Catherine Ling was abandoned on the streets of Hong Kong at age four.  Schooled in the art of survival, she traded in the only commodity she had: information.  As a teenager, she came under the tutelage of a mysterious man known only as Hu Chang—a skilled assassin and master poisoner.  As a young woman, she was recruited by the CIA and now, she is known as one of their most effective operatives.  Having lived life in the shadows, Catherine is aware of the wobbly moral compass of her existence and even more aware of just how expendable she is to those she deals with. When her old friend Hu Chang creates something so deadly, and completely untraceable, the chase is on to be the first to get it.  With rogue operative John Gallo also on the hunt, Catherine finds [...] Read More

Catherine Ling was abandoned on the streets of Hong Kong at age four.  Schooled in the art of survival, she traded in the only commodity she had: information.  As a teenager, she came under the tutelage of a mysterious man known only as Hu Chang—a skilled assassin and master poisoner.  As a young woman, she was recruited by the CIA and now, she is known as one of their most effective operatives.  Having lived life in the shadows, Catherine is aware of the wobbly moral compass of her existence and even more aware of just how expendable she is to those she deals with. When her old friend Hu Chang creates something so deadly, and completely untraceable, the chase is on to be the first to get it.  With rogue operative John Gallo also on the hunt, Catherine finds herself pitted against a group so villainous and a man so evil that she may not survive the quest to protect those she cares about.  Iris Johansen is at her page-turning best in this novel that takes you from the corridors of Langley to the alleyways of Hong Kong, and the darkest places of the human soul. | Close

| Close

Finally, in the trilogy that began with Eve and continued with Quinn, comes the story that fans have been dying to read. With the help of her beloved Joe Quinn and CIA Agent Catherine Ling, Even Duncan gets closer and closer to answering the questions that have tormented her. But the deeper she digs, the more she realizes that Bonnie’s father, John Gallo, is a key player in solving this monstrous puzzle. And that Bonnie’s disappearance was not as random as everyone had believed. Eve Duncan finds herself in a deadly dance where answers will be uncovered, and justice might finally be served—if she can stay alive.

Finally, in the trilogy that began with Eve and continued with Quinn, comes the story that fans have been dying to read. With the help of her beloved Joe Quinn and CIA Agent Catherine Ling, Even Duncan gets closer and closer to answering the questions that have tormented her. But the deeper she digs, the more she realizes that Bonnie’s father, John Gallo, is a key player in solving this monstrous puzzle. And that Bonnie’s disappearance was not as random as everyone had believed. Eve Duncan finds herself in a deadly dance where answers will be uncovered, and justice might finally be served—if she can stay alive. | Close

| Close

In QUINN, delve deep into the life and psyche of Eve Duncan’s lover and soulmate, Joe Quinn… 
Detective Joe Quinn’s life hangs in the balance at the hands of John Gallo, Eve’s first love and the man who hold’s the key to the mystery of young Bonnie’s fate. Will justice be served? Can Joe help Eve on her quest? Emotionally charged with one shock after another, readers discover for the first time how Quinn and Eve met and fell in love against a backdrop of haunting tragedy.

In QUINN, delve deep into the life and psyche of Eve Duncan’s lover and soulmate, Joe Quinn… 
Detective Joe Quinn’s life hangs in the balance at the hands of John Gallo, Eve’s first love and the man who hold’s the key to the mystery of young Bonnie’s fate. Will justice be served? Can Joe help Eve on her quest? Emotionally charged with one shock after another, readers discover for the first time how Quinn and Eve met and fell in love against a backdrop of haunting tragedy. | Close

CHAPTER ONE

Stop me. Find me. Kill me.
Agony tore through him as John Gallo pushed through the brush, the branches scratching his face as he ran.

How long had he been on the run?

Hours? Days?

And why couldn't he stop?

Why couldn't he let the sheriff's men find him, shoot him? He knew these woods so well that it was easy to avoid capture. Whenever they had come near, instinct and self-preservation had kicked into high gear, and he had fled.

And those instincts were so good, he thought bitterly. They had been honed by all the battles, all the killings, all the ugliness of his life. Save yourself so that you can kill again.

But at least he had not stayed to kill his hunters. That was part of the reason why he had not exposed himself. He couldn't trust himself not to kill them. He was too well trained, too expert in the ways of destruction.

And then there was the madness.

There was no telling where that sickness would take him. He was climbing, he realized. He was climbing the high hill where he'd done his last kill.

Paul Black. He'd broken his neck.

And Joe Quinn. If he was dead, that, too, could be laid at his door.

He broke free of the shrubs and trees and was standing on the edge of the cliff over the lake.

What was he doing there?

One step, and he would plunge over the precipice. Why not?

Maybe that damnable instinct would not kick in when he hit the lake below.

"It will, you know."

He stiffened, afraid to turn around to see who had spoken. Madness. It was back, taunting him, torturing him.

"Look at me."

He slowly looked over his shoulder.

A little seven-year-old girl, with curly red-brown hair wearing a Bugs Bunny T-shirt.

The same T-shirt she had worn the day she had died.

The day he might have killed her.

The agony was overwhelming, searing through him, blocking everything but the sight of her and his own guilt.

His daughter, Bonnie . . .



Milwaukee Airport
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
"You're Jane Macguire?"

Jane turned away from the baggage claim carousel to see the woman who had spoken walking toward her. It had to be Catherine Ling, she thought. Her adoptive mother, Eve, had described the CIA agent in detail, but the reality was even more stunning. Catherine Ling was part Asian, part Caucasian, and more exotic and magnetic than any woman Jane had seen except on the movie screen. She appeared be in her late twenties, tall, graceful with high cheekbones, huge dark eyes slightly tilted at the corners, olive- gold skin, long dark hair pulled back in a chignon. But it was the aura of power and vitality that surrounded her that was the most impressive. As an artist, Jane's first impulse was to ask her to pose for her. The second was to squeeze every bit of information she could from her. "I'm Jane. You're Catherine Ling? How is Joe?"

"Is that your bag?" Catherine lifted Jane's suitcase off the carousel with easy strength. "Joe was no better when I left the hospital. But as far as I know, he's no worse. Eve doesn't want to leave him, so she asked me to pick you up. I've made reservations for you at a Hyatt near the hospital. We'll check you in, then I'll take you to the hospital."

Jane shook her head. "To hell with that. I'm going to the hospital to be with Eve. I should have been with her ever since Joe was admitted. It's been almost two days. Why the hell didn't she call me before this?"

"You were in London, and there wasn't much you could do. Joe was in surgery for a long time. Eve said she didn't want to talk to you until she could give you good news." She headed toward the exit. "That didn't happen, so she called you anyway. She thought you should be here."

Jane nodded jerkily. "That's what she said. She was so upset that she didn't realize how that sounded. I felt like I was flying to a deathbed." She took her suitcase from Catherine. "She didn't even tell me what happened with Joe, only about his wound. A knife thrust to the abdomen that did serious organ damage." Her lips tightened. "A knife. Whose knife? I don't want to stress Eve out by asking questions. That means you're on the hot seat, Catherine. I want to know everything before I walk into that hospital."

Catherine nodded. "I thought that would be my job." She stopped before a silver Toyota. "Get in. I'll fill you in while I drive you to the hospital." She slipped into the driver's seat. "But I'm going to go through a drive- through McDonald's and get you a cup of coffee."
"You think I'll need the caffeine to get through this?"

Catherine gave her an appraising glance as she started the car. "I think you're probably a cool customer. But you love Eve and Joe. They raised you from the time you were ten. You have a right to be upset and need a little bolstering." She pulled out of the airport parking lot. "And if you don't, I do. You're going to be pissed at me."

"Am I?" Jane stiffened. "Why?"

"I'm partly the reason Joe was hurt."

"Then yes, I'll be pissed at you. I'll want to break your neck. Is Eve angry with you?"

"No, she says no one could have stopped Joe."

Jane slowly nodded. "She's right. No one could ever stop Joe from doing what he wanted to do. I knew that the first time I saw him. But it relieved me. I knew if Joe ever became my friend, it wouldn't be because Eve wanted him to do it. It would be because he wanted it himself. Th at was important to me. I was a ten- year- old Eve had picked up from the streets because we'd known the moment we'd come together that it was right we stay together. But Joe was a big part of her life even then. I didn't want to have to walk away."

"And you didn't have to do it," Catherine said. "You became a family." She smiled faintly. "A very strange family. Eve Duncan, a famous forensic sculptor, Joe Quinn, a police detective, and you, a kid from the streets."

"We learned to mesh," Jane said. "Eve was no problem. Joe was slower. But we both loved Eve, so we worked at it." She smiled. "And then as we got to know each other, it wasn't work any longer. Funny how love makes everything easier."

"Yeah, funny." Catherine pulled into the McDonald's drivethrough. "Do you want anything beside coffee?"

"No."

"Black?"

"Yes."

She studied Catherine as she gave the coffee order. How much love had Catherine had in her life, she wondered. Eve had told her she'd been a street kid like Jane but had grown up in Hong Kong. She'd married a much older man, then been widowed. She had come into Eve's life when she'd asked Eve to help her find her son, who had been kidnapped by a Russian criminal wanting revenge on Catherine. Eve had helped her rescue him, and they had become close friends. There was no doubt in Eve's mind that Catherine adored her son, Luke. But Jane had gotten the impression that, other than Luke, Catherine's life had been her job as a CIA agent.

"You're looking at me as if you're trying to take me apart." Catherine's look was quizzical as she handed Jane her coffee. "Is it your artist's eye, or are you taking aim?"

