Free Blood Price (The Blankenships Book 5) by Evelyn Glass Page A

overlooking the Thames, and within a few minutes, they were joined by two men. Peter Wells was tall and gnarled looking, pale, with hair that might have once been blond, but was now shot through with white. Joseph Crane was younger, with skin tanned by the weather, creases near his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. They both shook hands with her pleasantly enough, neither giving her fish hands nor trying to squash her fingers with their death grips. She had an instantaneous sense that they wanted something from Alex. She’d done enough interviews to note the way their eyes locked on him, the way every single word seemed to be carefully noticed and evaluated.
     
    She found herself going into reporter mode as she ordered a a chicken salad. She listened more to the rhythm of the conversation than the actual words. It was all fairly nonsensical to her anyway; stock prices and over/under’s and, god help her, a discussion of cricket. At least with soccer she more or less understood the rules.
     
    The men seemed more or less happy to ignore her, and she found she didn’t mind all that much. Until, of course, she had a mouth full of chicken salad. Crane turned his pleasant blue eyes towards her, and she was shocked by the cold she saw in them as he looked directly at her. She hadn’t felt it before. “I love the shirt,” he said, pointing off-handedly at the band shirt that Alex had talked her into wearing. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen them live?”
     
    Her skin bristled at the comment. “I have, actually. They actually started up about twenty miles from my home town while I was in college, so my friends and I used to see them play at the local bars.”
     
    It was funny, how some people could smile so well without actually looking at all friendly. Wells looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t do anything to actually stop Crane from talking. “I see. I saw them in London when they were on tour in Europe, about ten years ago. Did you see them then?”
     
    Zoey opened her mouth to answer, but before she said a word, Crane turned his eyes towards Alex.
     
    “Their lead singer was actually British,” Crane said. “Moved to America with his parents. Did you know that?”
     
    Alex shook his head, wearing the same fake, businessman smile that she was hating more each time she saw it. “No, I didn’t actually. Zoey’s the fan, not me.”
     
    “He came from the North, just like me,” Crane continued. “We were friends, back in the day. Then he went off and made himself famous, and I worked my way up from your factory to your head of UK operations. And now we both give back to the community that supported us when we were poor and broken. But I don’t suppose you know much about that.”
     
    Alex’s expression chilled down until Zoey was nervous for the glass of water in his hand. “I know more than you might think,” he said. Zoey heard the calm warning in his voice, but he wasn’t entirely sure the older man did.
     
    “I ask,” Crane carried on, “Because your father and I had an understanding, regarding the factories in the North. He understood that there are entire communities that AEGIS essentially supports, and that without our support, those communities would go the way of the mill towns and the iron foundries. That is something I, personally, won’t allow that to happen.”
     
    There was a long, silent moment as Alex traced his finger through the condensation that had gathered on the water glass. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Crane,” Alex said, putting the slightest emphasis on the honorific. “We seem to be misunderstanding each other. I came out here because you let me know there was a problem with the company that was too important to be discussed over email or the phone. Because you asked. But if you’ve asked me here to reaffirm some sort of deal you had with my father—I do apologize, Mr. Crane, but I am not my father. I’ll review what is happening in your factories, and I certainly