Frozen Heat (A Castle Book)
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Facing relentless danger as someone targets her for the next kill, Heat's search will unearth painful family truths, expose a startling hidden life, and cause Nikki to reexamine her own past. Heat's passionate quest takes her and Rook from the back alleys of Manhattan to the avenues of Paris, trying to catch a ruthless killer. The question is, now that her mother's cold case has unexpectedly thawed, will Nikki Heat finally be able to solve the dark mystery that has been her demon for ten years?
“Let’s start with this one here.” “That’s from the shot I got off through the passenger window of the taxi.” “When I do the postmortem, my money says this one was nearly fatal. You were on the curb, as I recall from your Shooting Incident Report, so this would have come down at an angle, probably getting awfully close to the subclavian vein or the jugular, or both. If you’d outright hit one of those, he’d have died in minutes, if that long. So, I’m thinking a tiny nick, and assume he did a lot
gloves knelt over Petar. He had pitched forward off his bunk and lay sprawled on his back with a fresh, open gash in his forehead where his head had smacked the concrete. His eyes bulged in their sockets, and his skin was deep purple with crimson webs of capillaries coloring it. His tongue looked blue enough to be called black and protruded from his open mouth from a pool of froth that capped a trail of pungent, bloody vomit that ran down his neck and onto the floor. The crotch of his orange
already rung up her purchase, a three-by-seven Turkish wool with a color and pattern similar to the one she was replacing. Nikki paid, and he asked, “You want it delivered? We’re closing for the night, but we can have it there first thing tomorrow.” Heat smiled and shouldered the roll. “It’s three blocks.” Eight P.M., and traces of the departing day greened the sky to the west on 23rd Street. Window lights flicked on at a thrift store, and she stopped to admire a lamp, thinking she’d come back
is connected. What you want from me is to tell you how.” He paused and said, “I honestly don’t know.” “Anatoly Kijé?” she said. “Boy-O? Please do not insult my intelligence. You know.” “I know rumors. That’s all. And, if true—if,” he said, pointing a finger in the air for emphasis, “it could have come back upon her in a very unfortunate way.” Rook said, “Come on, what did you hear?” Anatoly became distracted momentarily as the two bodyguards returned from their perimeter check and signaled
“Sure as hell do. The kid of some big millionaire brewer over there. Good beer, too. Durdles’ Finest. That’s how I remember.” He licked his lips, which made her sad. “Largest exporter to Ireland. No wonder the SOB was rich. If you can’t sell beer in Ireland during a heat wave, hang it up.” His attention waned as they reached the bottom of the toile-covered box, which he did without making any other identifications, except the numerous shots of Nicole Bernardin. “Sorry I couldn’t be any more