"Maybe a little of both." Jane met her gaze. "I admit the first thing I thought when I saw you was that I'd like to paint you. But you'll definitely be on my list for extermination if you had anything to do with Joe lying in that hospital. Tell me what happened to him." She looked away, and added, "Let me start you on the path. It was about Bonnie, wasn't it?"

Catherine nodded. "It's not surprising that was your first guess. I imagine you've lived with Eve's obsession for finding Bonnie since you came to her."

"Guess?" Jane took a drink of her coffee. "Finding her daughter's murderer and her daughter's body has guided her life. It's guided all our lives. She's tried for many, many years to bring her Bonnie home." She looked out the window at the passing scene. "And Joe's been with her, trying desperately to understand, to help, to find Bonnie, so that Eve could be at peace. I can't tell you how many times she's come to what she thought was that final resolution and been disappointed. But she never gives up."

Catherine added quietly, "And Joe was getting tired, weary of worrying about her, wanting her to come to terms."

Jane looked back at her. "Yes, how do you know? Joe wouldn't complain."

"Joe and I are a lot alike," Catherine said. "And I had to examine all facets of Eve's problem before I made a move to ask her to help me find my son, Luke. I didn't want to make a mistake."

"Mistake?"

"I promised her I'd pay her back for helping return my son to me," Catherine said. "She wouldn't accept anything, but I couldn't let it go. I knew the only gift she would think worthwhile would be for me to find her daughter's killer." Her lips twisted. "So that was what I had to give her. Whether or not it might destroy the life she had with Joe."

"You found him?" Jane's eyes widened. "You actually found Bonnie's killer?"

"I found two possibilities. Paul Black, who was already on Eve's search list."

"She told me about him."

"But I was betting on a new stallion in the race. One that would be much more troublesome. Naturally, I had to pull him front and center."

"Who?"

Catherine's eyes were fixed on the towers of St. Joseph's Hospital, which had come into view. "John Gallo. He was Bonnie's father."
Jane stiffened. "What? But Eve told me he was dead."

Catherine shook her head. "A cover-up by the military. Eve will explain everything later. I'm just giving you the bare bones. But there was evidence Gallo was in Atlanta the month Bonnie was kidnapped. So I gave Eve all my information and threw in my opinion."

"And she went after John Gallo," Jane whispered.

"And Paul Black." Catherine said. "But she felt terribly guilty about risking Joe again. So she tried to leave him out of it." "She should have known that wouldn't work," Jane said. She knew how guilty Eve felt about involving Joe, but she could no more stop hunting for Bonnie's killer than Joe could abandon Eve and stop protecting her. Both were facts of life. "Gallo hurt Joe?" Catherine shook her head. "Paul Black. And Gallo killed Black."

"Good."

"Not so good. Before he died, Black told Eve that Gallo had killed Bonnie."

"And she actually believed the bastard?"

"She told me that she would swear Black was telling the truth. And Gallo took off and disappeared. Neither the police nor I have been able to find him."

"But what would make him kill his own little girl?"

"He was suffering from bouts of schizo phre nia and violent delusions caused by years of mistreatment in a prison in North Korea."

"My God," Jane shook her head. "That must have been a terrible nightmare for Eve. How can you imagine a man who gave you a child could kill it?"

Catherine's lips tightened. "Well, I handed Gallo to her and made her imagine it." She pulled into a parking spot in the lot of St. Joseph's Hospital. "And then I helped Joe try to find him whether Eve wanted him along or not." She turned off the ignition. "Are you still blaming Joe and not me?"

Jane gazed at her a moment. "You're blaming yourself enough. You don't need any help." She got out of the car. "Where can I find her?"
"ICU. The visiting hours are very short, but Eve can watch him through the glass. If she's not in the waiting room, she'll probably be in the hall at ICU."

"Are you coming with me?"

Catherine shook her head. "Eve needs family. I'll check you in at the Hyatt and take your suitcase up to your room. Give me a call when you're ready to leave the hospital."

"Thanks." Jane turned to walk away.

"How did you feel about Bonnie?" Catherine asked suddenly. "I know it's none of my business, but I'm curious. You said that the search for her killer ruled your lives. That must have been difficult for an adopted kid to accept."

Jane shook her head. "I knew what was important to Eve when I came to her. I wasn't her child, I was her friend. That was enough for me.
How could I ask for more?"

"Some kids would have been more demanding."

Jane lifted her brows. "You?"

Catherine shook her head. "But then I probably wouldn't have accepted any relationship when I was your age. I was an independent young demon. I suppose I still am."

"Eve is always the exception," Jane said. "You obviously have a close relationship with her now."

Catherine smiled as she started to back out of the parking place. "You're right. You and I are more alike than I would have believed. Eve is the sun we all revolve around."

Jane watched her drive out of the parking lot before she started to walk across the parking lot toward the front entrance. She could feel the tension increase with every step. She was going to Joe, who might well be dying. She was going to Eve, who could lose the man who made her life worth living.

How did she feel about the search for Bonnie? Jane had said all the right things, and they had all been true. What she hadn't told Catherine was the agony she felt when Eve and Joe were put in danger by that search. She could accept. She couldn't stop wishing that the search would end.

And she couldn't stop wishing that Eve would release Bonnie. Or, dear God, that Bonnie would release Eve.



EVE WALKED SLOWLY DOWN the corridor toward the ICU. Soon she would be able to see Joe again. He'd be pale and drawn, his features appearing as cleanly carved and beautiful as the visage on a tomb. It would scare her to death as it always did.

But it scared her more not to see him and to imagine him slipping away with her not by his side.

That was where she should always be. Next to Joe.

If God would let him stay with her. And if Joe still wanted her if he did come back. The memory of that last day at the lake house was suddenly before her. His eyes looking down at her as she sat in the swing.

"I can't be easy. It's not my nature. But it's my nature to love you."

And it was her nature to love Joe.

Please be better, Joe. Be awake. At least, have more color. "Good afternoon, Ms. Duncan." The ICU nurse was coming out of the unit. "May I get you anything?"

"Yes, permission to go sit with him."

She shook her head. "Not yet." She hesitated. "But the doctor said that maybe we should let you go to him soon."

She stiffened, her heart leaping. "He's better."

The nurse shook her head. "I shouldn't have said anything,"she said quickly. "Dr. Jarlin will talk to you."

Fear surged through her. "You talk to me, dammit. He's worse?"

The nurse was looking at Eve with that same sympathy and kindness that had struck terror in her heart since she'd brought Joe to the hospital. "Dr. Jarlin will talk to you. I'll call him and tell him that you're concerned." She hurried back toward the nurses' station.
Concerned? She was sick with fear.

Joe was dying, and they weren't going to be able to save him. That was why they were going to let Eve go to him. To say good-bye.
She couldn't say good- bye. He had to stay with her. She leaned her head on the plat-glass window and closed her eyes. She felt the tears running down her cheeks as the agony flowed through her.

Look at him. Surely she'd be able to know, to sense some change. Maybe they were wrong. Doctors didn't know everything. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She stiffened in shock.

Bonnie.

Through the years she had often had visions and dreams of her daughter. Then she had come to believe they weren't visions at all. It didn't matter. Real or not, having Bonnie come to her had made life worth living and let her come alive in so many ways. But now something was different.

Bonnie, in her Bugs Bunny T-shirt, her red- brown hair shining in the lights of the ICU, as she stood by Joe's bed, looking down at him.
Her expression . . . Love. Perfect love.

Why was she here?

The fear became terror.

To take him away, to ease the transition from this life to the next?

"No, Bonnie!"

Her daughter looked across the room at Eve standing behind the glass.

She smiled luminously. But then turned back again to gaze down at Joe with that same expression of love.

What did that smile mean? Could she help him to live?

Or could she only help him to die?

Eve's palms pressed against the cold glass as tension and sorrow tore through her.

"Joe!"
 
SWIRLING darkness.

Someone calling.

"Joe!"

Calling him . . .

But he didn't want to leave the darkness. There was comfort here and yet also a strange excitement and anticipation. Was this death?

He had never been afraid of it. He wasn't now. But that voice calling . . .

Eve.

She was hurting, needing him. He should go back. And there was someone else . . .

Bonnie.

She was there in the darkness. Always before she had been the stranger, the one apart; but now she was close, as familiar to him as Eve, and much of the comfort was coming from her. Did she want him to stay in the darkness?

But he could feel Eve's terror and sadness.

He had to stop them both and try to make Eve happy.

As she made him happy . . .

He had known from the first moment he had seen her all those years ago that he could not be happy if he was not with her.

Strange . . . He had not believed that love could come out of nowhere and stay forever. He had been such a cynical son of a bitch. Smart, young FBI agent, sure of himself and everything around him, ready to take on the world.

He'd been certain the Bonnie Duncan kidnapping wasn't going to be a problem. The local Atlanta police were sure that she was the victim of a serial killer, and the little girl would never show up alive. Sad story, but Joe had worked on other serial killings and had experience in profiling as well. He was well qualified to take on the case. He'd go down to Atlanta and dive in and show the locals how the FBI could handle a case like Bonnie's.

But he wouldn't get involved with the family of the victim no matter how sympathetic he was toward them. That was always a mistake. It was better to stand apart so that he could work without emotion. That would be far more efficient.

Yes, after all, it was just one more case. A few months in Atlanta, and he'd be coming back to start another job. There was nothing about this Duncan case in Atlanta to interfere with his career, certainly nothing to interfere with his life . . . | Close

Could John Gallo, a man from Eve’s past, be the missing piece to the puzzle that has haunted her for years? Why was he in Atlanta just before Bonnie’s disappearance? Find out in this brilliant narrative that goes back to Eve Duncan’s early life, exploring her history and motivations like no other novel before.
Finally the answers surrounding the disappearance of Eve Duncan’s daughter, Bonnie, will be revealed in EVE, the first book in a spellbinding trilogy from Iris Johansen.

