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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Catherine Maiorisi

  Acknowledgment

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  Just back from her second tour in Afghanistan, NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli goes undercover to expose a ring of dirty cops. But when she’s ordered to kill to prove her loyalty, she aborts the operation without having identified the leaders. Now, Corelli is the one exposed. With her brothers and sisters in blue ostracizing her, can she trust Detective P.J. Parker to watch her back?

  Parker is the daughter of a vehement critic of the NYPD. But that doesn’t stop her from wanting to work in the homicide division. And wanting to learn from the best. Unfortunately, Chiara Corelli is the best…even if she is the most hated detective in the department.

  Without Parker, Corelli will be condemned to desk duty. Corelli is Parker’s only chance to work in homicide. Will the two women put aside their fears and join forces to solve a brutal murder and identify the leaders of the dirty cops before they get to Corelli’s family?

  Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Maiorisi

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2018

  eBook released 2018

  Editor: Ann Roberts

  Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-571-8

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Bella Books by Catherine Maiorisi

  Matters of the Heart

  No One But You

  Acknowledgement

  A Matter of Blood is near and dear to my heart. Though it was the very first fiction I wrote, the version you hold in your hands today has been rewritten many times and is far from where it started both in the quality of the writing and the story. I loved the characters when I created them and I love them now. I hope you do too.

  Since this book was thirteen years in the making, I have many people to thank. My wife Sherry treated me as if I was a writer long before I felt like one. She read it first and often, patiently pointing to my paragraph-long sentences and my tendency to repeat things three times. I’m grateful for Sherry’s continued support and for getting that when I disappear into my head I’m writing, not ignoring her.

  Next, I have to acknowledge the bravery of my friend Judy Levitz who knowing this was my first fiction, still agreed to read the second draft and give me feedback. And, though my friend Lee Crespi was afraid she might hate it, she snuck a look at Judy’s copy and immediately called to tell me how much she liked it. Their feedback was invaluable.

  And speaking of brave friends, despite fearing it might destroy our friendship, author Persia Walker gave me a brutal but honest critique that led to major changes in the characters. Thank you, Persia. I hope I made it better

  And thanks to my writing buddy, Deb Pines, for always asking what’s next?

  My sister-in-law Joan Maiorisi, a huge reader, loved it. Of course she’s my sister-in-law. But she’s not an actress and although I knew it still needed work, her praise encouraged me to persist. Thank you Joan, sister-in-law Barbara Felsinger and cousin Sandra Maiorisi Lappen for your support.

  Very early in the life of A Matter of Blood I was ecstatic to receive positive feedback from two established mystery writing professionals. The late publisher and mystery writer Howard Kaminsky read it and sent it to his agent. And, mystery writer Peter Lovesey and his wife Jax Lovesey read it, critiqued it and suggested I send it to Peter’s agent. Neither of these recommendations resulted in publication but it was this kind of encouragement that kept me plugging away for thirteen years.

  Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America have provided opportunities to expand my knowledge of the craft and the business of writing at conferences like New England Crime Bake and SleuthFest. The Mentor Program of MWA New York gave me my first non-family/friend critique and encouraged me to continue to work on the manuscript. The monthly meetings of the New York City chapters of both organizations have given me access to speakers with expertise in various crime-related topics and a warm and supportive environment to connect with other writers, published and unpublished.

  Thirteen years is a long time so I’m sure I missed someone. Even though you don’t see your name here, please know I’ll be eternally grateful.

  I was lucky to have Ann Roberts, an accomplished romance and mystery author, assigned as my editor. She skillfully guided this somewhat prickly author (You really expect me to change my words?) to “kill my darlings” and strengthen the manuscript. Thanks, my friend.

  Thank you Linda Hill for publishing A Matter of Blood. Linda, Jessica and the other dedicated women behind the scenes at Bella Books deserve a huge round of applause for doing the hard work required to publish a book. I appreciate all you do, your good humor, and espe
cially the patience you show when answering this anxious writer’s questions.

  And to my readers: A Matter of Blood is set in New York City because it is my city and I love it. It features NYPD detectives and, therefore, the New York City Police Department. But if you’re looking for a primer on NYPD procedures, this is not the book for you. The police department portrayed is my fictional NYPD and any resemblance to the real NYPD is purely coincidental.

