. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she returned his grip.
    “All I want is my daughter back,” she cried. “And that won’t happen.”
    Nothing would heal the pain of a mother who had lost her only child. That old familiar punch to the gut—the feeling of powerlessness—left Cronan empty inside.
    ***

Downtown Chicago
     
    Cronan wasn’t doing Angel any favors by being the one behind the wheel. As he drove, he thought about the Davenports and their grief mixed with his own stockpile of dark memories.
    “Are you okay?” Angel noticed how quiet he’d been on the ride into Chicago. When he turned into a parking garage off Wabash, she touched his shoulder.
    “ Yeah, sure. Did you get a chance to look into this corporation, the one linked to our mystery guy?” he asked.
    “ I couldn’t find anything more than the name, but I did look into Rachel Blevins. She’s a personal publicist by trade. Whoever is behind this corporate entity, she might work for them. Ethan could, too. We’ll see.”
    “ Whatever business this corporation is into, they must be doing something right,” he said. “…if they can afford to hire someone in the high rent district.”
    “ Yeah, I’ll say. These are spendy digs.”
    Cronan parked the vehicle, and they headed for the garage elevator to the lobby. An escalator took them to the next floor. Rachel Blevins had an office on the 2 nd floor of the Trump Tower, a monolith of curved glass located on North Wabash Avenue that overlooked the Chicago River. Cronan didn’t have to know much more about the success of the woman’s business. Her office location said it all. The locale was one of the hottest buildings in downtown Chicago. The tower had a mix of offices, condominium residences, an international hotel, and upscale retail shops.
    The Blevins Agency was easy to spot on the second floor, a glass door with gold letters on the entry. Deep blue plush carpeting was accented with high-tech modern furnishings. The tasteful office had an incredible view of the Chicago River and enough plants to replenish the rainforests. In a reception area, a desk for a secretary or administrative assistant was vacant. But the door to the main office was open, and a woman greeted them.
    “Hello. I’m Rachel Blevins. Are you with the Chicago Police?”
    “ Yes, I scheduled the appointment.” Angel made the introductions, and Cronan flashed his badge when his partner did.
    “ Please come in.” The young woman caught a closer look at Gabe’s bruised face, but didn’t make a comment. She ushered them into her office and offered them a seat in front of her desk, but nothing else. Not even a cup of coffee.
    All business, she was dressed in a sharp navy suit with her auburn hair in a knot. She was tall, athletic, and very attractive. No doubt she made use of the fitness center in the building. Cronan pictured her maintaining tight control of her life and her work. Her desk was neat and in order. Her sense of style was impeccable, and he’d bet money Rachel Blevins wasn’t a woman who liked surprises or dealt with them well.
    If she stonewalled them to