By James Patterson
Detective Lindsay Boxer and her 3 most sensible acquaintances are again and getting better from the occasions that driven all of them to the edge. After her near-death event, Yuki is seeing her lifestyles from a brand new point of view and is thinking about a metamorphosis in her legislations occupation. San Francisco Chronicle reporter Cindy has healed from her gunshot wound and has released a publication at the notorious serial killers she helped to convey down. Lindsay is simply chuffed that the crowd are all nonetheless in a single piece.
But a brand new terror is sweeping the streets of San Francisco. A gang dressed as police officers are ransacking the town, and leaving a string of useless our bodies of their wake. Lindsay is at the case to trace them down and desires to find no matter if those killers may perhaps really be cops. perhaps even law enforcement officials she already knows...
Read or Download 14th Deadly Sin (Women's Murder Club Series, Book 14) PDF
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Extra resources for 14th Deadly Sin (Women's Murder Club Series, Book 14)
Obvious and inevitable. First lesson learned: Don’t go where it’s comfortable. Something bad will be waiting. I don’t remember any swear words yet, so under my breath I just repeat formless murmurs. Like grunting, only they would be words if I could remember. There was no swearing in the Dreamtime. How wrong was that? What could they possibly… “I want it to stop,” I croak. ” I begin to rant. I’m special, I have needs, I have a job to do—once I get my act together. I’m going to be important. I get so angry I start to feel weak.
We stand. We walk. One by one, beginning with Pushingar, we run forward—I think, I hope. I have no idea where we’re going and suspect neither does the little girl. Maybe Pushingar or the other two know something, but they’re not talking—just running. The floor is getting very cold. It’s starting all over again, variations on a nasty theme. Chasing heat, staying alive, seeking food—seeking answers really low on the list of my frustrated basic drives. Minutes of running. Maybe only seconds. But something visible ahead—a wall.
Last chance. I stretch my legs, connect solidly with the edge of the sheet, kick as hard as I can, and arrow toward the fistula. The sheet spins and moves off in the general direction of a new heaviness. … I glide toward it, arguably toward the safer option, hungry, scared out of my wits. I see it behind me again, the toothy snout and beak so close! I can smell its acid, sour-sweet breath— I’m through! I slam into the far surface of the tube, then scramble for purchase with my raw knees and feet and hands to get out of the way of what I know is coming— The rasp and head thrusts through the fistula, beak snapping, teeth gnashing, meshing, gnashing in reverse, then withdrawing behind thick lips, the whole apparatus sphinctering shut.