By J.T. Ellison
It is a hideous echo of a violent previous. throughout the US, murders are being devoted with all of the twisted hallmarks of the Boston Strangler, the Zodiac Killer and Son of Sam. The media frenzy explodes and Nashville murder lieutenant Taylor Jackson understands immediately that The Pretender is back…and he is acquired helpers.As The Pretender's disciples perpetrate their ill homages—stretching police and the FBI dangerously thin—Taylor attempts desperately to arrange for his or her inevitable showdown. and he or she needs to do it by myself. To be with regards to her is to be in mortal possibility, and he or she will not danger wasting an individual she loves. however the isolation, the self-doubt and the emerging physique count number are taking their toll—she's beside herself and able to snap.The extraordinary psychopath who either adores and despises her is coming near near. shut sufficient to touch….
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Extra info for So Close the Hand of Death (Taylor Jackson)
I am not kidding. This is building to a head. I know you can feel that, too. ” “I’m alert. I’m alert. 40-caliber Winchester jacketed hollow point. “See? I’m even carrying the bullet the bastard sent me. ” Baldwin’s mouth twitched, she could tell he was fighting a smile. ” he asked finally. She flipped the bullet into his hand. She’d used a marker to draw a lopsided hamsa, the hand of Fatima, on the casing. The eye felt like a talisman of sorts to her. It was juvenile, she knew that, but the action had given her great satisfaction.
He’d watched her take lunch all this week: Monday was McDonald’s, Tuesday Subway, Wednesday a couple of iced crullers and a sugary juice smoothie from Dunkin’ Donuts. Thursday she’d stayed in, but this afternoon she’d gone for a grinder, thick with salami and ham and cheese, with a side of potato chips. He wondered if she would smell like onions or if she’d been considerate enough to chew some gum, or suck on a Tic-Tac. He’d wager the latter; June was a self-conscious woman. Granted, she’d walked from her office to each of these places, but she’d passed the pita joint and the all natural juice-and-salad bar on the way.
But he knew it was a couple. Teenagers, out for a late-night grope. Their names didn’t matter to him. Their lives didn’t matter. They were just props. An illusion. He inched closer, careful not to shift the gravel. This road was neglected, full of ruts and dust. The close smell of stagnant lake water wasn’t a deterrent. The old road was commonly known as a lover’s lane, the perfect place to go for privacy. Only the moon lit his path. Ten yards now, and the nausea was back with a vengeance. He paused and breathed deeply through his mouth, willing his heart to slow, felt the adrenaline pulsing through his body like the stinging venom of a million tiny fire ants.
So Close the Hand of Death (Taylor Jackson) by J.T. Ellison