Read A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series Online
Authors: Jane Gorman
T
hank
you for reading
A Blind Eye
. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it. Of course, writing a book is never a solo effort. I am grateful for all the support I received from my early readers, mentors and friends who took the time to read, comment and critique. Lois Steinberg, Dave Pollan, Alan Ziskin and Doug Weiss for their work as writing group partners; Jack Engelhard for his patient instruction; Marci Spiegle, Ellen Herbert and Jacqueline Donaldson for their review and critiques. I also want to thank the Sisters in Crime and all the Guppies for sharing their wisdom, their experience and, when necessary, their commiserations. Most of all, I want to thank Chuck, for his unwavering belief in my writing.
Adam Kaminski lives on, in my mind and in the later books in this series. If you liked this book and want to read more, please visit my
website
to see the other books featuring Adam Kaminski as he steps up to the challenge of catching the killer, no matter where in the world he is.
To keep up on news about the Adam Kaminski books, sign up for my
newsletter
or follow me on
Twitter
or
Facebook
.
C
ontinue reading
for an excerpt of
A Thin Veil
, book 2 in the Adam Kaminski mystery series.
S
ound exploded
through the morning air. Grating and angry, it ricocheted off the walls as if trying to scrape a layer off the tawny stones. The roar of the gun hit the group gathered on the mansion’s drive and they dove for the ground at the force of it.
Only one person hit the ground with the dull thud of death.
Diplomatic Security Agent Sam Burke and the other agents with him were the first back on their feet. The five agents had ducked at the sound, but turned toward it rather than diving for cover. Each heard it coming from a different direction, scraping off a different wall, spinning up from the trimmed grass below or surging down from the mansion’s tiled roof.
Agent Sam Burke pulled his weapon and scanned the drive leading back to the house, seeking movement in the shadows behind the hedge or around the corner of the residence. He stood still, focusing on the direction the sound had come from, his grip tight on his gun. With the shot still ringing in his ears, he relied on his eyes for any sign of movement. Two of his colleagues ran to assist those who had fallen while two more chased the sound into the shadows around the house.
Ambassador Alain Saint-Amand knelt on the path, his hands clasped over his bowed head. One of the agents placed a hand on his back as he spoke, his fingers whispering against the gray silk. “Ambassador, come with me. Quickly.”
Unfurling gracefully, Saint-Amand grabbed the agent’s arm, his grip puckering the thin polyester. “Run! Run!”
His cry came out as a hiss, the fear it conveyed carrying almost as loudly as the shot. The two men scuttled, still bent low, toward the heavy oak door and the safety that lay behind it.
Another agent moved to Senator Lisa Marshall. She lay curled on the ground, her arms bent underneath her, her fingers over her ears. “Senator,” he shouted, as if the silence that followed was as deafening as the shot. “Can you hear me?”
She turned and nodded, her helmet of blond hair showing gaps in its defenses. Rolling onto her knees, she leaned into the agent as she stood. His arm hovered over her, offering what protection it could. She glanced back as they ran toward the safety that waited behind the oak door. Her eyes focused on the figure still lying on the path behind them. Her face crumpled, she blinked and shook her head, turning back toward the house.
The agent followed her glance, saw the inert form.
“Damn.” The swear came out between clenched teeth as he shook his head. “Sam!” he called out, then gestured with his chin toward the path. He said no more, but turned his attention back to the senator and her safety, his top priority.
Sam scanned the area once more, then turned to focus on the man they had failed to protect. Jay Kapoor lay with one arm flung out, the other crossed in front of his chest. As if defending himself to the last. His charcoal suit was impeccable, his red tie still in a tight knot at his collar. Only the spot of blood blossoming on his white shirt revealed the futility of his optimism when he had dressed that morning.
Sam put his fingers on the young man’s neck, his dark brown skin jumping out in contrast to Jay’s greenish-yellow hue. He found a weak and slowing pulse. Jay’s chest moved once, then was still. He interlaced his fingers and pressed his hands down over the wound, applying pressure as best he could. When another agent crouched next to him, Sam used the handkerchief he offered to stanch the blood. The spreading pool of red on Jay’s white shirt slowed. Stopped.
