The Blood Secret
The rain in Chicago doesn't fall. It hangs in the air like a guilty conscience, persistent and impossible to shake. Jack O'Malley stood under the awning of his detective agency and watched it smear the city into watercolors of gray and neon and the red glow from the bar across the street. The phone rang. He let it ring four times before picking it up. "O'Malley." "Mr. O'Malley? I need your...
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