Could John Gallo, a man from Eve’s past, be the missing piece to the puzzle that has haunted her for years? Why was he in Atlanta just before Bonnie’s disappearance? Find out in this brilliant narrative that goes back to Eve Duncan’s early life, exploring her history and motivations like no other novel before.
Finally the answers surrounding the disappearance of Eve Duncan’s daughter, Bonnie, will be revealed in EVE, the first book in a spellbinding trilogy from Iris Johansen. | Close

CHAPTER ONE

Malua, Samoa
Present Day

TWO MINUTES.

The explosive was in place beneath the back veranda of the house. The charge set.

Agent Art Benkman slid behind the garden wall that surrounded the pool and house and waited.

No mistakes this time. His superior wouldn't tolerate another near miss. It had been made clear that Black must be destroyed. He was a monster who knew too much.

No, he'd seen Paul Black go into the house an hour ago. It was the best time for the kill. Only one person in the house beside that son of a bitch. A housekeeper who occupied the end bedroom of the rambling bungalow. He'd seen her light go out two hours ago. She'd be asleep by now.

Good night.

And good-bye.

No one would survive this blast. He'd had to be sure.

One minute.

The flames from the blast would probably reach the top of those palm trees hovering over the roof.

"I've got you, Black," he murmured. "Burn in--"

Pain.

He was flipped over and was looking up at the man who had sent the needle- sharp stiletto deep into his back.

Black. But it couldn't be Paul Black. He was in the house.

No, he was here. That dark, devil's face . . .

"Who sent you?" Black asked. "Who told you I was here?" He was searching in Benkman's pockets, pulling out his wallet, and the e-mail that he'd received two days ago. He glanced at it and smiled. "Very explicit. And you obeyed blindly like a good agent? Never mind. You don't have to answer. I don't need you now."

"Kill you . . ." Benkman whispered. "I have to--"

"Die," Black supplied as he picked up Benkman as if he were a child. "That's all you have to do." He was carrying him over to the house. "How do you feel about cremation?"

"No!" He started to struggle as panic overcame pain. "Don't leave me here. It's going to--"

"Blow?" Black dropped him on the floor of the great room. "In about forty seconds." He looked down at him. "Why don't you see if you can make it through the French doors and out onto the terrace? You might survive then." He turned and strolled out of the house.

Bastard.

Benkman rolled over and started to crawl toward the French doors.

Pain.

The blood was pouring out of the wound as he moved.

Weak.

The blood was slippery . . .

He was dying.

No, he'd be okay. He was always okay. He just had to get out of this damn house.

So slow. He was moving so slow.

He reached the French doors. Now crawl out onto the veranda. He was almost there . . .

And then he saw Black standing by the garden wall and watching him. He was smiling.

He tapped his watch.

Too late, Benkman realized frantically. He was too late. Time had run out.

"Don't leave me!" he howled. "Get me out of--"

The house exploded and became an inferno.

"HERE'S THE REPORT, SIR. Shall I call Atlanta and give it to her?"

Venable scowled as he looked down at the report that Agent David Harley had put in front of him. This inquiry was shaping up to be a king- size headache. Why had he become involved in this mess?

He knew the answer. He liked Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan, and they had helped the CIA on many occasions. When Catherine Ling had asked him to pull strings and get this report concerning the death of Eve's daughter, he'd thought it might be a way to pay back.

He wasn't sure that would be true any longer. Eve Duncan was very fragile where anything connected to her murdered daughter, Bonnie, was concerned.

"Is anything wrong?" Agent Harley asked. "I used three sources. It all checked out. And Catherine Ling is usually very accurate."

And Harley would be careful, Venable thought. He was new, but he was eager and conscientious.

"No, I'm sure you verified it correctly." He shrugged. "I can just see a blowup looming on the horizon."

"But Catherine Ling's e-mail said that--"

"I know." Venable held up his hand to stop him. Harley had met Catherine Ling only once, but he had been dazzled by her. Most men had the same response to Catherine. She was not only a top CIA agent, but she was part Caucasian, part Asian, and was one of the most gorgeous and exotic women Venable had ever met. "Catherine may be accurate, but that doesn't mean she might not trigger an explosion. She's ramming her way through every source I have to get that information, and she's not going to stop."

"Eve Duncan," Harley repeated tentatively, glancing at the report. "I've heard of her. I saw some photos. Skulls and stuff. She's a forensic sculptor, isn't she?"

"Have a little respect. She's the forensic sculptor," Venable said. "She's probably the best forensic sculptor in the world. Every police department in country is standing in line to get her to work on their cold cases involving skeletal remains. Totally dedicated."

"Not totally." Harley smiled. "I read that report. She's been living with her lover police detective, Joe Quinn, for a number of years. In real life, she obviously prefers a warm body to those skeletons."

"He's a good guy," Venable said. "And tough as hell. He's an ex- SEAL. As I said, have a little respect, or you might regret it. He's been with Eve since her daughter Bonnie was kidnapped by a serial killer years ago. The kid was only seven years old, and it nearly destroyed Eve."

"I can see how it might be traumatic. Was she murdered?"

"Almost certainly. Though Bonnie's body was never recovered and the real killer never arrested. That's why Eve went back to school to become a forensic sculptor, to help bring other lost children home. But Eve's been on the hunt for Bonnie's killer all these years."

"My wife's pregnant and should be delivering my son any day," Harley said. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him."

"Go on the hunt," Venable said. "As Eve Duncan is doing. As Joe Quinn is doing."

"What about you, Agent Venable? Do you have any children?"

Venable shook his head. "Divorced. No kids. I have a job. A family would get in the way." He tapped the report. "And Eve Duncan is a prime example of why I should stay that way. Finding her daughter's killer has become an obsession that's dominating everything and everyone around her. Including me." He swore beneath his breath. "Catherine Ling should have stayed out of it. But no, she thinks that she can straighten out the entire world if she puts her mind to it."

"She's very clever," Harley said. "It could happen, sir."

"Are we expecting any more info?"

Harley shook his head. "Those are the only sources you asked me to tap."

And the sources Catherine Ling had asked Venable to tap. She had known exactly what she'd wanted. He'd asked her to wait for these reports before she went to Eve Duncan with the information, but he couldn't be sure that she'd do it. Catherine marched to her own drummer and had been so on edge that she'd wanted to get the confrontation over. That was always Catherine's way. Bold, up-front, on the attack.

That had been Eve's method of handling problems, too. It was one reason why the two women had become close friends.

"I'll be glad to call Agent Ling and give her the information on this report for you," Harley offered.

"I bet you would," Venable murmured. "But I think I'd better handle this myself. You can't expect a straightforward response from Catherine on this particular matter."

"It seems pretty cut-and-dried to me."

"Does it?" He was tempted to let Harley contact Catherine and have her interrogate him. If he thought she would become his new best friend, he was going to be sadly disappointed. She was going to want every detail so that she could mull the pros and cons, and she would be firing questions like a machine gun. It wasn't often that Catherine formed a friendship for anyone, but she genuinely liked Eve Duncan, and she wanted every detail to be absolutely correct. "No, I'll talk to her."

Harley looked disappointed, but he shrugged and left the office.

All right, Catherine. Venable took out his phone. Here's your ammunition to blow Eve out of the water. You may mean well, but it could go either way. I hope to hell both you and Eve manage to survive it.

There was something wrong with Eve.

Joe Quinn had glanced casually up to the porch from where he was standing at the barbecue grill near the lake. Eve had been sitting on the porch swing, but was now standing beside Catherine Ling, and Joe could tell that every muscle of her body was taut with tension.

What the hell?

Maybe he was mistaken. The sun was going down, and it was almost dark. Perhaps those nuances of unrest he thought he was seeing weren't really there. Catherine Ling had become a good friend

to Eve, and there was no way that she would deliberately upset her. Dammit, he wasn't mistaken. He had lived with Eve so long that he knew every mood, every flex of her body as if it were his own. Whatever Catherine was saying to Eve, it was disturbing her. He'd better go up to the porch and--" His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the ID. Venable. CIA. Joe was tempted to let it go to voice mail and call back later. No,Catherine Ling was also CIA. Joe had an idea it might be a good idea to take the call before he barged up those stairs in protective mode.

"What do you want, Venable?" he asked as he pressed the button. "Is Catherine Ling there? She's not answering her phone."

"She's here. She's been here all afternoon. Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you. The jobs you send Catherine on aren't always pleasant. It could be that she wants a vacation."

"Catherine?" He added testily, "I told her to take a vacation after Russia, but she dove right into this inquiry and pulled me in with her."

"What investigation?"

"Just an inquiry. Tell Catherine I need her to call me. I have the final report."

"Venable, what's this all about?"

"Ask Catherine. I'm supposed to be discreet. You'd think that she was my superior." He hung up.

Joe gazed up at the porch. It was fully dark, and they hadn't turned on the porch light. He could barely discern the two women standing by the rail. But what he couldn't see, he could feel. His instincts toward Eve had been honed to sharpness, and he could sense the emotional disturbance that was swirling about her.

Ask Catherine.

There was no doubt that he'd ask Catherine. He didn't like any of this. He felt closed out.

He started toward the porch, then stopped.

What could he do? His instinct was to join them, become part of whatever was going on between them. But Eve wouldn't appreciate his interfering. She was an independent woman. It wasn't as if Catherine was a threat. She was Eve's friend.

But even a friend could become a threat if circumstances warranted.

Not Catherine. He trusted Catherine.

He slowly turned and went back to the barbecue pit.

Keep cool. Eve would tell him what was going on eventually.

Ignore that uneasiness.

