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As recognized, book 2 Novellas From The Taylor Jackson Series: A Novella Bundle (Lt. Taylor Jackson), By J.T. Ellison is well known as the home window to open the world, the life, and also new thing. This is exactly what the people currently need so much. Even there are many people that don't like reading; it can be a selection as recommendation. When you truly require the methods to develop the next inspirations, book 2 Novellas From The Taylor Jackson Series: A Novella Bundle (Lt. Taylor Jackson), By J.T. Ellison will actually assist you to the method. Furthermore this 2 Novellas From The Taylor Jackson Series: A Novella Bundle (Lt. Taylor Jackson), By J.T. Ellison, you will have no regret to get it.
2 Novellas from the Taylor Jackson Series: a novella bundle (Lt. Taylor Jackson), by J.T. Ellison
Taylor Jackson is back! Join the fearless Nashville Homicide Lieutenant and familiar faces in these two novellas as Taylor tackles two of the most intriguing cases of her career. BLOOD SUGAR BABY Metro Nashville Homicide Lieutenant Taylor Jackson is none too happy when the body of a high-profile Nashvillian turns up after a protest. But when her detectives find another body with the same, mysterious wounds, it’s clear she has a psychopath on her hands—and records show he’s been on the move, leaving chaos in his wake. Will this killer slip through Taylor’s grasp, as he has slipped through grasps of so many, for so long? "Blood Sugar Baby" was previously published in the three-part novella SLICES OF NIGHT with Erica Spindler and Alex Kava. WHITEOUT Metro Nashville Homicide Lieutenant Taylor Jackson has reluctantly agreed to take the place of her fiancé, FBI profiler John Baldwin, as a presenter at the annual Freedom Conference, a foreign intelligence initiative attended by the best in the business of "clandestine services." Then a blizzard effectively isolates their hotel on Chesapeake Bay: no power, no generators, and no possibility of outside help. When two guests go missing, and one of them is found dead in his room, Taylor discovers an assassin amongst the spies—one with a deadly score to settle. "Whiteout" was previously published in the three-part novella STORM SEASON with Erica Spindler and Alex Kava.
2 Novellas from the Taylor Jackson Series: a novella bundle (Lt. Taylor Jackson), by J.T. EllisonMost helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. I love all the authors and the stories By karen d I love all the authors and the stories!!! They are amazing!!!!! I would of liked a little more story for my money. They are short stories. I hope they write more stories together. I would purchase more.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Three Stars By Amazon Customer Novellas are boring, but continue the series.
0 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Five Stars By Amazon Customer i enjoy reading ellison
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After recognizing this really easy way to review and get this The Savannah Cat (Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Book 7), By Eve Shaclan, why do not you inform to others concerning in this manner? You could tell others to visit this web site and go with browsing them favourite publications The Savannah Cat (Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Book 7), By Eve Shaclan As understood, here are great deals of lists that offer many type of publications to gather. Simply prepare couple of time as well as net connections to obtain guides. You could actually take pleasure in the life by reading The Savannah Cat (Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Book 7), By Eve Shaclan in an extremely simple way.
The Savannah Cat (Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Book 7), by Eve Shaclan
Thankfully the large cat in Alison's apartment isn't a leopard. It's a Savannah cat. A large and potentially expensive breed of cat. How it got there is that Angel brought it home. Why it is there is because its elderly owner is dead and the Savannah cat believes he is in danger. Now it's up to Alison, Angel and Shadow to get to the bottom of the case and figure out what's going on at the retirement home. This is the seventh book in the Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Series. Each book is a standalone mystery.
The Savannah Cat (Cozy Cat Murder Mystery Book 7), by Eve ShaclanMost helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. The wonderful flying angel cats. By Darlene Ramsey I have read all seven stories. I find that this premise is fascinating. It is so wonderful to think that the cats are here to help us and protect their chosen humans. Wonderful series. Hope that there will be more stories. Thank you so much for a beautiful fantasy.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. ANGEL THE FLYING ALIEN CAT FINDS ELLINGTON THE SAVANNAH & ... By LINDA MAY ANGEL THE FLYING ALIEN CAT FINDS ELLINGTON THE SAVANNAH & BRINGS THE BIG GUY HOME, SO ALISON CAN HELP HIM FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS ELDERLY OWNER. THIS IS ANOTHER IMAGINATIVE TALE.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Great read. By CWA Love this author & her take on cats. Much fun to read. D
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What sort of book Murder At The Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), By Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot you will favor to? Now, you will certainly not take the printed book. It is your time to obtain soft documents book Murder At The Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), By Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot rather the printed records. You could appreciate this soft file Murder At The Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), By Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot in at any time you anticipate. Even it remains in anticipated area as the various other do, you can review guide Murder At The Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), By Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot in your device. Or if you desire more, you could read on your computer system or laptop computer to get complete display leading. Juts discover it here by downloading the soft data Murder At The Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), By Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot in link page.
