Divine Fury by Robert B. Lowe Read Free Book Online

two of them conspiring together.   They must have seen many arranged marriages in their day.
     
    His grandmother was not amused, however.
     
    “You getting too old,” she said, tartly.   “You need a family.   Not girlfriend, girlfriend.”
     
    Now he thought he understood the motivation a little more clearly.   After Sarah’s death, his grandmother had first worried about his sadness and depression.   As that lifted over time, she’d recently met a couple of women whom Lee dated for short times.   Perhaps that moved his status from simply unmarried to confirmed playboy with his 40s in sight.       
     
      “C’mon,” he said.   “I’m not even 40 yet.   I’ve still got time.   You know men can have children when they’re older.”
     
    His grandmother’s lips pressed together in a thin, unyielding line.   She took the photograph from him, turned it over, and handed it back.   It had a name and telephone number on it.   She didn’t say anything more.   She just stared at him through the thick glasses… blinking…waiting.
     
    “Okay,” he said finally, rolling his eyes.   “Look.   I’ll think about it, okay?”     
     
    She gave him a small smile, a tiny nod, and said, “Thank you, Enzo.”
     
    Lee knew he wasn’t likely to call the girl.   An arranged relationship?   What were the chances?   He was just happy he had mollified his grandmother.
     
    And then Lee realized why his grandmother looked different today.   Her hair was darker.
     
    “Umm…by the way, your hair looks a little different today,” he said.   “Are you coloring it?”      
     
    She blushed like a school girl.
     
    “It…it not your business,” she said.         
     

Chapter 8
     

     
    “YOU GODDAMN MORON,” growled the Terminator over the latest of the never-ending succession of prepaid cell phones he was using.   “I should let them roast your ass.”
     
      When the computer whiz he’d sent to breach the USF Medical Center’s computer system had called him in a panic nine days earlier to report that his partner had killed a witness, The Terminator had been speechless for once in his life.
     
      He was certainly no choir boy himself.   He had personally engaged in blackmail and extortions many times, not to mention threats of bodily harm.   It was how he got politicians’ friends to give him compromising information and how he got the politicians themselves to drop whatever election, legislation or appointment he was paid to torpedo.  
     
      But not murder.   And, particularly of someone who was almost a passerby.   That made it a lot worse under his own code of ethics.   It wasn’t like someone up to his neck in the dirty side of politics who had, after all, chosen to swim with the sharks.
     
    But it was done.   He couldn’t change it.   All he could do was try to limit the damage.
     
    The Terminator had sent the computer whiz, Oscar Wilkins, to the Bahamas and intended to keep him there for at least three months or until this had blown over.   He had considered all the options, even having both his occasional employee and the guy he had let him hire as backup – the trigger-happy goon – killed and dropped into San Francisco Bay.   But that wasn’t his style.   He wasn’t the fucking Mafia after all.  
     
    After making sure the gun had been tossed into the Pacific,   he’d flown the backup to his home in Chicago.   He was lucky the guy lived there and not in California where he would have been more likely to get caught up in whatever effort the local police put into the murder investigation.   From what the computer whiz told him, the pair had been careful to remove any incriminating evidence that could tie them to the crime.   He just hoped they had done a good job.
     
    Otherwise, the Terminator just checked his own backup plan.   He was like a climber testing all his ropes and equipment to ensure everything was working and in place if