Until he couldn't stand it any longer.

Eve asked Catherine, "But why not leave in the morning?"

". . . I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I have to. You've done enough for me, Eve." Catherine's gaze was on Joe standing below them at the barbecue pit. "We've done nothing but talk about my problems. Let's talk about you and Joe. Is everything all right between you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I just thought I caught some vibes from him today." Her gaze was still on Joe. "You're very lucky, you know. He's pretty fantastic."

"Yes, he is." Eve added, "And I know you think he's special.

You've told me."

"Yes, I've always been honest with you." She paused. "I always will be." She turned to face her. "I'm no threat to you, Eve."

"You could be if you wanted to be. You're an incredibly magnetic woman, Catherine." She gazed steadily at her. "But in the end, the threat would come only from Joe. He's the only one who can hurt me."

"I'd never hurt you." Catherine's voice was passionate. "I've never had a friend like you before. At first, I was only concerned about what you could do for me, but that changed. You changed my life. I felt . . . close to you."

"And I feel close to you." Eve smiled. "So stop agonizing about it, Catherine."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Eve's smile faded. "Are we still talking about Joe?"

"No. Yes. I guess in a way we are."

"Speak up. It's not like you to be inarticulate."

Catherine turned back to look down at Joe. "Did you finish the reconstruction on Cindy?"

Cindy was the reconstruction that Eve had been working on weeks ago before she had gone to Russia at Catherine's request. It had been very difficult, and Catherine had been a great help. "Of course, she was done a week after I came home from Russia. It wasn't that difficult." She smiled. "Not after I had a little help from my friends during the initial prep work."

"Was she a pretty little girl?"

"Yes."

"Like your Bonnie?"

A tiny disturbance rippled through Eve. She didn't look at all like Bonnie. "Why are you talking about Bonnie, Catherine?"

"Because I think Joe is jealous of your obsession with Bonnie. Not of your daughter. Just of your feelings for her. He'd have to be a saint not to feel a little put in the shade by the way you feel. Isn't that true?"

She didn't speak for a moment. "Yes. But friend or not, I don't want to discuss this with you, Catherine."

"I have to discuss it with you. Do you think I want to do it? I was even thinking of walking away and forgetting about it. But I can't do that, Eve."

Eve frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Joe have a giant problem, and I don't want to make it any bigger."

"How could you do that?"

"Easily." Her lips twisted. "I'm good at what I do. I'm an expert. I just set my mind to it and cause the sky to fall."

Eve slowly rose from the swing and went to stand beside Catherine. "Talk to me."

Catherine looked away from her again. "I told you I'd pay you back, remember? I was so grateful I wanted to give you what you wanted most in the world."

Eve gazed at her with exasperation. No matter how she tried, she couldn't convince Catherine to accept what Eve had done as a gesture of friendship and let it go. Catherine had come to her to ask her to do an age progression on her son Luke, who had been kidnapped when he was two and had been missing for nine years. Eve had been inevitably drawn into the search for Luke that had culminated in a deadly race to save him from his kidnapper in Russia. "And I told you to forget it."

"That's not in my makeup." She was silent for a minute. "What you want most in the world is to bring your Bonnie home. To do that you have to find her killer. When I came home from Hong Kong, I had lots of time to concentrate on thinking about your problem. I tried to look at the crime from an objective and fresh point of view. Then I started to dig. I used every contact and information- gathering unit I had at my disposal and at Venable's disposal. We even tapped the NSA."

Eve could feel her chest tightening. Don't hope. The search had gone on too long for Catherine to just step in and perform a miracle. "Joe was FBI at the time Bonnie was taken. We didn't exactly stop at local law enforcement."

"But all the information wasn't available then."

"I know that. My friend, Montalvo, has recently given me a list of three new suspects. Two didn't pan out, but I still have the third one to investigate. Paul Black. Is that the name you ran across?"

"His name popped up."

Eve's gaze narrowed on Catherine's face. "But?"

"I was more interested in someone else."

"Who?"

"He had opportunity. He might have had motive." She was speaking quickly, tersely. "In this type of crime, there's ample precedent for this kind of perpetrator."

"Dammit. Why are you being so evasive?"

"Joe. I can see you have to walk very carefully where he's concerned. He's very emotional about your obsession with Bonnie. He's nuts about you." Her hands tightened on the porch rail. "And he doesn't need to come face-to-face with this to tear him apart. Hell, it might tear you both apart."

"Catherine."

"Okay." She drew a deep breath. "Joe has been thinking about you as being totally his own since the moment you met. It's been the saving grace when he had to come to terms with your obsession with Bonnie. It would disturb the hell out of him to lose that security."

"There's no way he would lose it."

"No? You're very cool, very controlled, but it wasn't like that always. There was a time when you lost your head and spun out of control over a man."

Eve was beginning to see where Catherine was going. No, it couldn't be. It was impossible. She asked hoarsely, "Catherine, who killed my Bonnie?"

"I didn't say I was certain."

Eve was shaking. "Tell me. Tell me the name."

"You want a name?" Catherine drew a deep breath. "The name you didn't even see fit to put on the birth certificate, Eve," she said gently. "Bonnie's father, John Gallo."

Eve had been expecting it, but the name struck her, stunned her. She couldn't breathe. She could barely speak, "No . . . it's not true. You don't understand. It's not true."

But if Catherine thought it true, then somehow it might be.

No, it was impossible.

"Eve, I wouldn't have just pulled his name--"

"No!" She had to get out of here. She had to be alone. She whirled and was across the porch, fumbling at the screen door. "You're wrong, Catherine. You couldn't be more wrong. It's not--" She slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, staring into the darkness.

Cool and controlled, Catherine had called her. Where was that coolness now? She felt as vulnerable and emotional as she had when she was that sixteen-year-old kid who had given birth to Bonnie. So angry, so defiant, so passionate.

John Gallo.

Catherine's words had sent her spiraling back to that sixteen-year- old girl.

Back to John Gallo . . .

| Close

A CIA agent’s two-year-old child was stolen in the night as a brutal act of vengeance. Now, eight years later, this torment is something Catherine Ling awakens to every day. Her friends, family, and colleagues tell her to let go, move on, accept that her son is never coming back. But she can’t. Catherine needs to find someone as driven and obsessed as she is to help her— and that person is Eve Duncan. She knows that Eve shares her nightmare, since closure is also something that eludes Eve after the disappearance of her daughter Bonnie. Now, Eve must take her talents as a forensic sculptor to another level, using age progression as a way to unite Catherine with her child. As Eve gets drawn deeper into Catherine’s horror, she must face looming demons of her own. Bonni [...] Read More

A CIA agent’s two-year-old child was stolen in the night as a brutal act of vengeance. Now, eight years later, this torment is something Catherine Ling awakens to every day. Her friends, family, and colleagues tell her to let go, move on, accept that her son is never coming back. But she can’t. Catherine needs to find someone as driven and obsessed as she is to help her— and that person is Eve Duncan. She knows that Eve shares her nightmare, since closure is also something that eludes Eve after the disappearance of her daughter Bonnie. Now, Eve must take her talents as a forensic sculptor to another level, using age progression as a way to unite Catherine with her child. As Eve gets drawn deeper into Catherine’s horror, she must face looming demons of her own. Bonnie’s killer is still out there. And a new killer is taunting Eve and Catherine at every turn. Is Catherine’s son alive, or not? These two women endure the worst fear any mother can imagine in Iris Johansen’s latest thrill ride, a gut-wrenching journey into the darkest places of the soul. | Close

CHAPTER 1 - BROKEN BONES.

Eve Duncan shuddered as she looked down at the pitiful remains of the little girl's skull that she'd carefully spread on the special tarp on her desk.

The child's skull was shattered, and the cheekbones and nasal and orbital bones were only unidentifiable splinters. The Detroit Police Department thought that the child had been beaten to death with a hammer. How the hell was she going to put that little girl's face together again?

"You're angry."

Eve glanced at Joe Quinn sitting on the couch across the room. "You're damn right I am." She reached out and gently touched one of the little girl's remaining facial bones still left intact. "Whoever killed this child had to be insane. Who would think it necessary to do this . . . this monstrosity? She couldn't have been more than eight years old."

"And after hundreds of these reconstructions, it still makes you furious." His lips tightened. "Me, too. You'd think we'd get used to it. But that never happens, does it?"

Yes, Joe might be a tough, experienced police detective, but he could be as emotional as Eve when the victims were helpless children. "Sometimes I can block it. But this savagery . . . A hammer, Joe. He used a hammer . . ."

"Son of a bitch." Joe got up and moved across the room to stand behind her. "Have you given her a name yet?"

Eve always gave her reconstructions names while she worked on them. It made her feel a connection while she strove desperately to give a name and identity to those poor, murdered children who had been thrown away. She shook her head. "Not yet. I just got the skull by FedEx this afternoon. Detroit forensics warned me to expect this, but it still came as a shock."

"It looks like a lost cause." Joe was gazing down at the splintered bones. "It's going to be a nightmare putting her back together. How do you know you've got all the pieces?"

"I don't. But there's a good chance. Forensics thinks that she was already completely wrapped in the yellow plastic raincoat in which he buried her when her murderer started this carnage. Maybe he just wanted to make sure that she was dead or that no one would ever recognize her."

"This one is going to tear you up." Joe reached out and began to massage her neck. "You're already tense, and you haven't even started."

"I've started." She closed her eyes as his thumbs dug gently into exactly the right spot on the center of her neck. After all of these years of living together, he knew every muscle, every pleasure point of her body. He was right, she was tense. She would take this brief moment before she began to work. Joe's touch, Joe's support. It was a soothing song that helped to drown out the ugliness of the world. Once she actually began the reconstruction, there would be only her and this child, who had lost her life over ten years ago. They would be bound together in darkness until Eve could finish working and shine a light that would bring the little girl home. And she would bring her home. She'd give her back her face, then let the media publish a photo and surely someone would recognize her. "I started the moment I saw what that bastard had done to her."