Murder at the Mansion (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 2), by Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful. A Very Pleasant Surprise By Virginia Kellum While I usually prefer more modern mysteries and thrillers, this one grabbed me with it's quirky, funny and heart warming characters. I really enjoyed the nutty Phillipa, cupcake loving Vicar and her snooty cat! They had me hooked and even at the solution I wanted to learn more about the Inspector and Annabelle's attraction. I received this book free to review it and didn't think I would like it as much as I did.
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful. "Crikey!" "Golly gosh!" "dilly-dallied" By Penny Fantastical Story The plot is very good. I didn't get it a 5-star because I noticed in the same paragraph a convoy of police cars set of into the dark night yet they arrived where they were going just as it was getting dark. I could understand this if they were going very far away but they did go far."Crikey!" "Golly gosh!" "dilly-dallied" Just some words I loved in the story :0) I myself use dilly-dallied often...lol My grandmother uses golly gosh often and well I don't know anyone that says Crikey but I still liked it.The story has a lot of good charters. You were kept guessing "whodoneit" right up to the end. The charters are funny and witty. The cupcake stealing cat was a trip...(oops spoiler)Of course I have to say would have liked to seen it a little longer. These cozy mysteries all seem to be short and sweet but it's more then a lot of them I have read.I was very happy to see that it wasn't a book filled with religious jargon since it's a Vicar solving the crime with the inspector.Great Cozy Mystery would highly recommend it to all cozy mystery lovers. Can't wait to read more from this author.
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. SHALLOW By Dawn O I enjoyed this story as a light read without much substance. Th Vicar is quite different tfrom the stereotypical clergy that the villagers are accustomed to. The mystery was well thought out but lacked the air of suspense that other mysteries enjoy. I was provided a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
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As one of guide compilations to propose, this Pop Goes The Weasel: A Detective Helen Grace Thriller (A Helen Grace Thriller), By M. J. Arlidge has some strong factors for you to read. This publication is extremely ideal with what you need now. Besides, you will additionally like this publication Pop Goes The Weasel: A Detective Helen Grace Thriller (A Helen Grace Thriller), By M. J. Arlidge to review since this is one of your referred books to check out. When getting something new based upon encounter, amusement, as well as various other lesson, you could utilize this book Pop Goes The Weasel: A Detective Helen Grace Thriller (A Helen Grace Thriller), By M. J. Arlidge as the bridge. Beginning to have reading behavior can be undertaken from various ways as well as from variant types of publications
Pop Goes the Weasel: A Detective Helen Grace Thriller (A Helen Grace Thriller), by M. J. Arlidge
From the international bestselling author of Eeny Meeny comes the second thriller in the “truly excellent series”* featuring Detective Helen Grace.A man’s body is found in an empty house. A gruesome memento of his murder is sent to his wife and children.He is the first victim, and Detective Helen Grace knows he will not be the last. But why would a happily married man be this far from home in the dead of night?The media call it Jack the Ripper in reverse: a serial killer preying on family men who lead hidden double lives.Helen can sense the fury behind the murders. But what she cannot possibly predict is how volatile this killer is—or what is waiting for her at the end of the chase....
Pop Goes the Weasel: A Detective Helen Grace Thriller (A Helen Grace Thriller), by M. J. ArlidgeReview Praise for Eeny Meeny“Mesmerizing!”—#1 New York Times Bestselling Author Lisa Gardner“Dark, twisted, thought provoking, and I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.”—#1 New York Times Bestselling Author Tami Hoag“[Helen Grace is] a genuinely fresh heroine….A tapestry that chills to the bone.”—Daily Mail (UK)“[A] taut, fast-paced debut.”—*The Sun (UK)“Fresh and brilliant.”—Jeffery Deaver, New York Times Bestselling Author“[A] gripping debut…Helen Grace [is] a flawed but winning heroine…The pages fly by.”—USA Today
About the Author M. J. Arlidge has worked in television for the past fifteen years, and he lives in England. His debut novel, Eeny Meeny, has been sold in twenty countries.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
The fog crept in from the sea, suffocating the city. It descended like an invading army, consuming landmarks, choking out the moonlight, rendering Southampton a strange and unnerving place.
Empress Road industrial estate was quiet as the grave. The body shops had shut for the day, the mechanics and supermarket workers had departed and the streetwalkers were now making their presence felt. Dressed in short skirts and bra tops, they pulled hard on their cigarettes, gleaning what little warmth they could to ward off the bone-chilling cold. Pacing up and down, they worked hard to sell their sex, but in the gloom they appeared more like skeletal wraiths than objects of desire.
The man drove slowly, his eyes raking the line of half-naked junkies. He sized them up—a sharp snap of recognition occasionally punching through—then dismissed them. They weren’t what he was looking for. Tonight he was looking for something special.
