Blood and Bone

An eighteen-year-old boy lies dying of leukemia. Kyle's only hope is a bone marrow transplant, but no one in his wealthy Virginia family can safely supply it. His last chance lies in finding his father, a man who disappeared before he was born. Police and private investigators can find nothing on a trail eighteen years cold.

Kyle's family has nowhere to turn until they learn of a certain troubleshooter, a self-styled knight errant in dark glasses named Hannibal Jones. He has two weeks to find the missing man, but his search turns up much more: A woman who might be Kyle's illegitimate sister, the woman who could be her mother, and the man who may have killed Kyle's father.

Hannibal follows a twisting, winding path of deception, conspiracy and greed, from Washington to Mexico, pursuing the truth. But with each step closer to it he gets, the danger grows.

Ten minutes later, Hannibal was driving southward through the storm the sky had been threatening all day. It was almost too warm and muggy for his car's climate control system to cope with. The midday darkness was deep enough to force him to remove his glasses. He stared through his wipers whipping back and forth, straining to see what was ahead.

"I'm glad you agreed to help," Cindy said, almost shouting over the din of rain crashing on the Volvo's roof. She had squirmed out of her jacket and kicked off her shoes. "That boy needs to know somebody's really trying. And his mother needs comfort."

"Well, don't look at me," Hannibal said. "I don't go for the whiny type."

"She wouldn't have to look far if she'd only look. Malcolm's right there."

"I think he helps," Hannibal said, loosening his tie. "She said he's her best friend."

"Didn't you even see?" Cindy said. "The man's in love with her. I mean, wasn't it obvious? Some detective you are." She softened her remark with a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey, I find your boss as big a mystery as the missing heir," Hannibal said, slowing down and turning on his headlights in the growing storm. "I mean, I'll be real glad to get back there, get my retainer and get to work. But some day I'd like to investigate him. I'd like to know how an old Jewish attorney comes to have so many black friends. And why he puts up with a chauffeur he can't keep in line. And how come he sends his wife away when he's got company coming."

"I can answer that last one," Cindy said. "He's tried to keep it quiet, but it's pretty common knowledge that Abby Niesewand has a bit of a drug problem. She's been in and out of treatment centers without much success. Hey, maybe he needs a tough driver to try to keep her under control. Makes you wonder if&ldots;" Cindy's hands suddenly slammed into the dashboard. "Oh my God! Over there!"

Hannibal had almost missed it. A car traveling in the opposite lane had veered off the road, into the wooded area Hannibal knew to be the Lake Fairfax county park. It had slid down the slight grade maybe fifty feet. It looked as if Hannibal's car was the only one on the road, but he slowed to a crawl anyway before pulling to the side. Then he signaled and flashed his lights before turning around. Even moving along on the shoulder on Hunter Mill, he almost overlooked the crashed car. It was a Ford Taurus in that dull gold color so many of them seem to be, its right headlight smashed against a tree.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Cindy asked, picking up the car phone.

"Let's see if there's still anyone in there first," Hannibal said. He climbed out of his car and slid down the embankment off the edge of the road, squinting against the rain. He was ankle deep in mud as he approached the Ford. Water poured down the back of his neck as he bent to look into the driver's seat. He hated getting wet with his clothes on.

The driver was alone in the car, hunched over the steering wheel. A big black man, casually dressed. Hannibal opened the door, and the driver moaned.

"Take it easy," Hannibal said. "You've been in an accident. Are you okay?" No response. Worried, Hannibal pulled the man into an upright position. The right sleeve of his light windbreaker was torn, and blood was caked around it. As Hannibal moved him, fresh blood flowed out.

"You're hurt," Hannibal said, looking around as if someone was there to help. He considered taking the man to his own car, but quickly abandoned that idea. Even up so small a grade, the man could be hurt getting to the road in a driving rain. Besides, for all Hannibal knew he could have other injuries to his back or neck.

"Listen," he told the man inside the Ford. "Sit tight and try not to move too much. I'm going back up. I've got a phone in the car. I'll have an ambulance here in a couple of minutes."

"Thanks," the driver said. Then he drove his left elbow into Hannibal's stomach. Half inside, Hannibal bent forward over the driver. The man's palm slammed up into Hannibal's chin, driving his head into the edge of the car roof. Hannibal slid in the mud and dropped, dazed, onto his back. Rain poured into his face, but it could not wash the blue dots away from in front of him. He rolled onto his right side, fighting to catch his breath. He considered reaching for his gun, but he saw that the man he tried to rescue also had one. It was already pointed at him. He lay still, trying to clear his head.

"Appreciate the kind thoughts, pal," the driver said, shouting over the crashing rain, "but I think I'll just take the car. That way if I need an ambulance, I can call them myself."

Hannibal managed to struggle to his feet but had to lean against the Ford to watch the other man back his way up the embankment. He could not let Cindy face the gunman alone. He managed five steps toward his own car before the world started spinning and he dropped to his knees. How hard had his head hit the car roof? Self-hatred mixed