"You haven't given her a name yet," Joe said. "Tell Detroit to give her to Josephson to do the reconstruction. You may be the best, but you're not the only forensic sculptor in the country. You've got a backlog of requests that will keep you slaving for the next six months. You don't need this kind of pressure."

"She didn't need for some creep to do this to her." She opened her eyes and gazed down at the broken skull. "She's my job, Joe." She thought for a moment. "And her name is Cindy." She straightened in her chair. "Now let me get to work."

"Dammit." He stepped back, and his hands dropped away from her. "I knew it was a long shot, but I thought I'd give it a try. You've been working yourself to exhaustion for the last few months." He wheeled and went back to the couch. "Go ahead. Break your heart trying to put that kid back together again. Why should I care?"

"I don't know, Joe." She smiled. "But I thank God you do." She looked down at the bone splinters that might belong to the nasal cavity . . . or might not. "And Cindy will forgive you for trying to push her off on Josephson."

"I'm relieved," he said dryly. "But I'll take my chances on being in her bad graces. After all, she's been dead ten years. At the moment, you're the only one I care about. I don't want—"

Eve's cell phone rang.

She glanced at the ID.

She tensed.

"Who is it?" Joe asked.

"Venable."

He frowned. "Not good."

That was Eve's reaction. They had dealt with Venable and the CIA on several occasions, and it usually ended with her being pulled away from her work and into deep trouble. Not this time.

She punched the button on her cell. "What do you want, Venable?"

"Why are you on the defensive?" Venable asked. "Maybe I only want to check in and see if you're okay. You were in a hospital in Damascus recovering from a gunshot wound the last time I saw you."

"That was six months ago, and I'm sure that you know I'm fully recovered. You make it your business to know everything."

"I'm not the NSA. I'm only interested in specific subjects . . . and people. I feel a certain attachment for you and Joe."

"What do you want, Venable?"

He hesitated. "A favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"Nothing that's dangerous or out of your realm of expertise. I'd like you to do a computer age progression."

"No."

"It wouldn't take you that long, and I'd appreciate it."

"I'm swamped, and even if I weren't, you know I won't work for the CIA. Get one of your own experts to do the job. You have qualified people. Some of them are far more experienced than I am with computer age progression. I don't even know why you're bothering to ask me."

"Because I have to ask you, dammit," he said sourly. "It has to be you."

"Why?"

"Because like everything else in my life, it's a question of bargaining and balancing. I need you to do this, Eve."

"Then you're going to be disappointed. I just started a new reconstruction, and I won't drop it for one of your twisted little jobs. I'm not going to help you identify someone so that you can track him down. I'm never sure whether the prey you're stalking is a saint or a slimeball. Or if he's a saint, that you're not using him in ways that I'd never go along with. You're capable of manipulating anyone to shape a deal."

"Yes, I am," he said wearily. "And some of those deals keep you and your friends from being blown to kingdom come by the bad guys. Someone has to stand guard, and I do a damn good job of it. Dirty sometimes, but effective."

She supposed he did, but she didn't want to be involved in that morass even on a purely scientific level. "Let your own agents do it, Venable."

"What can I offer you to do the job?"

"Nothing that I can't refuse," she said softly but emphatically. "Take no for an answer. It's all you're going to get from me."

"I'll try, but I may have to come back. You're a prime bargaining chip in this one, Eve."

"Listen, you're beginning to annoy me. I'm not a chip, and I'm not a chess piece for you to manipulate."

"We can all be manipulated. It depends on the determination factor." He paused. "You'd be safer if I'm the one who does it. I'm trying to avoid throwing you to the wolf."

"Are you threatening me?"

She put up her hand as she saw Joe straighten at her words.

"I wouldn't be that stupid. I'm just trying to keep you from making a mistake. I've always liked you."

He probably believed he was telling the truth, but it wouldn't keep him from using her. She was tired of arguing with him. "I'm hanging up now, Venable."

"Change your mind, Eve."

She pressed the disconnect button.

"The bastard threatened you?" Joe was frowning, his tone grim. "I believe I need to pay a visit to Venable."

"He said it wasn't a threat. More like a warning."

"That's a fine line where Venable is concerned. I take it he wanted you to do a reconstruction?"

"No, that would make more sense." Her brow knitted. "I won't deny I'm one of the best forensic sculptors around." After her own little girl, Bonnie, had been kidnapped and murdered all those years ago, she had gone back to school and made sure that she had the skill to help bring final resolution and solace to other parents. Out of that nightmare of torment, when she had come close to madness and death, had emerged at least one decent thing from the agony. She could recreate the faces of those lost, murdered children. But not her little Bonnie. Search as she would, she had not found her child. What good was all her fine skill if she couldn't use it to bring her daughter home to rest, she thought bitterly. Her Bonnie was still lost, and so was her killer.

"Eve?"

She jerked her attention back to the subject at hand. "But Venable doesn't want me to sculpt a reconstruction, he wants a computer age progression. I'm good at that, but I don't do enough to be called an expert. He could find someone faster and possibly more accurate just by making a few phone calls. I know the CIA has good technicians."

"But maybe he doesn't want to go through the agency," Joe said slowly. "He's paranoid about leaks, and he could trust you. Venable doesn't trust many people."

"Too bad. I'm not volunteering."

"You'd be crazy if you did." His lips tightened. "You're better off working yourself to the bone than playing in his ballpark. Who's the subject of this age progression?"

"I didn't ask. Maybe some war criminal they're trying to trace? For all I know, it could be Bin Laden. I don't want to know. It's not my job." She gazed down at the bones in front of her. "This is my job."

"Then do it." He flipped open his computer. "Let Venable pull his own chestnuts out of the fire."

At least the call from Venable had made Joe more reconciled to her accepting the reconstruction on Cindy, Eve thought. He was willing to admit that the long, painstaking hours she'd have to spend on piecing the little girl back together was the lesser of two evils.

You'd be safer if I'm the one who does it. I'm trying to avoid throwing you to the wolf.

Wolf. Singular. Not wolves.

Who was the wolf Venable was trying to save her from?

And she was still thinking about Venable's words, she realized impatiently. Forget him. Forget everything but the little girl who must become something more than this pitiful heap of bones. She had been someone's child. Long ago, someone had heard her prayers and tucked her into bed for the night. She deserved to go home to her parents and have them tuck her into her resting place one last time.

She reached out and gently touched the cranial bone. It will take a little while, but we'll get there, Cindy. We'll bring you home and find the bastard who did this to you.

She felt a wave of sickness wash over her. No matter how many times that she was brought face-to-face with this savagery, she never became calloused. But the sight of these shattered bones was particularly painful.

She couldn't imagine the barbaric mind-set that would allow someone to smash the bones of another human being. . . .

* * *

Salmeta, Colombia

SHE'D HAVE TO BREAK THE sentry's neck.

Catherine Ling moved silently down the path of the rain forest.

She couldn't risk using even a knife. He mustn't cry out.

No sound. Every movement had to have purpose and deadly intent.

The phone in her pocket vibrated.

Ignore it.

The other outer sentries had to be eliminated to clear the way back to the helicopter.

She was a yard from the sentry. Now she could see that he was bearded and close to middle age. Good. She hated to kill those fresh-faced kids even though they could sometimes be more lethal. Anyone who worked for Munoz was dirty, but she always had to work to get past that element of youth. Stupid. She should know better. As a teenager, she had made sure that no one performed with more deadly precision than she did.

He was tensing. He was sensing danger.

Move fast.

He was a good six inches taller. Bring him down to her level. Her booted foot sliced between his legs and hit the side of his right kneecap. He lost his balance. Before he could regain it, her arm encircled his neck.

She jerked back and twisted. His neck snapped.

He went limp.

Dead.

She let him fall to the ground, then dragged him deep into the shrubs. She'd already disposed of the other sentry guarding the path along the brook. Her way should be clear the three miles to Munoz's encampment.

Maybe. She had learned there was nothing certain where Munoz was concerned. She had been assigned to this hellhole for the last three years and made a study of the drug dealer. He was sadistic, volatile, and unpredictable. The stories that circulated about his brutality were sickening. His vicious profile was the major contributor to the storm of anxiety surrounding his kidnapping of coffee executive Ned Winters and his fourteen-year-old daughter Kelly. He was holding them hostage until the Colombian government released his brother Manuel from prison and every day a new and bloody threat was issued.

Her phone was vibrating again.

She glanced at the ID. Venable.

She punched the button, and whispered, "I've nothing to report. I'm on my way, but I won't be at the Munoz camp for another fifteen minutes."

"Call it off. Now that you've located him, we'll send in the Special Forces to get Winters and his daughter out."

"And get them killed. They don't have my contacts and they don't know this terrain and, by the time they do, it may be too late. Munoz has promised he'll kill Winters and his daughter unless his brother's released. Those idiots in the Colombian government are stalling. I think they want Winters killed so they can get U.S. help to stage a full-scale attack on Munoz and the rebels."

"I don't give a damn what you think. Back off."

"No, we made a deal. You agreed to give me what I wanted if I managed to locate and free the Winterses. I can do this. I've been watching the Munoz camp since yesterday, and I know exactly how I can pull it off."

"It's too dangerous."

She stiffened. She caught a note in his voice that made her uneasy. "You didn't give a damn about that when I called you and told you that I'd find a way of getting Winters and his daughter away from Munoz. All you cared about was that it was going to get the heat off the director."

