In The Blood

By Gary Smith

 In book eight of the award-winning Warren Steelgrave series, Warren is concerned about the growing distance between himself and Cindy O’Brian, the love of his life. Warren decides to go to Italy without her, hoping the separation will benefit them. Once in Italy, the FBI is waiting for him. The FBI is looking for Warren’s good friend, Jack Sullivan. They know Jack is finishing a new book involving stock market manipulation and the death of stockbroker George Daily. Jack has the information the FBI needs and is concerned for his safety. They ask Warren to find him.

              Warren, also concerned, begins the search for Jack Sullivan. Finding Jack running for his life, Warren also finds himself being hunted.  and, the chase begins for the information Jack has in his possession. Soon, Jack becomes concerned Warren is not himself. The distraction Warren and Cindy’s possible breakup is causing might get them both killed. Before it’s over, many will die, including a close friend.

              Along the way, Warren has to deal with his elusive lover, Cindy O’Brian. Is Warren willing to wait for Cindy or move on to a new relationship? Share the journey of a man of principle who is again tested by a world in which a small group of people can turn it upside down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 1662950098

Gary Smith

Gary Smith received his B.S. in Mathematics from Harvey Mudd College and his PhD in Economics from Yale University. He was an Assistant Professor of Economics at Yale University for seven years. He is currently the Fletcher Jones Professor of Economics at Pomona College. He has won two teaching awards and has written (or co-authored) seventy-five academic papers, eight college textbooks, and two trade books (most recently, Standard Deviations: Flawed Assumptions, Tortured Data, and Other Ways to Lie With Statistics, Overlook/Duckworth, 2014). His research has been featured in various media including the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Motley Fool, NewsWeek and BusinessWeek. For more information visit www.garysmithn.com.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Proofing Reader:      Andrea Rezzonico

Proofing Reader:      Janice Olson

Photographs:            Gary E. Smith

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One Loneliness

Chapter Two Italy

Chapter Three Amata

Chapter Four Jack

Chapter Five Edward Blackburn

Chapter Six Andrea Gibson

Chapter Seven Back To Muriaglio

Chapter Eight A Chinese Wall

C

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Nine San Francisco

Chapter Ten Jimmy Mccormick

C

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Eleven Johnathan Willams

C

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Twelve Going Home

Chapter Thirteen Mark Sperry

Chapter Fourteen The Home Of Mark Sperry

Chapter Fifteen San Jose

Chapter Sixteen Back To Italy

Chapter Seventeen Carlo Santini And Robert Johnson

Chapter Eighteen The Notebook.

Chapter Nineteen Victor Tory

Chapter Twenty The Hunt

Chapter Twenty-One The Diary

Chapter Twenty-Two The Trap

Chapter Twenty-Three The Aftermath

Chapter Twenty-Four Back To Florence

Chapter Twenty-Five Unknown Suspect

Chapter Twenty-Six Muriaglio

Chapter Twenty-Seven Daniel Simpson

Chapter Twenty-Eight Signor Moretti

Chapter Twenty-Nine Kentfield

Chapter Thirty Marcello

Chapter Thirty-One The Killing Of George Daily

Chapter Thirty-Two What Now

Chapter Thirty-Three Abducting Edward

Chapter Thirty-Four Marty

Chapter Thirty-Five Cindy

Chapter Thirty-Six Leah Katz

Chapter Thirty-Seven Bar Americano

Chapter Thirty-Eight Dr. Simms

Chapter Thirty-Nine Dario Albano

Chapter Forty Martino-Rossi

Chapter Forty-One The Capture Of Martino

Chapter Forty-Two Castellamonte

Chapter-Forty-Three What Now

Chapter Forty-Four It Is Finally Over . . . Or Is It?

