If you want thrills, Deaver is your man.
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She may only be a bright high school student researching a paper on one of her ancestors, but someone sees her as a threat. Someone who will stop at nothing to prevent her from digging up the past. Someone on a mission to kill.
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Lincoln Rhyme and his partner Amelia Sachs are called to the case. They may have tracked down some of the world's most brilliant criminals, but this particular hunt is posing more questions than answers. Where will their prey strike next? What is the historic secret he's so desperate to protect? And how can anyone catch a killer who leaves no trace? To find the answers, Sachs is going to have to search a crime scene that's over years old and attempt to uncover a secret that that may strike at the very heart of the United States constitution Other books in this series.
The Bone Collector Jeffery Deaver. Add to basket. The Cutting Edge Jeffery Deaver. The Burial Hour Jeffery Deaver. The Skin Collector Jeffery Deaver. He seems to hang in the air for a moment then cartwheels thirty feet into the murky waters of the Hudson River, muttering some words, perhaps a plea to Jesus, perhaps a declaration of love for his wife and child, though whatever they might be none of his pursuers can hear. Fifty feet from the microfiche reader forty-one-year-old Thompson Boyd moved closer to the girl.
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He pulled the stocking cap over his face, adjusted the eyeholes and opened the cylinder of his pistol to make sure it wasn't jammed. He'd checked it earlier but, in this job, you could never be too certain. He put the gun into his pocket and pulled the billy club out of a slit cut into his dark raincoat. He was in the stacks of books in the costume exhibit hall, which separated him from the microfiche-reader tables. His latex-gloved fingers pressed his eyes, which had been stinging particularly sharply this morning.
He blinked from the pain. He looked around again, making sure the room was in fact deserted. No guards were here, none downstairs either. No security cameras or sign-in sheets. All good. But there were some logistical problems. The big room was deathly quiet, and Thompson couldn't hide his approach to the girl. She'd know someone was in the room with her and might become edgy and alert. So after he'd stepped inside this wing of the library and locked the door behind him, he'd laughed, a chuckle.
Thompson Boyd had stopped laughing years ago. This ploy seemed to work. He looked quickly around the long row of shelves and saw the girl, staring at the microfiche screen. Her hands, at her sides, seemed to clench and unclench nervously at what she was reading. He started forward. Then stopped. The girl was pushing away from the table. He heard her chair slide on the linoleum. She was walking somewhere. He heard the sound of the drinking fountain and her gulping some water.
Then he heard her pulling books off the shelf and stacking them up on the microfiche table. Another pause and she returned to the stacks once again, gathering more books. The thud as she set them down. Finally he heard the screech of her chair as she sat once more. Then silence. Thompson looked again.
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She was back in her chair, reading one of the dozen books piled in front of her. With the bag containing the condoms, razor knife and duct tape in his left hand, the club in his right, he started toward her again. Coming up behind her now, twenty feet, fifteen, holding his breath. Ten feet. Eight feet, five He paused and silently set the rape pack on a shelf. He took the club in both hands. He stepped closer, lifting the varnished oak rod. Still absorbed in the words, she read intently, oblivious to the fact that her attacker was an arm's length behind her. Thompson swung the club downward with all his strength toward the top of the girl's stocking cap.
A painful vibration stung his hands as the baton struck her head with a hollow snap. But something was wrong. The sound, the feel were off. What was going on? Thompson Boyd leapt back as the body fell to the floor. And tumbled into pieces. The torso of the mannequin fell one way. The head another. Thompson stared for a moment. Somehow, she'd tipped to the fact that he was a threat.
She'd then collected some books from the shelves as a cover for standing up and taking apart a mannequin. She'd dressed the upper part of it in her own sweatshirt and stocking cap then propped it on the chair. But where was she? The slap of racing feet answered the question. Thompson Boyd heard her sprinting for the fire door.
The man slipped the billy club into his coat, pulled out his gun and started after her. See All Customer Reviews.
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Add to Wishlist. USD 9. Sign in to Purchase Instantly. A hitman is out to kill a young girl in Harlem.
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In order to save her Lincoln has to solve a cold case that's over years old. What buried secrets from years ago could have an assassin out for innocent blood? The person who bought the land ended up creating a huge company in the modern time. As the land was not legally sold, all of Singleton's relatives were legally entitled to compensation over the course of years. The chase to catch Boyd and all of his accomplices continue throughout a two-day period.
Throughout the story, there are also some other smaller story lines and this crime eventually leads to the solutions of other crimes. Some of the people in the novel are not who they appear to be. One of Boyd's accomplices pretends to be the guidance counselor at Settle's high school.
Related The Twelfth Card (Lincoln Rhyme, Book 6)
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