As Lieutenant Eve Dallas stood over what had once been a woman, she wondered when she would see worse than this. The worst murderers in history and a new madman's inspiration. In the lost hours of the night a man in a top hat and swirling cloak leaves horror in his wake and a note to Eve Dallas, signed simply: Jack. More murders follow and Eve quickly realises the killer's deadly game of imitation. But facing this calm and menacing presence, with a trail running through London, Paris and LA, Eve struggles to keep her focus. After Dark. Beverly Barton. The Liar. Nora Roberts. Blood Magick. Stars of Fortune.
True Betrayals. Vengeance Road. Christine Feehan. Siren's Call. Jayne Castle. Hostage Zero. John Gilstrap. Promise Not To Tell. Jayne Ann Krentz. Stay the Night. Kate Perry. Bay of Sighs. End Game. High Treason. Threat Warning. NYPD Red 4. James Patterson. No Mercy. Trust No One.
Listen To Your Heart. Fern Michaels. A Matter of Choice. Amanda Quick. The Hot Zone. Garden of Lies. Give a Little.
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Playing for Keeps. Night Shadow. The Other Lady Vanishes. But he also wants to make his own mark. He has chosen his victim: Eve Dallas. And all Eve knows is that he plans to mimic the most infamous murderers of all She is also the author of the bestselling futuristic suspense series written under the pen name J. There are more than million copies of her books in print. No matter how many times you walked through the blood and the gore, no matter how often you looked at the horror man inflicted on man, you never saw it all.
There was always something worse, something meaner, or crazier, more vicious, more cruel. As Lieutenant Eve Dallas stood over what had once been a woman, she wondered when she would see worse than this. Two of the uniform cops on scene were still retching at the mouth of the alley. The sound of their sickness echoed back to her. She stood where she was, hands and boots already sealed, and waited for her own shuddering stomach to settle. Had she seen this much blood before?
It was hard to remember. It was best not to. Lifting the limp hand, she pressed the thumb to her pad. The body was discovered at approximately oh three-thirty by officers responding to anonymous nine-one-one, and is herewith identified through fingerprint check as Wooton, Jacie, age forty-one, licensed companion, residing Doyers. Spatter pattern indicates wound was inflicted while victim stood against the north-facing wall of the alley.
Blood pattern and trail would indicate victim fell or was laid across alley floor by assailant or assailants who then Oh Jesus. Both the throat and pelvic wounds indicate the use of a sharp implement and some precision. You okay now? Yes, sir. Jacie Wooton, Doyers. An LC. Do a run for me.
Just never seen Do it down there. Her lieutenant was cutting her a break, and because her head wanted to spin again, she took it, moving toward the mouth of the alley. Her throat was raw, her voice weak, but she initiated the run. And watched Eve work. Efficient, thorough, and some would say cold. Her brown eyes were focused and flat, and unwavering as they examined the atrocity.
Her hands were steady, and her boots smeared with blood. She would stay until it was done. When Eve straightened, Peabody saw a tall, lean woman in stained boots, worn jeans, and a gorgeous linen jacket, a fine-boned face with a wide mouth, wide eyes of gilded brown, and a short and disordered cap of hair nearly the same color. More: She saw a cop who never turned away from death.
Give me the data. Previous residence on Central Park West.watch
IMITATION IN DEATH (IN DEATH, BOOK #17) BY J.D. ROBB: BOOK REVIEW
What she get popped for? Three strikes. Lost her top-drawer license, did six months in, rehab, counseling, and was given a probationary street license about a year ago. Thick, weighty, and expensive. The sort of thing used for high-class invites. She should know, she mused, as her husband was big on sending and receiving high-class invites. She took out the second evidence bag and read the note again. Hello, Lieutenant Dallas: Hot enough for ya? Here is a sample of my work. What do you think? Looking forward to our continued association. A number of them stood in the poorer sections of the city, and were always slated for replacement.
While they dickered, the buildings decayed and nothing was done. Eve expected nothing would be done until the dumps collapsed inward on their residents and the city fathers found themselves in the throes of a class-action suit. But until that time, it was the sort of place you expected to find a down-on-her-luck whore. Her room was a hot little box with a stingy bump-out for a kitchen and a thin sliver for a bathroom. Her view was the wall of the identical building to the west. Through the thin walls Eve could clearly hear the heroic snoring from the apartment next door.
Despite the circumstance, Jacie had kept her place clean, and had made some attempt at style. The furniture was cheap, but it was colorful. Possibly salvaged from better times, Eve thought. She found a supply of over-the-counter meds, including a half bottle of Sober-Up and a full, unopened bottle as backup. Which made sense with the two bottles of vodka and the bottle of home-brew in the kitchen.
She turned up no illegals, which caused her to assume Jacie had switched from chemicals to alcohol. One to her counselor to request an upgrade in her license, one received and not answered or yet returned from the landlord regarding overdue rent, another made to an uptown body sculptor requesting rates. No chats with pals, Eve mused. Paid attention to her money, Eve mused, did the job, banked the pay, and pumped most of it back into the business. Expenses were high for wardrobe, body treatments, hair and face work. Used to looking good, Eve decided. Wanted to keep looking good. Self-esteem wrapped around appearance, which was wrapped around sexual appeal, which was wrapped around selling yourself for enough money to maintain appearance.
A strange and sad cycle, in her opinion.
Imitation in Death (In Death, book 17) by J D Robb
No marriage or cohabitation on record? Neat, girlie, with a desperate attempt at style. He killed a woman, and a woman who made her living from selling her body. You not only kill her, but you hack out the part of her that made that living. It's not hard to find a street LC in this area any time of the night. You just have to choose your time and place. Just as possible it was chance. But he was ready if chance presented itself.
The dark, spiked hair shimmering with silver, the come-on-big-boy red of the halter. It had to be quick and clean. One quick slice, left to right, straight across the jugular. Sprayed blood like a son of a bitch. Cheap jewelry, expensive lip dye. He cleans his hands. He had to change his shirt, or put a jacket on. Something, because of the blood. What then? He goes home. The humble surroundings and diamond pinky ring. He was mixed-race, with enough Asian to have him set up in the business bustle of Chinatown, though she imagined his last ancestor to see Peking might have been at his prime during the Boxer Rebellion.
Just as she imagined Chan kept his home and family in some upscale suburb in New Jersey while he played slumlord of the Lower East Side. Comes with the package. Rent was due a week ago. She got the standard reminder call a couple days ago. She was murdered early this morning. You seal the place? You got that many tenants, some of them are going to croak one way or another. You get your unattended death, your suspicious death, your misadventure, and your self-termination. Before I can blink some uncle or other is clearing the place out before I can put in a claim and get my back rent.
Did you know Jacie Wooton? Never set eyes on her myself. And if somebody falls behind on the rent, wiggles around the evict, do you pay them a little visit, try to appeal to their sense of fair play? That's part of the business.
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And I was home, in Bloomfield, last night with my wife and kids. I was there for breakfast this morning, and came into the city on the seven-fifteen, just like I do every day. You need more than that, you talk to my lawyers. Sexual favors, little party bags of illegals, stolen goods.
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