Chapter Forty-Five The Bar Americano Fire

Chapter Forty-Six Borghese Palace Art Hotel

Chapter Forty-Seven Lunch With Cindy

Chapter Forty-Eight The Concert

Chapter Forty-Nine Adam

Chapter Fifty Assassination

Chapter Fifty-One A Heart

Chapter ONE

Loneliness

It was a cold, windy January day. I stood with a martini in hand, looking out the front room window, watching the storm clouds begin to form over the hills. It felt like we were in for a lot of rain the next few days. I looked at my watch; it was five o’clock. Cindy has been getting home later and later lately. Not so long ago, I would receive a text that she was on her way home, and I would prepare two martinis. We would discuss her and my day over martinis, waiting for the dinner I had prepared to finish. Not anymore. There is a growing distance between us. Cindy is the love of my life. We met in an Italian class ten years ago. She was twenty-four years younger, happily married, and with a family. Yep, definitely not available and off-limits to me, or so I thought. It wasn’t long before we were in love and afraid to discuss it. We both knew it couldn’t go anywhere.

Then she disappeared and was on the run from the FBI, Homeland Security, and a terrorist group.

Her husband’s coffee import company had gotten involved with money laundering and smuggling weapons to a terrorist group. She had a file of emails that implicated the Director of Homeland Security and proved she and her husband were innocent. Nevertheless, the FBI wanted to arrest her. The terrorists wanted to kill her, recover the file before she could give it to the FBI, and implicate the Director of Homeland Security.

Needing help, she contacted me. With the help of Jim Marino, owner of an international security company and friend, and my Italian friends and family members, we fled Italy. We got to America, where we were almost murdered in Kansas. We were arrested, but with extreme luck, the file was found, the bad guys were caught, and we were released. She returned to her family, and I returned to Italy to live half the year in a house in the small village of Muriaglio. Muriaglio is a village of one hundred ninety people who live partway up the mountains, forming the beginning of Aosta Valley. It is the village of my great-grandfather. This all happened over a few weeks. I know, the story sounds like a book of fiction. It was. I wrote a novel called The Willing by Warren Steelgrave. The book was fiction, but it truly depicts falling in love with Cindy O’Brian and all the events related to us getting out of Italy.

I wasn’t a writer and wrote the book to keep her alive in my mind. The book became a best-seller, with the world accepting me as a writer. The FBI and others have used my being a writer and celebrity as cover, involving me in different investigations. Cindy went on with her life as a singer-songwriter. She divorced, and we reconnected three years later. Our relationship was up and down for the first five years before we decided we couldn’t live without each other.

Every year, it seemed we were running for our lives because of a case I was involved with. It was a fascinating life. Cindy’s career flourished from the beginning; now, she is a star. It has been three years since I have been involved in a case. Without the drama, we have settled into a quiet life like an old married couple. I have been married three times. But, at some point, each marriage evolved into a place of loneliness. There is no loneliness like feeling alone and distant in the presence of someone you love. I heard the garage door, and soon, she walked into the house.

Something to drink, Cindy?

She hung her coat and walked over to the bar. A red wine, please.

I poured her a glass of wine and asked, You hungry?

We had food brought in for a very late lunch. I am tired and going upstairs for a long bath and to bed. I am exhausted.

I nodded, and as she went upstairs, I made another martini. I was hungry, so I headed to the kitchen to make myself dinner. I awoke the following day as Cindy came down the stairs.

Warren! You didn’t come to bed.

I guess I had a little too much to drink and fell asleep while watching the late news. I woke up near three o’clock and didn’t want to disturb you, getting into bed. You seemed so tired.

How about I make some breakfast, Warren? "OK. I want to take a quick shower. I will be right

down."

When I entered the kitchen, Cindy set two plates of toast and berries on the table.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down. What time are you going to the studio today?

Warren, I told them after lunch. She paused. We need to talk.

I took a sip of coffee and nodded.

Warren, when were you planning to go to Italy? I sat down my coffee and answered. Soon.

I don’t ever remember her saying you instead of we. Why do you ask?

My agent wants me to do a three-country tour for the new album in two weeks.

There it was, a very indirect way of saying we should separate for a while. I could tell it was coming for about a month. I will never understand why she couldn’t just say she needed time away from me to sort things out. It would be so damn easier if she would be more direct.

Tell you what, Cindy. I will make arrangements to leave this afternoon.

Cindy stared into her cup. Warren, I love you. It’s just that things between us haven’t been the same lately, and maybe the time apart will correct things.

