Free The Bloodline War by Tracy Tappan Page A

this,” Roth intervened. “Let’s move on to the demonstrations. Dr. Parthen, if you would take a seat….”
    She closed her eyes. Demonstrations? Oh, this day was turning into a regular party.

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    The computer clicked, then whirred its way into the boot process, making noises that were as familiar to Alex Parthen as his own heartbeat and always oddly relaxing. He propped his feet up on the desk and took a sip of morning coffee from his UC Berkley mug.
    He smiled as he thought back to his student days. He’d been such a rage-against-the-machine hippie at that liberal school, shuffling around in flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and a tie-dyed tank top with a peace symbol like a bull’s eye smack in the middle of it. He and his computer buddies used to get into one hacker war after another to see who could topple the government’s “tower of power.”
    Alex swung his feet off the desk as his computer settled into a low, friendly hum. It was kind of ironic to think about those rabidly anti-government days now, especially since the main contract for his at-home business was the DoD. He glanced down at himself and chuckled. He supposed he did look a bit like a stuffed shirt, too, what with his fondness for khaki Dockers, plaid button-downs, and gold-rimmed glasses. But, hey, at least he wasn’t strangling himself with a damned necktie every day.
    Grabbing the mouse, he opened his Gmail account and scanned for news from his sister. Ah! He clicked on her email.
    Had dinner at Wasabi’s last night, good, but overpriced. Off to another seminar…Sorry to be in such a rush these days. Love you.
    Alex frowned. Since when did their conversations revolve around restaurant choices? And Toni didn’t like sushi.
    The doorbell rang.
    Great, the FedEx guy. Setting down his mug, Alex hopped up and grabbed the disc he was sending off for Beta testing. He headed out of his office, sliding the disc into a preaddressed envelope as he cut across the brightly lit jungle that passed for his living room. He loved plants: ferns, palms, Pothos…. He opened the front door and—
    Hey, not the FedEx courier. The man on his porch looked like a pretty regular guy, though, dressed in Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a collared maroon shirt under a navy windbreaker. He was about Alex’s height, though brown-haired instead of blondish-reddish, and sans glasses. He had an athletically lean body and eyes that were green or blue, kind of turquoise, maybe. Alex had never met the dude.
    “Hello, may I help you?” he asked, setting the disc aside on an empty plant stand, whose occupant was currently draining in the kitchen sink.
    “I hope so,” the guy responded pleasantly. “Are you Alexander Parthen?”
    He was tempted to come back with depends on who’s asking , but the guy didn’t look like a missionary or an insurance salesman, so he just said, “Yes.”
    The dude reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a wallet. “I’m Detective John Waterson, SDPD.” He flipped it open. Not a wallet, after all, but a badge.
    “Wow, shit, really?” This was an unexpected drag. “Is there a problem?”
    “I’m hoping there’s not, actually.”
    Alex tilted his head. Funky answer .
    “I’m here about your sister, Mr. Parthen.”
    “Toni?” Alex blinked.
    “Have you had any contact with her since early Wednesday morning?”
    “I…wait. Is something wrong?”
    “That’s what I’m here to find out from you.” Waterson tucked his badge away. “Your sister and I worked on a case together Monday night. A blood specialist was needed to consult on a murder scene I was investigating.”
    A murder scene? Hell, Toni must’ve drawn the short straw on that one. She hated them.
    “She gave me her phone number afterward, because, uh….” The detective patted the breast of his windbreaker, as if searching for something. “We were supposed to keep in touch, so when she didn’t answer any of my text messages, I started to worry. I know