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Two people are found hanging from a tree. A black man and a white woman, and they're naked. 'Lynching' is the word that everybody's trying not to say, but the murders are not what they appear to be, and they are not the end of the story. There is much worse to come.
In Naked Prey, John Sandford puts Lucas Davenport through some changes. His old boss, Rose Marie Roux, has moved up to the state level and taken Lucas with her, creating a special troubleshooter job for him for the cases that are too complicated or politically touchy for others to handle. In addition, Lucas is now married and a new father, both of which are fine with him: he doesn't mind being a family man. But he is a little worried. For every bit of peace you get, you have to pay—and he's waiting for the bill.
It comes in the form of two people found hanging from a tree in the woods of northern Minnesota. What makes it particularly sensitive is that the bodies are of a black man and a white woman, and they're naked. "Lynching" is the word that everybody's trying not to say—but, as Lucas begins to discover, in fact the murders are not what they appear to be, and they are not the end of the story. There is worse to come—much, much worse.
Filled with the rich characterization and exceptional drama that are his hallmarks, this is Sandford's most suspenseful novel yet.
Chapter 1
THURSDAY NIGHT, pitch black, blowing snow. Heavy clouds, no moon behind them.
The Buick disappeared into the garage and the door started down. The big man, rolling down the highway in a battered Cherokee, killed his lights, pulled into the driveway, and took the shotgun off the car seat. The snow crunched underfoot as he stepped out; the snow was coming down in pellets, rather than flakes, and they stung as they slapped his warm face.
He loped up the driveway, fully exposed for a moment, and stopped just at the corner of the garage, in a shadow beneath the security light.
Jane Warr opened the side door and stepped through, her back turned to him as she pulled the door closed behind her.
He said, "Jane."
She jumped, her hand at her throat, choking down a scream as she pivoted, and shrank against the door. Taking in the muzzle of the shotgun, and the large man with the beard and the stocking cap, she screeched: "What? Who're you? Get away . . ." A jumble ...
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