I understand. I think you are right. It will do us some good. How long is your tour?

About four months; it could get extended.

I nodded, finished my coffee, and stood. I better go and make my flight arrangements. Having a home in Italy makes it easy. Only have to grab a coat and let my cousin Gino know I am coming. Then, he will put food in the fridge and have the house ready. Everything on my computer is in the cloud and accessible from the computer in Italy. I only have to grab a few things, and I am off.

I had finished packing and leaving the bedroom when Cindy, looking very sad, stood in the doorway. Warren, are you leaving now?

I was able to catch an early flight just after lunch. "Are you mad, Warren? I thought you would be

here a couple of more days."

Cindy, I wish you weren’t so damn indirect. From what you said downstairs, it was clear that you had already decided. So, I took it to mean there was nothing to discuss. I shrugged my shoulders. That being the case, why hang around. I have nothing to be mad about. We have both gone through this before with past relationships. I agree that the time apart will give us time to think about how we got to this point. You see, I am not convinced it’s not me. With my first wife, this is how it ended up. Same with the second and the third. The first time, lousy luck; the second time, odd coincidence. The third time, it’s a pattern. I do know I love you as I have never loved anyone. Sitting around here does no good. I need to get started on the question. Do I find women incapable of a long-term relationship, or is it me that’s incapable. As you can see, either way, the answer lies within me.

I walked over and put my arms around her. I love you. Knock them dead on tour, and I will see you in about four months. Then, we can have a meaningful conversation. My Uber ride just pulled up.

Chapter TWO

Italy

I arrived in Italy and walked out of the airport to find cousin Gino waiting to drive me home.

Ciao, Warren. Where is Cindy?

She is beginning a three-country tour and will not be coming.

Gino could tell from my demeanor not to ask any more questions. I sat looking out the window and thought, Italy. My place of sanctuary. It was where I returned to grieve after my wife died and started to write, hide out, and think.

After arriving at the house, I walked in and straight to the bar. Then, after making myself a martini, I headed out to the terrace to sit and think. After about fifteen minutes, a car pulled up and parked across the street. Getting out and heading to my gate was Amata. I got up and headed to the door. I stood waiting on the porch as she walked up the stairs. Ciao, Warren. Come Stai? Amata could tell my irritation.

Bene. Come in, something to drink?

A red wine would be nice.

I walked over to the bar, and as I opened a demi-bottle of Barbera, I said, Amata, why are you here?

Warren, I heard you returned and wanted to come by for a scoop.

Amata is a reporter for the local newspaper. She is in her twenties, and three years ago, stalking me for an interview saved me from being abducted.

How did you find out I was home. I just arrived an hour ago.

She smiled. Warren, I’m a reporter. It’s my job to be able to tell when a story is about to break.

I handed her a glass of wine. What story? "She shook her head and, taking the wine, said,

Warren, don’t be coy with me. You can tell me. "Amata, I have no clue what you are talking about.

Tell me, how did you know so quickly I was home. I was at the Tre Re, doing a story on the hotel’s history, when that FBI guy, Jim, checked in. So,

I came straight here."

You must trust me. I had no clue Jim checked into the Tre Re. You must leave. I promise I will take you to lunch when I know something that can be printed. But now you must go so I can find out what the hell this is about. I took her glass and set it on the bar. Then escorted her to the door and opened it. She walked through the open door and turned. You promise. I nodded, then she rose on her toes, put her arms around my neck, and pulled me in, giving me a kiss that curled my toes. I watched her descend the stairs. It has been a while since I had a kiss like that. I returned to the house, freshened up my martini, and returned to the terrace. I sat with my martini, smoking a cigar and watching the sunset. I wonder what Jim Dempsey wants. We haven’t talked for two years.

Jim Dempsey is with the FBI. Ten years ago, he had chased me all over Italy, trying to recover some Tesla files I had. I gave them to him once I had them published to the world. Since that time, we have been involved in several cases. The last involved a worldwide girl trafficking ring. By the end of that case, Jim shot his partner of ten years, saving Cindy’s and my life for a second time in the last ten years. So, needless to say, I owe Jim. The end of that case was the last time I had talked to Jim.