Hope jostled with fear and frustration. He had thought of nothing else for days. He was so close now, but what if it was all a lie? An urban myth? He slammed the steering wheel hard. She had to be here.
Nothing. Nothing. Noth—
There she was. Standing alone, leaning against the graffiti-embossed wall. The man felt a sudden surge of excitement. There was something different about this one. She wasn’t checking her nails or smoking or gossiping. She was simply waiting. Waiting for something to happen.
He pulled his car off the road, parking out of sight by a chain-link fence. He had to be careful, mustn’t leave anything to chance. He scanned the streetscape for signs of life, but the fog had cut them off completely. It was as if they were the only two people left in the world.
He marched across the road toward her, then checked himself, slowing his pace. He mustn’t rush this—this was something to be savored and enjoyed. The anticipation was sometimes more enjoyable than the act—experience had taught him that. He must linger over this one. In the days ahead, he would want to replay these memories as accurately as he could.
She was framed by a row of abandoned houses. Nobody wanted to live round here anymore and these homes were now hollow and dirty. They were crack dens and flophouses, strewn with dirty needles and dirtier mattresses. As he crossed the street toward her, the girl looked up, peering through her thick fringe. Hauling herself off the wall, she said nothing, simply nodding toward the nearest shell of a house before stepping inside. There was no negotiation, no preamble. It was as if she was resigned to her fate. As if she knew.
Hurrying to catch up with her, the man drank in her backside, her legs, her heels, his arousal growing all the time. As she disappeared into the darkness, he picked up the pace. He couldn’t wait any longer.
The floorboards creaked noisily as he stepped inside. The derelict house was just how he had pictured it in his fantasies. An overpowering smell of damp filled his nostrils—everything was rotten here. He hurried into the sitting room, now a repository for abandoned G-strings and condoms. No sign of her. So they were going to play “Chase me,” were they?
Into the kitchen. No sign. Turning, he stalked out and climbed the stairs to the second floor. With each step, his eyes darted this way and that, searching for his prey.
He marched into the front bedroom. A mildewed bed, a broken window, a dead pigeon. But no sign of the girl.
Fury now wrestled with his desire. Who was she to mess with him like this? She was a common whore. Dog shit on his shoe. He was going to make her suffer for treating him like this.
He pushed the bathroom door open—nothing—then turned and marched into the second bedroom. He would smash her stupid fa—
Suddenly his head snapped back. Pain raged through him—they were pulling his hair so tight, dragging him back, back, back. Now he couldn’t breathe—a rag was being forced over his mouth and nose. A sharp, biting odor flared up his nostrils and, too late, instinct kicked in. He struggled for his life, but already he was losing consciousness. Then everything went black.
2
They were watching her every move. Hanging on her every word.
“The body is that of a white female, aged between twenty and twenty-five. She was found by a Community Support officer yesterday morning in the boot of an abandoned car on the Greenwood estate.”
Detective Inspector Helen Grace’s voice was clear and strong, despite the tension that knotted her stomach. She was briefing the Major Incident Team on the seventh floor of Southampton Central Police Station.
“As you can see from the pictures, her teeth were caved in, probably with a hammer, and both her hands have been cut off. She is heavily tattooed, which might help with IDing, and you should concentrate your efforts on drugs and prostitution to begin with. This looks like a gang-related killing rather than a common or garden-variety murder. DS Bridges is going to lead on this one and he’ll fill you in on particular persons of interest. Tony?”
“Thank you, ma’am. First things first: I want to check precedents . . .”
As DS Bridges hit his stride, Helen slipped away. Even after all this time, she couldn’t bear being the center of everyone’s attention, gossip and intrigue. It had been nearly a year since she’d brought Marianne’s terrible killing spree to an end, but the interest in Helen was as strong as ever. Bringing in a serial killer was impressive enough; shooting your own sister to do so was something else. In the immediate aftermath, friends, colleagues, journalists and strangers had rushed to offer sympathy and support. But it was all largely fake—what they wanted were details. They wanted to open Helen up and pick over her insides—what was it like to shoot your sister? Were you abused by your father? Do you feel guilty for all those deaths? Do you feel responsible?
Helen had spent her entire adult life building a high wall around herself—even the name Helen Grace was a fiction—but thanks to Marianne that wall had been destroyed forever. Initially Helen had been tempted to run—she’d been offered leave, a transfer, even a retirement package—but somehow she had caught hold of herself, returning to work at Southampton Central as soon as they would allow her to do so. She knew that wherever she went the eyes of the world would be on her. Better to face the examination on home turf, where for many years life had been good to her.
That was the theory, but it had proved far from easy. There were so many memories here—of Mark, of Charlie—and so many people who were willing to probe, speculate or even joke about her ordeal. Even now, months after she’d returned to work, there were times when she just had to get away.
“Good night, ma’am.”
Helen snapped to, oblivious to the desk sergeant she was walking straight past.
