By James Patterson, Maxine Paetro
The Women's homicide membership faces no longer one-but two-terrifying instances that could tear it aside. The teenage son of California's ex-governor has mysteriously vanished-and the strain on Detective Lindsay Boxer to discover him is overwhelming. while she eventually does get a lead, it's devastating. while, Lindsay and her associate, wealthy Conklin, needs to examine mysterious fires which are destroying a few of San Francisco's most pretty homes-and leaving their vendors useless within the particles. but if Lindsay enlists her acquaintances within the Women's homicide membership to assist discover the arsonist, the blazes unexpectedly rage a lot too as regards to domestic . . . and the detective's existence may match up in flames.
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Additional resources for 7th Heaven (Women's Murder Club, Book 7)
So finally I gave myself up to it. And I’m very pleased that history interests you, too. One spring night when I was still a graduate student, I was in my carrel at the university library, sitting alone very late among rows and rows of books. Looking up from my work, I suddenly realized that someone had left a book whose spine I had never seen before among my own textbooks, which sat on a shelf above my desk. The spine of this new book showed an elegant little dragon, green on pale leather. I didn’t remember ever having seen the book there or anywhere else, so I took it down and looked through it without really thinking.
Maybe this was an elaborate practical joke—he’d had two versions of the menacing old book in his library and had planted one in my stall, knowing I’d bring it to him, and I’d obliged, like a fool. But in the ordinary lamplight from his desk he was suddenly gray, unshaven at the end of the day, with dark hollows draining the color and humor from his eyes. I leaned forward. ” “Dracula —” He paused. ” “Good Lord,” my father said suddenly, looking at his watch. “Why didn’t you tell me? ” I put my cold hands inside my navy jacket.
Mentally unbalanced? Had he lost his balance for a few minutes, in the telling of this story? ” My father picked up his teacup and put it down again. I noticed that his hands were shaking. “Please go on,” I said. He was ignoring me. “Anyway, I don’t know whether I’ve scared you or simply bored you. ” “There was a dragon,” I said. I wanted, too, to believe he had made the story up. “Two dragons. ” My father rubbed his arms, as if to warm himself, and I saw that for now he was fiercely unwilling to talk about it further.