BLUE BLOOD RUNS COLD (A Michael Ross Novel Book 1) by M.A Wallace Read Free Book Online

would be done against a campus police officer, it would be a jealous boyfriend—or a jealous girlfriend—who didn't want the police interfering in what they were doing.
                  He said, “The overtime is approved by Dickie, isn't it?”
                  Billy said, “Sure, he's the one who told me to call you. You were his first choice. Not because you're good, he says, but because you're not doing anything else today. He doesn't want to take anybody else off a case.”
                  Michael laughed. “Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Let the duty officer know I'm going on duty, would you? I'd like to get out to the scene as soon as possible before somebody ruins it.”
                  “All right, consider it done. I'll be headed over there myself. If you get there before me, save me a piece of the action, yeah?”
                  Michael pushed his slippers off his feet. Then, he stepped on the cold floor, colder than he expected. He said, “I'll keep the scene open as long as I can. Before you go, just so I know, is there any reason the campus police itself isn't handling this investigation?”
                  Billy scoffed. He said, “Those amateurs? You're kidding, right? Hey, I gotta go. See you when I see you.”
     
    2
     
                  Since Michael Ross lived in Carlisle, he had his choice of driving down Route 81, the highway, or Route 11, the rural route. As it was an early Saturday morning, he chose the rural route, knowing that he wouldn't be forced to pass slow drivers who took the long stretches of farm country as an invitation to drive five miles an hour below the speed limit. No one drove on Saturday mornings; if he'd been asked on a Monday morning, he would not have taken the case. More than anything, he wanted an excuse to drive down the empty roads all by himself.
                  Next to his trailer home was parked his red 2000 Pontiac Sunfire car, which shimmered in the early morning sunlight. As he walked down the steps of his front porch, Michael saw his breath stream out in front of him. Though he had bundled up, the day felt bitterly cold. He had to remind himself that it was still early December, and not the middle of February.
                  He hurried into the car and started it up. He turned the heat on low, watching the engine temperature as he drove. As he drove down Route 11, he passed truck stops, gas stations, and fast food restaurants on both sides of the road, all of which were open but unoccupied. He passed a few tractor trailers sidling up into the left-hand lanes for fuel and food stops. Once he passed the Interstate 78 exit, the area grew ever more rustic until he came into the town of Carlisle. There, he passed through stoplights—all of which were green—until he turned right towards Dickinson University.
                  As he drove through the various pedestrian crosswalks and past the university's athletic field, he was struck by how peaceful everything seemed. Before he made detective, he had gone to Dickinson at least once a year for the purpose of networking with the campus police there. Many of them rode bikes through the town on holiday weekends, the only thing they could do to enforce the local laws, since the town of Carlisle and the university grounds melded together.
                  Not so with Shippensburg. While driving down the rural road, going well over the speed limit, he put a cassette tape into the car's stereo system. Before long, the familiar notes of “2112” came through the factory speakers. Michael let his mind drift. His didn't need much conscious thought to drive to Shippensburg, for he'd been down the road countless times. As one of only six detectives working out of the Shippensburg Borough Police Department, he'd grown accustomed to driving up and down the two paths that led from home to