The partners in the Women's Murder Club realize that this killer is after something unspeakable and that the next target could be one of them - so they bait a trap that can't be resisted; but if their calculation is wrong, the consequences will be lethal.
Master of suspense James Patterson (writing with the assistance of Andrew Gross) takes us into a terrifying underworld with this second thriller in his dazzling new Women's Murder Club series.
The sensational killings that have rocked San Francisco appear to be unrelated except in their brutality. But detective Lindsay Boxer senses there's some thread connecting them all. She calls her friends in the Women's Murder Club together to see if they can discover what it is. Surely some clue has been overlooked by their bosses and male colleagues.
Working with Chronicle reporter Cindy Thomas, Assistant District Attorney Jill Bernhardt, and medical examiner Claire Washburn, Lindsay discovers that there is indeed a link. The victims were of different ages, lived in different locations, and were killed with different weapons. But each had a close relative in a particular profession, a profession that sends a chill through Lindsay's heart.
The partners in the Women's Murder Club realize that this killer is after something unspeakable, something deeper than revenge, and that the next target could be one of them. They deduce where the killer is likely to strike next and bait a trap that can't be resisted. But if their calculation is wrong, the consequences will be lethal. And there will be no second chance.
THE WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB - AGAIN
ON A TUESDAY NIGHT, I found myself playing a game of crazy eights with three residents of the Hope Street Teen House. I was loving it.
On the beat-up couch across from me sat Hector, a barrio kid two days out of Juvenile; Alysha, quiet and pretty, but with a family history you wouldn't want to know; and Michelle, who at fourteen had already spent a year selling herself on the streets of San Francisco.
"Hearts," I declared, flipping down an eight and changing the suit just as Hector was about to lay out.
"Damn, badge lady," he whined. "How come each time I'm 'bout to go down, you stick your knife in me?"
"Teach you to ever trust a cop, fool." Michelle laughed, tossing a conspiratorial smile my way.
For the past month, I'd been spending a night or two a week at the Hope Street House. For so long after the terrible bride and groom case that summer, I'd felt completely lost. I took a month...
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