"No, that's not all I cared about. Two American citizens are at risk. That matters to me."

"Then you back off. Let me get them out."

"Alone?"

"No, Ron Timbers is going to be on watch outside the camp. There's only one guard at the tent where they're keeping the hostages. I can slice through the back of the tent and get them out that way. Ron will warn me if there's any move from the guard. Bill Neely is bringing in the helicopter at a glade four miles from the camp. Why are you questioning me? I'm good. You know I can do this."

"I know you have a decent chance." He paused. "But I thought I should tell you that I may not be able to give you everything you want in exchange. I'll give you access to the Rakovac file. I can't promise you Eve Duncan. She turned me down."

Catherine muttered a curse. "Then go back and find a way to make her do it. I have to have her."

"I can get you someone better. Technically, this isn't Eve Duncan's area of expertise."

"I want Eve Duncan. Persuade her."

"You can have the file, but I can't promise Duncan. She walks her own path. Like you, Catherine."

"Bullshit. I stopped walking my own path when you pulled me into working for the Company when I was seventeen. Since then, I've worked every dirty assignment you chose to toss me."

"True. But how could I resist? You were a natural. Clever, lethal, and with a survival instinct that made you almost unstoppable. I considered it a recruiting masterpiece. After twelve years, I still do, Catherine."

"I'm not complaining. I knew what I was getting into. I never expected anything else." She'd grown up on the streets of Hong Kong and barely managed to exist without starving for her first six years. All her life she'd had to fight for what she wanted, and Venable was no worse than other men who had tried to use her. Sometimes, she even liked him. He was totally dedicated to his work with the CIA and would let nothing stand in his way. It was surprising that she'd managed to work a deal with him about releasing that top secret restricted file. If the director hadn't been getting so much heat from the media about the Winters kidnapping, she might not have fared so well. But the file wasn't enough. She had to have more. "Eve Duncan. You know where the bodies are buried on every continent in the world. Bribe her, blackmail her, make her an offer she can't refuse. I don't care how you do it. Just get her for me." | Close

While mapping the ancient (now underwater) city of Marinth in the Mediterranean Sea, submersible designer Hannah Bryson discovers the shocking cause of the civilization's doom from a submerged fresco in the city center--the surrounding waters for hundreds of miles were afflicted with what we now call an Oxygen Minimum Zone or a "Shadow Zone", a condition in which oxygen has been leached from the waters, devastating plant and marine life. For an island dependent on such life for their survival, this caused a famine that many did not survive. In Marinth's case, it was caused by a rare algae. Hannah recovers samples of this algae and hands them off to a sister research vessel to take back to land for further analysis, but the samples never reach the lab. The truck en route to the vessel i [...] Read More

While mapping the ancient (now underwater) city of Marinth in the Mediterranean Sea, submersible designer Hannah Bryson discovers the shocking cause of the civilization's doom from a submerged fresco in the city center--the surrounding waters for hundreds of miles were afflicted with what we now call an Oxygen Minimum Zone or a "Shadow Zone", a condition in which oxygen has been leached from the waters, devastating plant and marine life. For an island dependent on such life for their survival, this caused a famine that many did not survive. In Marinth's case, it was caused by a rare algae. Hannah recovers samples of this algae and hands them off to a sister research vessel to take back to land for further analysis, but the samples never reach the lab. The truck en route to the vessel is brutally attacked. Not coincidentally, Kirov finally appears after disappearing for many months and Hannah suspects that the intrigue surrounding her discovery is what brought him back. Soon it becomes clear that someone has nefarious plans to build a master weapon out of this algae and in their desperate race to stop him, Hannah finds herself catapulted into an adventure in which she finds herself even doubting the intentions of her fiercest protector, Kirov. | Close

CHAPTER 1

 

Marinth Underwater 
Archaeological Site 
Atlantic Ocean 
Copernicus Research Vessel 
7:10 a.m.

 

"HEY, I DIDN'T SEE YOU IN the galley for breakfast, Hannah," Josh Carnaby said as he strolled down the deck toward her. "You okay?"

 

"Fine." Hannah Bryson made a face as she gestured to the satellite phone in her hand. "I'm just trying to get through to my sister-in-law before we go down in the minisub. I want to talk to my nephew, and the time difference between here and Boston usually screws everything up." Her lips tightened determinedly. "But I will get through, dammit."

 

"An emergency?"

She shook her head. "It's my nephew Ronnie's twelfth birthday." Her expression became shadowed. "It's the first one since my brother's death. I want to touch base with him. It's going to be tough on Ronnie. It's going to be tough on all of them."

 

Josh nodded soberly. "It's only been a couple months since Conner died. The wound has to be still raw." He was silent a moment. "Damn, I miss him. The entire crew misses him. Every time I see you, I expect Conner to be right beside you."

 

As he'd been beside her all through the years, she thought. They'd not only been brother and sister, they'd worked together on hundreds of undersea projects, traveled the world together, and been best friends. She missed his sweetness, his humor, his gentle way of opening her eyes to the good things around her when all she could see was darkness. Dear God, how she missed him. "Yeah, I know." She swallowed hard and quickly gazed out at the sun-dappled sea. Get control. She mustn't be all teary when she talked to Ronnie. "Conner would have loved this job. He was always telling me that I spent too much time involved with machines and not enough enjoying the wonders the machines could uncover." She smiled with an effort. "Here I don't have a choice. The wonders are all around me whenever I go down to that lost city that all the historians are trying to link with Atlantis."

 

"That city would be damn hard to uncover if you hadn't been so brilliant and designed those minisubs." He was silent a moment. "I just want you to know that I appreciate you letting me go down with you and having a part in this show. It's the chance of a lifetime, and you've always been the best boss a guy could have. I'll never be as good as Conner, and I know it probably hurts you to work with anyone else. But it's been an experience I'll never forget."
"Bullshit," she said unevenly. "If you weren't terrific at your job, I wouldn't have chosen you. We make a good team." She drew a deep breath. "Now get out of here and let me make my telephone call. We're supposed to dive in thirty minutes, and I won't go down until I've talked to Ronnie."

 

He grinned. "I'm on my way." He moved down the deck. "I'll even keep Ebersole away from you. He was asking for you at breakfast."

 

Hannah groaned. "Then I'm glad I skipped it. For the last three days, he's been cornering me and squeezing every bit of progress information out of me."

 

"Imagine that. But since he's chief operating officer of AquaCorp, and AquaCorp is funding our little expedition, you can understand how he'd have a slight interest in the operation."

 

"Moneymen," Hannah said. "The bane of my life." She made a shooing motion. "Go. Keep him off my back until I finish my call, and I'll be eternally grateful."

 

"Consider it done."

 

She smiled as she watched him stroll away from her. Yes, Josh would find a way to give her these few moments' respite. He'd been a member of her team for years, but she'd learned new respect and affection for him since she'd lost Conner.

 

She dialed Cathy's number again. It rang six times, but Cathy finally picked up.

 

"Hi, I've been trying to get through to you. Everything okay?"

 

"Sure, we're about to cut the cake. Ronnie's been on the phone with my mom." Cathy chuckled. "And Donna had to have her turn. She doesn't totally understand the concept of special treatment on birthdays."

 

"She's only five."

 

"And Ronnie doesn't mind. He's a very protective big brother with her." She was silent a moment. "Particularly since Conner died. He thinks I need help with her."

 

"He's a great kid."

 

"You bet he is. The best."

 

"How are you doing, Cathy?"

 

"I'm surviving. Some days are better than others. This one is not so great." She changed the subject. "We saw you on the Discovery Channel this week. Donna was very excited."

 

"And Ronnie?"

 

"Thoughtful. I was worried that he might be thinking about Conner. I tried to talk to him, but he closed me out," she said. "We're okay, Hannah. Stop worrying about us."

 

"You're my family. It goes with the territory."

 

"We worry about you too. We're not the one who's careening around in the depths of the ocean in that weird contraption." She paused. "You named that exploration minisub you use after Conner. It came as a shock when that announcer started talking about Conner One."

 

"Conner would have liked this sub. I can hear him laughing because it's so crazy-looking."

 

"Yeah, he always teased you about your mechanical ‘creatures,'” she said. "It's kind of . . . comforting to have his name on one. Thank you for doing it, Hannah."

 

"I'm selfish. I did it for me."

 

Copyright © 2010 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

| Close

In this relentlessly page-turning thriller, Eve Duncan and her adopted daughter, Jane Macguire, are pitted against the members of a secretive cult who have targeted Jane and have decided that she will be their ultimate sacrifice. In eight days they will come for her. In eight days, what Jane fears the most will become a reality. In eight days, she will die. It all begins with a painting that Jane, an artist, displays in her Parisian gallery. The painting is called "Guilt" and Jane has no idea how or why she painted the portrait of the chilling face. But the members of a cult who worship Judas Iscariot believe that Jane's blasphemy means she must die. But first, she will lead them to the eight pieces of missing silver that Judas received for his betrayal of Christ. The silver, and Jane's de [...] Read More

In this relentlessly page-turning thriller, Eve Duncan and her adopted daughter, Jane Macguire, are pitted against the members of a secretive cult who have targeted Jane and have decided that she will be their ultimate sacrifice. In eight days they will come for her. In eight days, what Jane fears the most will become a reality. In eight days, she will die. It all begins with a painting that Jane, an artist, displays in her Parisian gallery. The painting is called "Guilt" and Jane has no idea how or why she painted the portrait of the chilling face. But the members of a cult who worship Judas Iscariot believe that Jane's blasphemy means she must die. But first, she will lead them to the eight pieces of missing silver that Judas received for his betrayal of Christ. The silver, and Jane's death, are all that they need for their power to come to ultimate fruition. With Eve's help, can Jane escape before the clock stops ticking? | Close

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

The gallery was dark. Celine must have turned out the lights when she had put on the alarm before she left.