  I love hearing from readers so please contact me through www.catherinemaiorisi.com. I hope you enjoy A Matter of Blood. And if you do, I encourage you to recommend it to friends and on social media and to review it if you can. I’m truly grateful for your support.

  Dedication

  A Matter of Blood was always the goal.

  I dedicate it to all who believed I could do it. And to all who supported me in the doing.

  Thank you.

  About the Author

  Catherine Maiorisi lives in New York City and often writes under the watchful eye of Edgar Allan Poe, in Edgar’s Café near the apartment she shares with Sherry her partner, now wife, of forty years.

  In the seventies and eighties while working in corporate technology then running her own technology consulting company, Catherine moaned to her artistic friends that she was the only lesbian in New York City who wasn’t creative, the only one without the imagination or the talent to write poetry or novels, play the guitar, act, or sing.

  Years later, Catherine’s imagination came alive and she challenged herself to write a mystery. After staring at a blank screen for a couple of days, she realized she didn’t have the foggiest idea how to write a novel. So she spent the next nine months reading every book she could find about writing and tried again. Four months later she had a draft of a detective/ mystery novel. Over the thirteen years since then, Catherine never stopped working on the manuscript of A Matter of Blood, featuring NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli. She is thrilled to see it in print.

  In addition to A Matter of Blood, Catherine has published three mystery short stories in the Murder New York Style anthologies, two full-length romances—Matters of the Heart and No One But You—a standalone eStory, “Come as You Want to Be”, and three romance short stories in anthologies. The second Chiara Corelli mystery, The Blood Runs Cold, is waiting in the wings.

  Writing is like meditating for Catherine and it is what she most loves to do. But she also reads voraciously, loves to cook, especially Italian, and enjoys hanging out with her wife and friends.

  Catherine is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, Rainbow Romance Writers, the Authors Guild, and the Guppies, an online chapter of Sisters in Crime.

  Chapter One

  NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli wasn’t surprised to see the men and women in blue waiting in front of the station to welcome her back. She’d expected them. Just not so many. And not the media. Even a block away, the excitement of the crowd was palpable. She took a deep breath, which at seven thirty on this oppressive August morning, was like inhaling steam. Then, as before any battle, she took a minute to psych herself, straightened her already military-straight back and marched toward the maelstrom.

  A shout. “Corelli.” Her name passed through the crowd, becoming a chant. Her heart sped up, her hand found her Glock, but she ignored the impulse to draw it. She’d fractured the blue line and doing that had consequences. But knowing intellectually there would be anger and hatred and danger was one thing, seeing and feeling it was…unnerving. And disheartening. She steeled herself. She’d never let them see her hurt and her anger at their betrayal. Or her fear.

  Head held high, Corelli fought the urge to favor the leg injured in last night’s attack and maintained the steady pace she’d set for herself. At the opening she ignored the bright lights and shouted questions of the press and plunged into the funnel formed by hundreds of police officers with their backs to her, hissing her name. The heat, sweat and cloying sweetness of the colognes and perfumes from so many bodies crammed together nauseated her. Her gut clenched but she didn’t miss a step. Nor did she miss the calls of traitor, whore and bitch that underscored the hissing that followed her, or the elbows and kicks that connected. And, though she didn’t turn to look, she felt the heat of the TV lights and heard the shouted commentary of the TV reporters describing the reception provided by her brethren in blue.

  After what seemed like an hour, she reached the door and stepped into the familiar bustle of police business. The air was fresher and she had space to breathe but she was not immune here. “Shame on you,” said the first officer she encountered face-to-face, a man she’d known for years. Shocked by the hatred on his face, she braced for an attack, but instead of spitting in her face as she expected, he pivoted and stood with his back to her.

  Still ignoring the pain in her leg, she continued on. She’d been told the squad was up a staircase toward the back of the station house. By the time she hit the first step, the only sounds were the ringing phones, the rat-a-tat-tat of her heels, and the shuffle of feet as her colleagues swiveled to show her their backs. Funny, it felt as if their eyes were piercing her back as she climbed the stairs.