The following morning, I sat on the terrace enjoying my coffee and toast. A car parked across the street, and Jim Dempsey and one other got out of the vehicle. The person with him was a female. She was about five foot five inches tall with short black hair. Jim’s partner?

I stood and went to greet them at the front door. Jim, you’re a long way from home.

Jim smiled. Warren, may I present my partner, Joanne Davis.

I gave a slight nod. My pleasure Joanne. Coffee? They both nodded, and I shut the door after they entered and headed to the kitchen to put on the large Moka pot. I placed some cookies on a plate and sat it on the dining table with napkins and the sugar bowl.

After pouring coffee, I sat and began, Jim, what brings you to Muriaglio?

Jim put a little sugar in his coffee. Then, staring into the cup, he began stirring. Warren, when did you last talk with Jack Sullivan?

I guess it’s been about eighteen months. Why do you ask?

He has disappeared.

Jack is a retired Santa Rosa police detective who became a writer. He writes nonfiction, and I write fiction. We met two years ago. He was researching the murder of an artist, and I was investigating the murder of a close friend whom I was the prime suspect of murdering. I wanted to clear my name. The artist and my friend had mutual friends and acquaintances, and we partnered up in the investigations. Unfortunately, it ended up involving the mafia and a Chinese espionage ring. We found ourselves in over our heads. Working together, luckily, we broke up the espionage ring, solved both murders and survived with our lives. Jack wrote a book about it all.

Disappeared? I was shocked and sat staring at Jim, waiting. Why was the FBI concerned over a missing person in a foreign country. Jim and I have a habit of reading each other’s tells. He knew I was waiting for his response.

The FBI has kept an eye on Jack since his book a few years ago exposed the IRA ring that planned to blow up London. We know he is working on a new book. But, knowing Jack, the bureau knew he would poke his nose into places he shouldn’t. So, our concern is that he might expose something we are working on. I was hoping you might have some information to help me find him. Personally, I like Jack, and I’m worried about him and know you would be.

How long has he been off the grid, Jim.

Only a week. I didn’t want the trail to get cold, so I came immediately.

Jim smiled. He read my tell. I was concerned, and he knew I would be. Although we never talked much, Jack and I were closer than brothers.

Jim stood. We have taken too much of your morning, Warren. You must be tired after your flight. Call if I can help, and keep me in the loop. He and Joanne pushed their chair back to the table and started toward the door.

At the door, as they left, I said. Good to have met you, Joanne. I paused. Jim, thanks for the heads up.

I watched them drive away. I went back into the house and straight to my phone. I sent a group text message to Catherina and Jack. Catherina, I have returned from America. Let’s all get together for lunch. I spent the rest of the morning waiting for a reply and packing my backpack. I made a sandwich close to noon and sat down for lunch. My phone dinged. It was a text from Catherina. Welcome back. Great idea. Let me know when and where. I will be around all week. I texted back. I will be in Lucca tomorrow. Eleven-thirty, across the Piazza from your gallery. She texted back. Perfect.

C

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THREE

Amata

I had finished my lunch and was doing the dishes when someone rang the bell downstairs. I walked over and answered with the video. It was Amata. I unlatched the downstairs door. I walked over, opened the front door, and stood on the landing as Amata came up the stairs. Warren, don’t look so upset. Offer me a wine.

Come in. We walked over to the dining room table, and I poured each of us a wine and sat. I thought we had come to an understanding, Amata?

I thought so, too. You promised you would take me to lunch when you knew something that could be printed. So, Jim Dempsey was here this morning, and I’m here for the story and lunch.

Amata, I have already had lunch, and there is no story to print.

Amata tilted her head and, looking coy, said, I could write a few hundred words about the FBI coming to town the day you have returned to Muriaglio.

I stared at her intently. You would do that and maybe risk someone’s life?

Warren, keep me in the loop. I will not print anything without your approval. Besides, I have many informants that can give us information.

Us?

Yes, us. We can work together, or I can work alone, and as you said, that might endanger people. I sat drinking my wine, thinking.