 

Jane froze for a second as she stepped out of the elevator.

 

The carved oak door of the front entrance was directly across the room from where she was standing.

 

She could see the headlights of the taxi through the plate-glass window to the right of the door.

 

Stay where you are, Celine. Don't get out of the taxi.

 

She ran across the room.

 

Distract him. Quick.

 

When she was close enough to be heard, she stopped, and called, "I'm here. Are you out there, scum?"

 

Nothing.

 

"You're brave on the telephone. Talk to me, bastard."

 

Silence.

 

Had he gone away, or was he waiting for Celine to come toward the door?

 

And then the front door began to slowly open.

 

She froze.

 

But it couldn't be opening. The door was locked, and the alarm would have gone off.

 

She took a step back, her grasp tightening on the butcher knife.

 

Someone was there.

 

A dark form was silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlight.

 

Her heart was pounding. Where the hell were the police?

 

"Blasphemer." He stepped forward. "He told me to wait for you. I'm trying to wait, but it's an agony. Come to me." He had something in his hand, something dark and pointed. "Surely the angels will forgive me."

 

"I've called the police. They'll be here any minute." Dear God, he was big. But she had the knife, knew karate, and if that wasn't a gun in his hand, she might be able to—

 

He sprang toward her.

 

She sidestepped, then sprang forward, and the edge of her hand came down on the side of his neck. It was only a glancing blow, but he staggered and almost fell. She ran past him and out into the street.

 

The taxi. Warn Celine.

"Celine! Stay where you are. Don't come—"

 

A hand grasped her shoulder, spun her around. "Bitch." That bastard had followed her from the gallery. He was raising his hand with the odd-shaped weapon. Her foot lashed out and connected between his legs.

 

He screamed but didn't release her.

 

She'd have to use the knife.

 

He suddenly arched violently backward and cried out.

 

What was hap—?

 

Then she saw the gleam of metal as a dagger exited his chest.

 

Someone was behind him. In the darkness, she could only make out a man, tall, lean, powerful.

 

"Jane."

 

He knew her name, but so had the bastard on the phone. Her hand tightened on the butcher knife. She stiffened, waiting.

 

The man who had attacked her was falling to the street.

 

"Don't make me take the knife away from you, Jane. You'd fight, and I might hurt you."

 

She knew that voice and that faint Scottish accent. Relief poured through her as her gaze flew to his face. "Jock?" She stared at him in bewilderment as she lowered the knife. "What are you doing here?"

 

"At the moment, cleaning up Venable's mistakes." Jock Gavin was bending over the man lying before them, going through his pockets. "And trying to get a step ahead of the police I hear a few blocks away. You called them?"

"Yes." She could hear the sirens, too, now. Relief was surging through her. The police were coming. Jock was here, everything would be all right. She could trust Jock. At times she felt as if they had been closer than brother and sister.

 

He flipped open the man's wallet. "Henri Folard."

 

She was suddenly jarred out of her shock. "Oh God, you killed him, Jock."

 

"Yes."

 

"You'll get in trouble. I could only report an obscene caller. I don't even know if we can even prove he was trying to attack me. I know you were only trying to help me, but you have to get out of here."

 

"No. Tell them I was up there in the suite already, and I came down to protect you until the police got here."

 

"But we can't prove he was any threat to me. It was only an obscene—"

 

"We can prove it, Jane," Jock said gently. "Look at the door."

 

"Door? What are you talking about?" Jock's hands were on her shoulders, gently turning her to face the gallery, to face the huge oak door that had slowly swung open to reveal the man who had attacked her. "What has—"

 

She lifted her head and looked at the door, which had swung back closed from the weight of the burden it carried. The burden that was now illuminated by the streetlight.

 

"No! Oh, God in heaven, no!"

 

Celine Denarve, still dressed in her flamboyant red cloak, stared back at Jane, her face frozen and contorted with pain and horror. She had been nailed to a cross that had been fixed to the oak door by a huge crucifix nail. There were nails in her palms and feet.

 

There was another nail piercing her chest.

 

Jane screamed.

 

Copyright © 2010 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

 

 

| Close

First comes darkness, then comes fear... Eve Duncan is back! Blockbuster New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen’s latest thriller brings Eve closer to discovering her daughter’s killer…and into a web of danger from which she may not be able to escape… Eve Duncan returns in a thriller that pits her against the most evil mind she has ever encountered: a ruthless killer who taunts her with his every move…and who has a special affinity for blood. When a Georgia senator’s daughter is found murdered, and her body drained of blood, Eve Duncan is drawn into the web of Kevin Jelak—a serial murderer who is on Eve’s short list of killers who might know something about her missing daughter Bonnie. When a goblet of blood is found in Eve&rsqu [...] Read More

First comes darkness, then comes fear... Eve Duncan is back! Blockbuster New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen’s latest thriller brings Eve closer to discovering her daughter’s killer…and into a web of danger from which she may not be able to escape… Eve Duncan returns in a thriller that pits her against the most evil mind she has ever encountered: a ruthless killer who taunts her with his every move…and who has a special affinity for blood. When a Georgia senator’s daughter is found murdered, and her body drained of blood, Eve Duncan is drawn into the web of Kevin Jelak—a serial murderer who is on Eve’s short list of killers who might know something about her missing daughter Bonnie. When a goblet of blood is found in Eve’s refrigerator, she knows the taunting is over…and the games have begun. As Eve and Jelak engage in a dance of death, Eve must call upon those she loves and trusts the most…even if it means bringing them into the game as well. | Close

CHAPTER 1

 

The woman was fruitful. 
She had given to him, and he must give back. 

 

Kevin Jelak arranged her naked body carefully on the grass. He brushed her long blond hair back from her face and closed her blue eyes, which were staring straight up at the sky. But he could do nothing about the twisted horror that was frozen on her face. She hadn’t understood the honor he was doing her. Well, what could you expect? Nancy Jo Norris was only nineteen, and she didn’t know what nightmares could attack a woman, the nightmares from which he’d saved her. He preferred to honor older, more experienced women, but the fever had been upon him, and he’d had to compromise. 

 

The fever. You didn’t realize how fortunate you were, Nancy Jo. I might have driven right past you if the torment hadn’t been so intense and if I hadn’t been forced to confine myself to such a small corner of the world. 

 

The corner of the world that contained Eve Duncan. Wonderful, strong, tortured Eve Duncan. Eve knew about the nightmares. She had lived through them. She might pretend that she wanted life, but deep in her heart of hearts she only wanted the release he could give her. The release he must give her. He had known that she would be his final move in the game. But she had destroyed his prime source, and it was his duty to take the time and effort to single her out for attention right away. 

 

He looked up at the crescent moon, sharp as a scythe in the night sky. “Eve, do you hear me?” he whispered. “Do you feel me?” Then he closed his eyes and tried to form a picture of Eve in his mind. Short red-brown hair, thin, strong body, intelligent face brimming with character. 

 

“You’re not going to be easy. But I promise I will persevere.” 

 

In the meantime, he had this lesser woman, this Nancy Jo Norris, to do final honor. 

 

He took the golden goblet that he had cupped between her folded hands on her breasts. “You’re released, Nancy Jo. Take flight.” He bent and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. She was already turning cool as her soul departed. “Have you forgiven me yet? Do you realize the gift I’ve given you?” 

 

They were the questions he asked every time but to no avail. He must be patient. Someday, one of them would give him that reassurance. 

 

Perhaps Eve Duncan . . . 
One final duty that was always pure pleasure. 

 

“Nancy Jo Norris.” He lifted the goblet to his lips, his gaze once more on the night sky and the cold, sharp sliver of moon. “Gift to Gift.” 
He drained the goblet.  

 

***

 

The crescent moon was bright and cold, tossing its icy glitter over the sleeping fields that bordered the highway leading toward the Atlanta airport. 

 

Cold? Why had that word suddenly occurred to her, Eve wondered. She was on her way to pick up her adopted daughter, Jane, arriving from Paris, and until a few minutes ago she had been filled with warmth and excitement. 

 

She was being foolish. She was still filled with that same love and excitement. This chill was only because it was the middle of the night and probably a carryover from the last few days Joe and she had spent in the swamp tracking down that monster, Henry Kistle. It had been a nightmare period when the serial killer had taken a little girl hostage to lure Eve to come after him. She could do nothing else when he had lied to her and told her that he was the one who had killed her little girl, Bonnie, all those years ago. The nightmare had taken on gigantic proportions when they discovered the island on which dozens of murdered children had been buried. Yes, that was enough to chill anyone to the bone. 

 

Together with the realization that Joe Quinn was growing farther and farther away from her every minute she continued to search for the body of her murdered daughter, Bonnie. All the years of love and living together that might be coming to an end because she couldn’t bear not to continue to try to bring her Bonnie home. Years ago, her child had been kidnapped and presumed murdered. When they later discovered that Ralph Fraser, who had confessed and been executed for multiple murders, was not the killer, she had started on the search to find the man who had taken her daughter. 