  She braced for more of the same in the squad room, but the few detectives present studiously ignored her and carried on their conversations. She scanned the room, not knowing which, if any, desk was hers.

  “Corelli.”

  She turned toward the voice. Detective Ray Dietz. She hadn’t known he was at the oh-eight.

  A smiling face. “Over here.” Dietz pointed to a desk in the corner.

  “Dietz, I thought you’d retired.”

  “Couldn’t see myself farting around the house.” He frowned. “What’s with the limp and the fucked-up face?”

  Corelli tucked her swollen hand into her left armpit. Her other hand brushed the abrasion on her face.

  “A pickup truck charged me last night. My red cape was at home so I couldn’t wave it in front of the truck to distract it. I tripped, scrambling to get out of its way.” She didn’t mention the foot that had smacked her already injured knee as she made her way through the morning’s gauntlet.

  He wrinkled his nose. “There’s lots of bullheaded pricks around here. Better keep that cape handy.”

  She lowered her voice. “How come you’re talking to me?”

  “Showin’ my respect.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Because you got a lotta balls takin’ on such a risky job.”

  “Safer to stay away from me, Dietz.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “Let the bastards try something.”

  She sat behind the desk and Dietz dropped into the side chair. While they chatted, she scanned the room, found a few familiar faces, but none were welcoming. One figure, silent and watchful, caught her eye.

  She lifted her chin in the direction of the slender, chestnut brown woman standing near the coffeepot. “Who’s the fashion plate by the window?” The sophisticated haircut, the tan designer pantsuit, the red silk shirt, and the fancy leather bag slung over her shoulder were more appropriate for a high-priced law firm than the rough-and-tumble life of a detective. But her eyes, the almost imperceptible bulge at her waist, and the sensible black shoes said cop.

  Dietz spoke softly. “Detective Penelope Jasmine Parker. Rich girl and former assistant district attorney turned cop, saved a Harlem family of five from a crazed shooter and made detective a couple weeks ago.”

  “Jeez, I hope she didn’t break a nail.” Parker. Shit. Chief of Detectives Harry Broderick had set the terms for her being back on the job. Either be glued to the hip with a new detective, P.J. Parker, or be chained to a desk. No contest there. Parker won hands down.

  He snorted. “Give the kid a break. She’s got enough to deal with. Her father is Aloysius T. Parker.”

  “The Aloysius T. Parker? US Senator Aloysius T. Parker?”

  “Yup.”

  “Man, I thought I had baggage.” Senator Parker was the most vocal and vicious critic of the NYPD,
constantly demonstrating and holding press conferences accusing the department of racism, some real, some imagined.

  “Kid’s a loner, never connected at the two-nine in Harlem and probably wouldn’t have made detective if she hadn’t saved that family. Parker is waiting for Captain Winfry too.”

  What the hell was Broderick up to, saddling her with a fashionista whose father was NYPD’s number one critic? Though, if she really was an unconnected loner, it might mean she could trust Parker. But could she trust Broderick?

  Corelli studied Parker, trying to get a sense of the tightly coiled woman. Parker stiffened, scowled at Corelli and quickly looked away. Should she talk to Parker now? No, better wait to talk to Winfry. Maybe Senator Daddy got her assignment changed.

  Dietz tapped the folders piled in the center of her desk. “The captain wanted you to review these cold cases and see what you can pick up. I gotta follow up on some stuff. See ya later.”

  “I’m on it.” Easier said than done, though. She could only sit still for fifteen or twenty minutes. She was up and down so often that the detectives in the squad and the uniforms downstairs began to grumble at having to stand and turn their backs every time she dashed outside to pace and breathe and then again when she reentered. Some pretended they didn’t see her. And after a while most of the detectives in the squad ignored her, except Parker. And, while Parker didn’t turn her back, she watched her every move. It was irritating.

  After three hours, Corelli was in a rage. Fucking civilians snug in their comfy offices, not worried about shelling or IEDs or suicide bombers, had no sense of urgency. Either Winfry was giving her the cold shoulder or he had forgotten she was waiting. Neither was acceptable. Fucking Winfry. Fucking bureaucratic bullshit. Fifteen more minutes and she was out of there, job or no job. She’d been contemplating signing on for another tour in Afghanistan and going back was looking better and better.