“Good night, Harry. Hope the Saints remember how to win for you tonight.”
Her tone was bright, but the words sounded strange, as if the effort of being perky was too much for her. Hurrying outside, she picked up her Kawasaki and, opening the throttle, sped away down West Quay Road. The sea fog that had rolled in earlier clung to the city and Helen vanished inside it.
Keeping her speed strong but steady, she glided past the traffic crawling its way to St. Mary’s Stadium. Reaching the outskirts of town, she diverted onto the motorway. Force of habit made her check her mirrors, but there was no one following her. As the traffic eased, she raised her speed. Hitting eighty miles per hour, she paused for a second before pushing it to ninety. She never felt so at ease as when she was traveling at speed.
The towns flicked by. Winchester, then Farnborough, before eventually Aldershot loomed into view. Another quick check of the mirrors, then into the city center. Parking her bike, Helen sidestepped a group of drunken squaddies and hurried off, hugging the shadows as she went. Nobody knew her here, but even so she couldn’t take any chances.
She walked past the train station and before long she was in Cole Avenue, in the heart of Aldershot’s suburbia. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing, yet she’d felt compelled to return. Settling herself down amid the undergrowth that flanked one side of the street, she took up her usual vantage point.
Time crawled by. Helen’s stomach growled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Stupid really—she was getting thinner by the day. What was she trying to prove to herself? There were better ways of atoning than by starving yourself to death.
Suddenly there was movement. A shouted “bye” and then the door of number 14 slammed shut. Helen crouched lower. Her eyes remained glued to the young man who was now hurrying down the street, tapping numbers into his mobile phone. He passed within ten feet of Helen, never once detecting her presence, before disappearing round the corner. Helen counted to fifteen, then left her hiding place and set off in pursuit.
The man—a boyish twenty-five-year-old—was handsome, with thick dark hair and a full face. Casually dressed, with his jeans hanging around his bum, he looked like so many young men, desperate to appear cool and uninterested. It made Helen smile a little at the studied casualness of it all.
A knot of rowdy lads loomed into view, stationed outside the Railway Tavern. Two pounds a pint, fifty pence a shot and free pool, it was a mecca for the young, the skint and the shady. The elderly owner was happy to serve anyone who’d hit puberty, so it was always packed, the crowds spilling out onto the street. Helen was glad of the cover, slipping in among the bodies to observe undetected. The gaggle of lads greeted the young man with a cheer as he waved a twenty-pound note at them. They entered and Helen followed. Waiting patiently in the queue for the bar, she was invisible to them—anyone over the age of thirty didn’t exist in their world.
After a couple of drinks, the gang drifted away from the prying eyes of the pub toward a kids’ playground on the outskirts of town. The tatty urban park was deserted and Helen had to tail the boys cautiously. Any woman wandering alone at night through a park is likely to draw attention to herself, so she hung back. She found an aged oak tree, grievously wounded with scores of lovers’ carvings, and stationed herself in its shadow. From here, she could watch unmolested, as the gang smoked dope, happy and carefree in spite of the cold.
Helen had spent her whole life being watched, but here she was invisible. In the aftermath of Marianne’s death, her life had been picked apart, opened up for public consumption. As a result people thought they knew her inside and out.
But there was one thing they didn’t know. One secret that she had kept to herself.
And he was standing not fifty feet away from her now, utterly oblivious to her presence.
3
His eyes blinked open, but he couldn’t see.
Liquid oozed down his cheeks, as his eyeballs swiveled uselessly in their sockets. Sound was horribly muted, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. Scrambling back to consciousness, the man felt a savage pain ripping through his throat and nostrils. An intense burning sensation, like a flame held steadily to his larynx. He wanted to sneeze, to retch, to spit out whatever it was that was tormenting him. But he was gagged, his mouth bound tightly with duct tape, so he had to swallow down his agony.
Eventually the stream of tears abated and his protesting eyes began to take in their surroundings. He was still in the derelict house, only now he was in the front bedroom, lying prostrate on the filthy bed. His nerves were jangling and he struggled wildly—he had to get away—but his arms and legs were bound tight to the iron bedstead. He yanked, pulled and twisted, but the nylon cords held firm.
Only now did he realize he was naked. A terrible thought pulsed through him—were they going to leave him here like this? To freeze to death? His skin had already raised its defenses—goose bumps erect with cold and terror—and he realized how perishingly cold it was.
He bellowed for all he was worth—but all he produced was a dull, buzzing moan. If he could just talk to them, reason with them . . . he could get them more money, and they would let him go. They couldn’t leave him here like this. Humiliation seeped into his fear now, as he looked down at his bloated, middle-aged body stretched out on the stained eiderdown.
