Free The Nassau Secret (The Lang Reilly Series Book 8) by Gregg Loomis

announced:
    The Harry Oakes Murder
                   April 15-25: Objects and news clippings concerning the Bahamas’s greatest unsolved mystery including personal  effects and correspondence between Nassau’s elite.
                  Lang thought a minute. April. . . April 15, tax day. That would have been the day Livia and Celeste had wandered into the library. What was it Celeste had said? Something about Livia wanting to go? She must have seen one of these flyers.
                  “Looking for something?”
                  Lang spun around to face two men very much resembling the ones Phillip had described: One with a nose broken and poorly set, both with sidewalls, military haircuts. Each with a jacket, the collar of which failed to totally conceal a scar that circled the left side of one man’s neck.
                  Who wore jackets in Nassau?
                  Someone with something to conceal underneath, that’s who.
                  Lang stood. “Who wants to know?”
                  Broken Nose had one hand around the other fist as though polishing it. “Bit of a smart arse, wouldn’t you say, Timmy?”
                  Timmy, the man with the scar, nodded as he edged to a position that put Lang between the two of them. “Spot on.” He faced Lang. “Why don’t you save yourself a lot of pain and tell us exactly what your interest might be in those handbills you’re holding? You saw what we did to your mate, McGraw.””
                  As they both edged toward him, Lang wished he had chosen to arrive in the Gulfstream, complete with Glock 40 caliber.

15.
    Nassau
    Seconds later
     
                  Long ago training told Lang waiting for an imminent attack could be fatal. He needed to go on the offensive.
                  But how?
                  He was standing on the curb of an empty street with nothing but two dumpsters and a recycling bin not much larger than the luggage part of a grocery store buggy a couple of yards away.
                  Timmy’s hand came out of a pocket and something caught the afternoon sun: A set of steel knuckles. He took a menacing step toward Lang. “Last chance, Yank: Tell us what’s so interesting about those handbills before your face gets a serious rearrangement.”
                  Lang took a step backward, nervously looking over his shoulder, a man needing help in the worst way. “Not like you’re going to let me walk away no matter what I tell you.”
                  The grin on Timmy’s face was anything but friendly. “Your problem, mate.”
                  By retreating from Timmy, he was approaching Broken Nose. A quick glance over his shoulder told Lang the man was enjoying the show.
                  Another step backward, this time stumbling. As he reached to touch the ground to reestablish his balance, Lang came up with the recycling bin. Made of light plastic, it was hardly a suitable weapon, just the only weapon.
                  Pirouetting with the grace of a ballerina, Lang slashed it at Broken Nose’s head. The suddenness of the unexpected move made the man’s hands fly instinctively to his face.
                  The instant he lifted his arms, Lang’s fist smashed into his solar plexus.
                  Broken Nose doubled over, expelling air like a punctured balloon.
                  Lang was on him like a pouncing cat.
                  Advantage Lang: He had his arms around the man’s neck, his elbows grasped by the opposite hand, forming a vice with Broken Nose’s throat in between.
                  Lang anticipated and dodged the effort his now captive made to slam an elbow backward into Lang’s gut.
                  Instead, Lang twisted the neck hard,