Sam nodded, risking a glance over at his colleague. He could stop the bleeding out with his pressure, but the color of Jay’s skin made it clear there was more internal damage. He had seen wounds like this before. After ten years on the force in DC, Sam knew chances were slim the ambulance already on its way would make it in time.
Agent Collins, the lead Diplomatic Security agent for this assignment, stepped out of the house. The two remaining agents had returned from their search, one holding a gun wrapped in a white handkerchief. The wail of approaching sirens grew louder as he stepped onto the path. “Sam?”
Sam didn’t look up, just shook his head. They had failed to protect Jay. The most he could do now was keep him alive until the ambulance got to them. He coughed and found his voice. “Doing what I can, sir. And we can pray.”
Agent Collins looked at the others. “What’d you find?”
“Could be the weapon used, sir. Still warm.” An agent indicated the gun. “In a bush to the right of the front door. Techs can confirm, but it looked like it had been thrown there, not dropped.”
A blue sedan swerved onto the drive from the street, its tires squealing as it turned to the right side of the U-shaped drive, leaving room for the ambulance that was only seconds behind. Diplomatic Security Agent Collins gave final instructions to his team, then moved to meet the FBI.
The driver of the ambulance kept to the left, the back of the bus angling toward the group clustered on the path. Two medics jumped down. Within minutes, the young man had been strapped to a gurney and carted back to the ambulance. Sirens screaming, it pulled forward around the drive and back out into the street.
Sam heard Agent Collins conferring with the FBI agents who had arrived, saw his colleagues escorting the drivers into the house with the others, knew he had to move, too. But his eyes felt glued to the patch of dark brown pavement at the curve of the drive.
Without moving his gaze away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
D
etective Adam Kaminski
jumped for the phone to stop the rattle of its vibration against the nightstand. Next to him in their bed, Sylvia yawned and settled further under the covers, her back towards him.
He’d been lying awake for half an hour, watching her sleep. Thinking. She’d had her back to him since he woke up. He assumed she always slept like that, curled away from him as far as the bed would let her. When he put a hand out to touch her shoulder, she pulled the blankets up even higher without opening her eyes.
His expression hardened as he put thoughts of Sylvia out of his mind and glanced at the phone. Surprised by the caller, he slid out of bed and walked into the living room. He had been expecting Sam’s call, but not this early. The delegation wasn’t due in Philly until ten.
“Sam, what’s up?”
“It’s not good news, Adam.” Sam’s voice was grim. “The visit’s off, at least for now.”
Adam caught the tension in Sam’s voice and stopped moving. “What happened?”
“A shooting. Senator Marshall and Ambassador Saint-Amand are fine. The senator’s aide… he wasn’t so lucky.”
Adam nodded as he listened. He could hear noises in the background. The all too familiar sounds of a crime scene investigation. “Did you catch the guy?”
“Not yet,” Sam answered. “We have the weapon.” There was a pause and a muffled sound, as if Sam had put his hand over the phone. “Listen, Adam, I gotta go,” Sam’s voice came back on the line. “I’ll call you later when I know more.”
The line went dead.
Adam looked at the phone for a second, then tossed it onto the coffee table and sat back into the futon that served as their living room sofa, running both hands through his thick chestnut hair.
This had been just another routine dignitary visit for him. He’d been preparing for a few days, sure, but five months into a six-month detail on the Philadelphia Police Department’s Dignitary Protection squad, he knew none of these visits were going to offer the challenges he’d wanted.
Or the opportunities for advancement Sylvia had hoped for.
He let his head fall back against the futon, the feel of the bar through the thin mattress reminding him that their so-called temporary furniture was still cluttering their living room while he and Sylvia waited impatiently for the permanence they both wanted. Waited for the opportunity to invest in their future. And in real furniture.
Closing his eyes, Adam brought his mind back to the victims in DC. The senator, working hard to leave a positive legacy in her last few months in the job. The French ambassador, striving to preserve relations with a government that too often disagreed with his own. And the staff who, like the dead aide, were caught in the middle.
T
he Adam Kaminski
Mystery Series
A Thin Veil, Book 2
All That Glitters, Book 3
V
isit my page on
amazon
.
V
isit my
website
or sign up for my
newsletter
.