He strained to hear, hoping against hope that he was not alone. But there was nothing. They had abandoned him. How long would they leave him here? Until they had emptied all his accounts? Until they had got away? The man shuddered, already dreading the prospect of bargaining for his liberty with some junkie or whore. What would he do when he was liberated? What would he say to his family? To the police? He cursed himself bitterly for being so bloody stup—
A creaking floorboard. So he wasn’t alone. Hope flared through him—perhaps now he could find out what they wanted. He craned round to try and engage his attacker, but they were approaching from behind and remained out of view. It suddenly struck him that the bed he was tied to had been pushed out into the middle of the room, as if center stage at a show. No one could possibly want to sleep with it like that, so why . . . ?
A falling shadow. Before he could react, something was passing over his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Some sort of hood. He could feel the soft fabric on his face, the drawstring being pulled taut. Already he was struggling to breathe, the thick velvet resting over his protesting nostrils. He shook his head furiously this way and that, fighting to create some tiny pocket of breathing space. Any moment he expected the string to be pulled still tighter, but to his surprise nothing happened.
What now? All was silent again, apart from the his labored breathing. It was getting hot inside the hood. Could oxygen get in here? He forced himself to breathe slowly. If he panicked now, he would hyperventilate and then . . .
Suddenly he flinched, his nerves pulsing wildly. Something cold had come to rest on his thigh. Something hard. Something metal? A knife? Now it was drifting up his leg, toward . . . The man bucked furiously, tearing his muscles as he wrenched at the cords that held him. He knew now that this was a fight to the death.
He shrieked for all he was worth. But the tape held firm. His bonds wouldn’t yield. And there was no one to hear his screams.
4
“Business or pleasure?”
Helen spun round, her heart thumping. Climbing the darkened stairwell to her flat, she had assumed she was alone. Irritation at being surprised mingled with a brief burst of anxiety . . . but it was only James, framed in the doorway of his flat. He had moved into the flat below her three months ago, and being a senior nurse at South Hants Hospital, he kept unsociable hours.
“Business,” Helen lied. “You?”
“Business that I thought was going to become pleasure. But . . . she just left in a cab.”
“Pity.”
James shrugged and smiled his crooked smile. He was late thirties, handsome in his scruffy way, with a lazy charm that usually worked on junior nurses.
“No accounting for taste,” he continued. “I thought she liked me, but I’ve always been crap at reading signals.”
“Is that right?” Helen responded, not believing a word.
“Anyway, do you fancy company? I’ve got a bottle of wine that’s . . . tea, I’ve got tea . . . ,” he said, correcting himself.
Up until that point Helen could have been tempted. But the correction irritated her. James was like all the others—he knew she didn’t drink, knew she preferred tea to coffee, knew that she was a killer. Another voyeur staring at the wreckage of her life.
“Love to,” she lied again, “but I’ve got an armful of files to go through before my next shift.”
James smiled and bowed his submission, but he knew what was going on. And he knew not to push it. He watched with undisguised curiosity as Helen skipped up the steps to her flat. Her front door shut behind her with an air of finality.
The clock read five a.m. Nestling on her sofa, Helen took a big swig of tea and fired up her laptop. The first twinges of fatigue were making themselves felt, but before she could sleep, she had work to do. The security on her laptop was elaborate—an impregnable wall surrounding what remained of her private life—and she took her time, enjoying the complex process of entering passwords and unlocking digital padlocks.
She opened her file on Robert Stonehill. The young man she’d been shadowing earlier knew nothing of her existence, but she knew all about his. She began typing, fleshing out her growing portrait of him, adding the small details of his character and personality that she’d picked up on her latest bout of surveillance. The boy was smart—you could tell that right away. He had a good sense of humor and, though he swore every second word, had a ready wit and a winning smile. He was very good at getting people to do what he wanted them to do. He never queued for a drink at the bar—always managing to get some sidekick to do that for him, while he larked about with Davey—the thickset one who was obviously the leader of the gang.
Robert always seemed to have money, which was odd given that he worked as a shelf stacker in a supermarket. Where did he get his cash? Theft? Something worse? Or was he just spoiled by his parents? He was Monica and Adam’s only child—the center of their world—and Helen knew that he could wrap them around his little finger. Is that where he got his seemingly limitless funds?
There were always girls buzzing round him—he was fit and handsome—but he didn’t have a girlfriend as such. This was the area Helen was most interested in. Was he straight or gay? Trusting or suspicious? Who would he allow to get close to him? It was a question Helen didn’t know the answer to, but she was confident that she would figure it out. She was slowly, methodically creeping inside every quarter of Robert’s life.
Helen yawned. She had to be back at the station shortly, but there was still time for a few hours’ sleep if she packed it in now. With practiced ease, she ran her computer’s encryption programs, locked down her files, then changed the master password. She changed it every time she used her computer now. She knew it was over the top, that she was being paranoid, but she refused to leave anything to chance. Robert was hers and hers alone. And that was the way she wanted it to stay.
