By Iris Johansen
While it reaches 0, you die.
#1 New York Times bestselling writer Iris Johansen units her readers’ pulses racing once more during this relentless mental mystery of a tender girl stuck in a maze of secrets and techniques and stalked by means of a cruel killer. The countdown starts off the instant you open this riveting novel that basically grows extra electrifying because the pages flip, extra fascinating as time runs out. . . .
“Don’t kill her. She’s no solid to us dead.” those phrases hang-out Jane MacGuire after a stunning assault shatters her international immediately. used to be it a random kidnapping attempt–or the countdown to anything way more sinister?
Who is after her–and what do they wish so badly they’ll kill an individual of their means? That’s what Jane is set to determine, with no assistance from the police, the FBI, or her adoptive mom and dad, forensic sculptor Eve Duncan and her husband, Joe Quinn, of the Atlanta PD–because whoever is after her won’t hesitate to harm these she loves the main. Now Jane will cross at the run with the one guy who could be extra risky than people who find themselves pursuing her. A smuggler, a con guy, and who knew what else, Mark Trevor had his personal mysterious purposes for eager to hold Jane secure and out of the arms of a killer captivated with a two-thousand-year-old secret which could rock the modern day global.
Orphaned at an early age, Jane grew up the challenging means, yet she used to be given a brand new lifestyles, a loving family members, and an opportunity to pursue her curiosity in a single of the best archaeological reveals ever unearthed. Now a person was once attempting to spoil that new existence ahead of it might even start. The earlier is returning with the type of vengeance that understands no mercy. The countdown has already all started, and it’s forthcoming 0 swifter than somebody thinks.
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Additional info for Countdown (Eve Duncan, Book 6)
Tell Mrs. Darien I’m on my way,” Scarpetta said. “I need about fifteen minutes to check a few things and look at the paperwork. ” Off the lobby to the left was the administrative wing she shared with Dr. Edison, two executive assistants, and the chief of staff, who was on her honeymoon until after the New Year. In a building half a century old with no space to spare, there was no place to put Scarpetta on the third floor, where the full-time forensic pathologists had their offices. When she was in the city, she parked herself in what was formerly the chief’s conference room on the ground level, with a view of the OCME’s turquoise-blue brick entrance on First Avenue.
The sink was empty and clean, a sponge and bottle of Dawn liquid detergent, no crumbs on the counter, no food stains, the hardwood floor spotless. Marino opened the cabinet under the sink, finding a small garbage can lined with a white plastic bag. Inside were a banana peel that was brown and smelled pungent, a few withered blueberries, a soy milk carton, coffee grounds, a lot of paper towels. He shook open a few of them, detecting what smelled like honey and citrus, like lemon-scented ammonia, maybe furniture and glass cleaners.
Mother wants a burial, but the father wants cremation. ” Touching the dead body again, as if it were part of the conversation. “Then they started blaming each other for everything you can think of. At one point Dr. ” He was the chief medical examiner and Scarpetta’s boss when she worked in the city. It was still a little hard getting used to being supervised, having been either a chief herself or the owner of a private practice for most of her career. But she wouldn’t want to be in charge of the New York OCME, not that she’d been asked or likely ever would be.