5
Dawn was breaking, so he had to move fast. In an hour or two, the sun would have burned off the thick fog, exposing those who hid within it. His hands were shaking, his joints ached, but he willed himself forward.
He’d stolen the crowbar from a hardware store on Elm Street. The Indian guy who ran it was too busy watching cricket on his tablet to notice him slipping it into his long coat. The rigid, cold metal felt good in his hands and he worked it hard now, back and forth, attacking the rusty bars that protected the windows. The first bar fell away easily, the second required more work, but soon there was enough room for a body to fit through. It would have been easier to go around the front and force his way in there, but he daren’t be seen on the streets round here. He owed money to too many people—people who would gladly take him apart for the hell of it. So he moved in the shadows, like all creatures of the night.
He checked again that the coast was clear, then swung the crowbar at the window. It splintered with a satisfying crash. Wrapping his hand in an old towel, he quickly punched out the rest of the glass, before levering himself up onto the sill and inside.
Landing softly, he hesitated. You could never be sure what you might find in these places. There were no signs of life, but it pays to be careful and he held his crowbar tightly as he ventured forward. There was nothing of use in the kitchen, so he quickly scurried into the front room.
This was more promising. Abandoned mattresses, discarded condoms and near them their natural bedfellows, used syringes. He felt his hope and anxiety rising in equal measure. Please, God, let there be enough residue inside to harvest a proper fix. Suddenly he was on his hands and knees, pulling out the plungers, thrusting his little finger inside, desperately grubbing around for a little bit of brown to ease his suffering. Nothing in the first, nothing in the second—goddammit—and a fingerful in the third. All this bloody effort for a fingerful. He greedily rubbed it round his gums—it would have to do for now.
He sank back on the soiled mattress and waited for the numbness to kick in. His nerves had been jangling for hours now, his head pounding. He wanted—needed—some peace. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, willing his body to relax.
But something wasn’t right. Something wouldn’t let him relax. Something was . . .
Drip. There it was. A sound. A slow but steady sound, disturbing the quiet, drumming out an insistent warning.
Drip. Where was it coming from? His eyes flicked nervously this way and that.
Something was dripping in the far corner of the room. Was it a leak? Shrugging off his irritation, he dragged himself to his feet. It was worth checking out—might be some copper piping in it for him.
He hurried over, then stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t a leak. It wasn’t water. It was blood. Drip, drip, dripping through the ceiling. Spinning, he hurried away—none of my fucking business—but as he reached the kitchen, he slowed. Perhaps he was being too hasty. He was armed, after all, and there was no sign of movement upstairs. Anything could have happened. Someone could have topped themselves, could have been mugged, killed, whatever. But there might be spoils in it for a scavenger, and that was something that couldn’t be ignored.
A moment’s hesitation, then the thief turned and crossed the room, edging past the thick pool of congealing blood into the hallway. He darted his head out, crowbar raised to strike at the first sign of danger.
But no one was there. Cautiously, he stepped out and began to climb the stairs.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Every step announced his presence, as he swore quietly under his breath. If there was anyone up there, they would know he was coming. He gripped the crowbar a little tighter as he crested the staircase. Better to be safe than sorry, so he darted his head into the bathroom and the back bedroom—only an amateur gets attacked from behind.
Satisfied that he was safe from ambush, he turned to face the front bedroom. Whatever had happened, whatever it was, it was in there. The thief took a deep breath, then stepped inside the darkened room.
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. Exciting and Unpredictable By Kayak Jay An exciting and suspenseful story with many subplots to keep the reader involved. Helen and her cohorts drag a lot of baggage with them, and the reader understands the nuances very well. The book is written for complete understanding without any interference with the action. I had several "Oh no!" moments as surprise after surprise kept the story rebounding. Definitely worth a re-read.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. A fantastic second book! By Donna C Well, here’s another Helen Grace novel that I’ve devoured in its entirety. Seriously, these books are like crack. It’s not that they’re simply written; you just get slingshot from one end of the book to another. The story is concise, written in a succinct, efficient manner that digs into the story, fleshes out characters, and doesn’t leave room for fat. There’s very little not to like here.The BDSM part that I had some trouble with in EENY, MEENY? Far less of an issue in POP GOES THE WEASEL. It doesn’t happen as often and the dynamic between Helen and her dom is changing and developing and I like where it’s going to I’m softening to that little aspect of her life a little more than what I was before.Where I had the ‘why isn’t anyone using the emergency function on the cell phones?’ issue in the last book I really didn’t have anything hinging me up in POP. Maybe, in hindsight, what the antagonist did was a bit of a stretch from what she was coming from but that’s purely speculative and I’m playing devil’s advocate. I bought into it all and I loved every second of it. That probably makes me a little demented but that shouldn’t come as any surprise.Helen’s got a lot of baggage she’s carrying around but it does seem like she’s starting to unpack some of it. After her life blew up for all to see in the last book she was pretty much forced to deal with what’d happened in her life and I think she’s moving toward a better place. That doesn’t mean it’s easy for her or that it won’t be a difficult trip to make but she seemed less wound up, less chilly, and more receptive to people around her despite all that she’d lost previously. She’s making progress but it does make me wonder, considering how damaged a character she is and how egregious these plotlines are, how sustainable it all will be. How much will Helen be able to handle before she just up and breaks entirely? Not that I want a short series but it does make me wonder how long such things can reasonably be drawn out (kind of like the TV show The Following, LOVED the premise but I knew from the beginning they’d only be able to drag something like that out so far and, well, I was right).I like how we get different perspectives as the story goes on. I think 100% Helen all the time would end up being too much considering her character so we get a little bit of Charlie as she adjusts to what happened to her and going back to work and what it’s done to her home life. And we get Tony as he battles with himself, his wants and needs, and his bed-ridden wife whom he still loves. Plus all the little snippets of story from the victims’, killer, and various others’, perspective. It mixes things up, keeps things constantly interesting without being at all confusing. Despite the fact that the chapters were short I never felt like the story was bouncing around and I never felt thrown out of the story at all. It just worked.The ending was tragic. That’s all I’ll say to that one.All in all I think I liked POP GOES THE WEASEL better than EENY, MEENY. It’s not too often I like a second book over the first one. Which only leads me to believe that this series will get better and better. No pressure, MJ. NONE AT ALL.4.5I received a copy of this book from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Pop Goes the Weasel by M.J. Arlidge By Marablaise In some cases is it quite alright to read books out of order. But I have to admit that I felt when I started this book that I perhaps should have read the first Eeny Meeny first because the character in this book is still trying to put their lives together after the happenings in the first book. Also, now that I know the identity of the person behind everything in the first book will it be less "fun" to read the first book when I get to it.Detective Inspector Helen Grace is back after her ordeals in the first book. Her private life is not as private anymore after what happened in Eeny Meeny, but she is trying to get on with her life, which is hard because Charlie is returning to work and their relationship is not that good and Helen had hoped that Charlie had been transferred to another unit. Charlie meanwhile has her own problems with her miscarriage and her worry about returning to work. They soon have to put their difference aside when a dead body is found with his hard cut out. And, then another body is found. It seems they have a serial killer on their hands...someone that is out to kill men that use prostitutes.I didn't find this book truly intensive and interesting until I had read around 40% of the book. Since I haven't read the first book was I a bit lost with why Helen was so angry with Charlie. I mean I learned why Charlie had been away from the force, but I found Helen's attitude towards Helen a bit extreme. But then I started to learn more about Helen, about what she had been through growing up and everything that Happened in the last book. So I kind of understood.But the story, the hunt for the killer and everything around the cops and their personal lives suddenly became very interesting and I had a hard time to put down the book. I came to care for the characters in the book and I even sympathized with the killer when I learned more about the motives.M.J. Arlidge has written a really good book and I'm looking forward to reading the rest in this series.Thanks to NAL and Edelweiss for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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Get the connect to download this Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, By Delilah Wilde as well as start downloading and install. You can really want the download soft file of guide Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, By Delilah Wilde by undertaking various other activities. And that's all done. Currently, your count on review a book is not always taking and also bring guide Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, By Delilah Wilde all over you go. You could save the soft documents in your gizmo that will never be far away and review it as you such as. It is like checking out story tale from your gizmo after that. Now, begin to love reading Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, By Delilah Wilde and also obtain your brand-new life!
Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, by Delilah Wilde
WARNING This story contains explicit language, sex, drugs, violence, and sexual situations that some might find offensive. This book is intended for adults 18+ years of age. With Skye back in Chicago, Grayson feels on top of the world. And he's ready to take care of her every need. But when the Sisco Family returns seeking revenge for the death of John, Grayson is forced to reorganize the White Family in response, and gets help from an unexpected source. Can Grayson hit the Sisco Family in time?
Oblivion - White 2: Mafia Romance, by Delilah WildeMost helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Smh By VeteranWife04 A good editor is what this book needs. "Grayson pointed the gun at Grayson" though she meant Gabriel it's these little mistakes that take away from the book.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Five Stars By Amazon Customer really liked the content and how it developed Would like to see more of conclusion for enemy
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But right here, we will certainly show you extraordinary thing to be able constantly review guide Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1), By T.C. Archer anywhere as well as whenever you occur as well as time. Guide Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1), By T.C. Archer by simply could aid you to recognize having the book to review every time. It won't obligate you to always bring the thick e-book wherever you go. You could simply maintain them on the gadget or on soft file in your computer system to always check out the enclosure at that time.
Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1), by T.C. Archer
She came for the fashion show. He came to catch a killer. The El Paso fashion gala was slated to be the hottest event of the year and a must do if Liz Monahan, the creative brains behind Nina Bruno Designs, was to vault the company to the big time. Circumstances put Liz at the party in one of her own creations, escorted by a young, handsome model hired to show her off to the well-known and well-established. But Liz didn’t count on her date being an undercover Texas Ranger who is investigating a human trafficking ring. She also didn’t count on being kidnapped and trafficked herself. When Texas Ranger Ben Hunter slips away from Liz Monahan at the gala and begins his investigation, he couldn’t be more surprised to arrive in Juarez, Mexico to find her held captive by infamous human trafficker Carlos Sanchez. In order to save her, Ben must commit murder. Hers.
Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1), by T.C. ArcherFrom the Author "Not Jorge Estonia," she murmured aloud. "And he's too old to be a model." "So are you." Liz cut Adam a narrow-eyed glance. "You really know how to sweet talk your boss." He shrugged. "I'm not the one who said a woman isn't attractive after twenty-five." "You'll likely think differently when you reach thirty." He smiled and her heart skipped a beat. His smile could stop traffic. Suddenly, she wondered if she'd been going about selling clothes the wrong way. This man was a dynamite package. His blue eyes smoldered--a stunning combination enhanced by his black tux. Six-foot-four of pure male. No contacts, no drug-induced biceps, just good old-fashioned Mother Nature at her ever-loving best. But despite his looks, it was his smile that truly set him apart from the other models. It didn't matter who wore the dress, only that when a woman wore it, this man would smile at them. "Why didn't you smile like that for the photo shoot?" Liz asked. Amusement lit his eyes. "Now that I know you like my smile, I'll be sure to do it more often." Liz nodded. "You're going to sell my dress for me." "That's what I'm here for. But you don't give yourself enough credit. You're going to give Tanya a run for her money." He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed her ear as he whispered, "What do you say we go on the offensive and say hello to her and her date?" Liz imagined Adam's full mouth pressed against her ear. She jarred from the thought. Good Lord, the man was sixteen years her junior--and she was his boss. And he was staring expectantly. "What?" she blurted. A very young female model on the arm of a high school graduate slowed as they passed, and Liz realized her outburst had caught their attention. Liz became aware she was squeezing Adam's bicep and started to pull away. He covered her hand with his. "Nope," he said. "We have to look like we can't live without each other." Liz glanced down at his hand on hers. The light scratch of calluses against the top of her hand surprised her. Odd. Most male models were as big a prima donna as their female counterparts and seldom lifted a finger for fear a drop of sweat would spoil their looks. But Adam had a down-to-earth quality. Yet tonight, he exuded a dangerous edge that hadn't been present during the photo shoot. She glanced at Tanya, who had turned her back and was speaking with a group of people. Tanya clutched her date's arm, and Liz knew she was sending a signal: I don't need Nina Bruno Designs. She would regret that decision. A waiter passed in front of Liz. Adam released her and snagged two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Liz. She took a large swig. A woman at least sixty years of age raked her gaze down Adam's body. He seemed not to notice and slipped an arm around Liz's waist. Warmth spread through her stomach. Champagne did that to a person. Her second drink nearly emptied the glass. Liz spotted Larissa Remmey just as the woman turned and met her gaze. The older woman's eyes lit. Attention fixed on Liz, she said something to the man on her right, then started across the room. Liz smiled and kept her gaze on Larissa as she whispered to Adam, "You get me through this night and there's a bonus in it for you." "Is it the bonus we discussed earlier?" "Earlier--" She jerked her gaze onto his face. "I told you, I don't rob the cradle, nor do I mix business with pleasure. Understand?" "Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "No business with pleasure. I'll be sure to keep them separate." Liz blinked and wondered whether he had noticed her reaction to him a moment ago. Dammit, she had no one but herself to blame for that. Before she could say more, Larissa reached them and extended her arms. "Darling," she said with the barest hint of a Russian accent. Liz shot Adam a quelling look as Larissa pulled her into a cheek hug.
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. Oooh Ben!!!!!! By Saloshini Moodley Ok so I love romance, it is what makes my heart goes all a flutter. But then I read so many that most times they start to sound like cookie cutter books.This one is like that and nothing like that, It has romance galore. Ben and Liz literally sizzle on the page but it has a real story.Although I am not convinced that the Rangers have a special ops unit. Who cares. Ben rocks, he rocks my world. I will take him if he grows tired of Liz.So, in short. Read it.WaAr rrg.
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. Definitely recommended By Molly Flanders This is a nice action and romance thriller with good pace and excellent chemistry. The story pulls you right in with its accessible narrative and energetic writing style.The world of fashion models meets human trafficking. This is very enjoyable and entertaining, not without its serious moments and well placed suspense. For fans of the genre this is definitely recommended.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful. Amazing By Bookaddict I loved reading this & I can promise I will be reading it again. I'll admit that towards the end I was starting to get a little worried. But I like the fact that I couldn't guess exactly how the book was going to end.
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