 

 

Copyright © 2009 by Johansen Publishing LLP. | Close

Rachel Kirby is a computer genius whose personal life is hell. Her beloved twin sister has a chronic illness that will ultimately take her life. After that, Rachel will have no one. Until one day she receives a mysterious email from someone trapped inside a collapsed Egyptian tomb, thousands of miles away. John Tanek knows that Rachel is his only hope of survival and with trademark grim humor, he considers himself lucky that one thing on this expedition has gone right: his laptop still works. With time running out, Rachel orchestrates his rescue--and in doing so, drags herself into a deadly web. Because Tanek's "accident" was hardly that. What he has discovered is something many people want…and will kill for. Rachel soon learns that she needs the knowledge from the tomb as well, bec [...] Read More

Rachel Kirby is a computer genius whose personal life is hell. Her beloved twin sister has a chronic illness that will ultimately take her life. After that, Rachel will have no one. Until one day she receives a mysterious email from someone trapped inside a collapsed Egyptian tomb, thousands of miles away. John Tanek knows that Rachel is his only hope of survival and with trademark grim humor, he considers himself lucky that one thing on this expedition has gone right: his laptop still works. With time running out, Rachel orchestrates his rescue--and in doing so, drags herself into a deadly web. Because Tanek's "accident" was hardly that. What he has discovered is something many people want…and will kill for. Rachel soon learns that she needs the knowledge from the tomb as well, because it may hold the key to her sister's cure. That is, if she can trust John Tanek not to betray her. And if they both live long enough to unravel the mystery of an ancient female physician. With Johansen and Johansen's trademark research, fast-pace, charismatic characters, and intriguing twists, STORM CYCLE will carry you away... | Close

CHAPTER ONE - ARDMORE UNIVERSITY HOUSTON, TEXAS

The trees on the hill should be a perfect cover, Pelham thought.

He moved quickly up the incline from the side of the road, where he’d hidden his car. The sun was low in the sky. He didn’t have much time before the Kirby woman would be run­ning down the path toward the Science Building. For the last five days Rachel Kirby had been putting in twenty-hour work­days, taking only four hours to rest at her condo before she’d gone back to the lab to work. Today should be no different. She’d drive her car to the parking lot three miles from the Science Building and run the rest of the way.

Pelham knelt as he reached the trees and gazed down at the campus below. A few students were strolling on the sidewalk, and there was a girl sitting on the steps of the English Building working on her laptop.

Should he take them out? It would confuse the motivation. The police would think he was just a nutcase if he didn’t focus solely on Rachel Kirby. But it would also raise a public outcry and make the chase hotter for him.

Oh well, he’d decide later. His instincts were usually good when it came down to the final moment.

He opened his gun case.

“Wait, Rachel.” Rachel turned at the front door to see Allie coming down the stairs. “I’ve got to get back to the lab, Allie. I’m late.”

“Not too late to talk to me for a moment.” Allie closed the door and leaned on it, blocking her way. “You’ve got to stop this, Rachel. It was bad before, but now you’re being stupid. You’re working yourself to exhaustion.”

“I have a few problems to iron out. I’ll rest when I get back on level ground.”

“If you don’t have a breakdown.” Her sister smiled. “We can’t have two invalids around here. Letty would quit on us.”

“I haven’t heard Letty complaining.”

Allie’s smile faded. “No, you wouldn’t. Letty is like you. Nothing is too good for me. Even if it means that you’re both strained to the max.”

Rachel didn’t want to hear this. She had known it was com­ing. Allie had been too quiet, and Rachel had been aware of her sister watching her, but she had hoped to avoid a confrontation. “We’re not strained. I don’t need much sleep, and I’m as healthy as a horse. And Letty wouldn’t have her life any other way. She loves taking care of you.”

“I know that. She’s going to hate it when—”

“Shut up, Allie.”

“Why? I’m not afraid any longer. I’ve accepted it.” She looked her in the eye. “I want you to accept it, too, Rachel. It’s time.”

It was worse than Rachel thought it could be. “The hell it is. It’s not going to happen.”

“It’s already happening. When I go through one of these downward spirals, it gets harder to walk, and I lose control of my hands. My toothpaste went everyplace but on the brush this morning. And my eyesight is getting worse.”

“Your eyesight? When did this start?”

“Just in the last couple of weeks. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t happening, but I’ve lost a little of my peripheral vision. It scared me.” She made a face. “And then it made me mad. At any rate, it was a wake-up call.”

“You know how GLD works. Symptoms come and go. It may be years before it gets any worse.”

Allie nodded. “I know that. Next week it may correct itself, and I’ll have a good period. But I have to be ready. You have to be ready.”

Rachel closed her eyes. Dammit. Allie had been struggling with this disease since she was a child, but the past few years had been especially brutal. Globoid Cell Leukodystrophy, aka GLD or Krabbe’s Disease, was a rare disorder of the nervous sys­tem that most commonly attacked infants. They seldom lived past the age of two, but late-onset GLD patients such as Allie were all over the map in terms of symptoms and prognosis.

Allie brushed her hair away from her face. “You can’t stop it by working yourself to death for me. That’s not what I want. Do you want to know what I want?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or not, you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“You bet I am.” She smiled. “I’m lonely, Rachel. I want you to spend time with me instead of in that lab tilting at windmills. The battle is over. Let’s make our peace with it and enjoy.”

Every gentle word Allie was speaking was tearing her apart. “It’s not over,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let it be over.”

“You can’t work miracles, Rachel. You’ve already gone above and beyond. You started a research foundation for me, for God’s sake. Because of you, half of the computers in the free world are working on a cure for GLD.”

“The foundation is close to a breakthrough. They’ll come through. I just have to keep—” Allie was shaking her head. “Don’t you dare give up now. I won’t have it.”

“I’ll fight as long as I can. You deserve that from me. I de­serve that for myself. But I’m not going to pretend anymore. Now will you stay home and get some rest?”

Rachel shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Allie moved away from the door. “Then go on and tilt at some more windmills. But when you get tired, come home and be with me.” She started up the stairs. She was moving slowly. It was another sign of the toll the disease was exacting, Rachel thought in agony. When she was going through a down spiral, all the energy and vitality that was Allie was shaded like a lamp with the light turned low. She was two years younger than Ra­chel and when she had her full strength far more attractive. Her huge dark eyes, peaches- and-cream complexion, and sleek red-gold hair gave her drama and fascination. But today her eyes were shadowed. She seemed thinner and more fragile than she had even last week.

“I’ll try to take some time off tomorrow,” she called after her.

“That will be nice.” Allie looked back over her shoulder. “Stop frowning. It’s okay, Rachel. I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you. I’ve made a good life for myself. I keep busy. I paint, I work on my cars, I do stained glass. But I love you more than anyone in the world, and I want you to be part of that life. I just had to tell you how I felt.”

“You’re wrong, Allie.”

“Maybe. Don’t work too hard tonight.” She disappeared around the turn of the stairs.

Copyright © 2009 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

| Close

Emily Hudson is an archeologist who travels the world in search of priceless artifacts from war-torn countries and other hot spots. Her best friend and partner, Joel Levy, is always at her side—until one day, her entire crew is massacred and Joel and Emily are held captive. Victims of one of the most ruthless and evil human beings on earth. For two weeks they try to survive, until Emily is the unwitting instrument in Joel’s demise. John Garrett has worked for the CIA, MI6, and whoever else needed his services. Now, the CIA comes calling with a desperate mission for him: save Emily Hudson. But their may be more to this job than they let him know. And soon, his connection to Emily has him questioning everything he thought to be true. Emily has vengeance on her mind. W [...] Read More

Emily Hudson is an archeologist who travels the world in search of priceless artifacts from war-torn countries and other hot spots. Her best friend and partner, Joel Levy, is always at her side—until one day, her entire crew is massacred and Joel and Emily are held captive. Victims of one of the most ruthless and evil human beings on earth. For two weeks they try to survive, until Emily is the unwitting instrument in Joel’s demise. John Garrett has worked for the CIA, MI6, and whoever else needed his services. Now, the CIA comes calling with a desperate mission for him: save Emily Hudson. But their may be more to this job than they let him know. And soon, his connection to Emily has him questioning everything he thought to be true. Emily has vengeance on her mind. Will Garrett aid her in getting revenge? Can Emily help him get to the truth behind a bigger conspiracy? Or will they both die trying…With lightning-fast pacing, plot twists and shocking betrayals, Iris Johansen is at the top of her game in this latest thriller. | Close

CHAPTER 1  
Darlov, Afghanistan

 

"That's the end of it." Joel Levy stepped back from the bed of the truck with a sigh of satisfaction. "Now, can we get the hell out of here, Emily? I don't like the look of those clouds. All we need is to get caught in a snowstorm to make this trip a total waste of time."

 

"It's not been a waste of time," Emily Hudson said as she zipped up her fleece-lined jacket. But Joel was right, the temperature had dropped dramatically in the last hour, and the air had a bite to it. "Just because we didn't find anything that we haven't seen before doesn't mean that those artifacts aren't worth saving. It means something to these people, this country."

"Save the lecture for your class at the university," Joel said. "All I know is that we drove all the way up here into the mountains to this little museum that no one but us seems to give a damn about. And no wonder. Most of those artifacts are less than a hundred years old."

"And you wanted to find Alexander's sword or a new version of the Bible." Emily made a face at him. "And I'm not lecturing you. Do you think I'm nuts? I know it would be hopeless. I don't know how you got your doctorate. You're no scholar, you're an Indiana Jones wannabe."

"You're just jealous." Joel grinned. "You want to be Indiana Jones, too, but you're weighed down by paperwork and responsibility. All that stuff is sapping the joy of life out of you. You should never have taken this job, Emily."

 

She shrugged. "It needed doing."

"And the U.N. wasn't willing to pay anyone else enough to risk their necks like we do." He corrected himself, "Like you do. After this job, I'm going home to settle down and write my memoirs."

 

"No publisher would buy it. You're only twenty-seven."

"But I've aged in the last five years I've worked with you. I'll lie a little, embroider a little, and then Spielberg will buy my book for the movies."

 

"Good luck." Joel was always threatening to quit, but he never did. He had a fine mind, but he was too restless for university work and liked moving from country to country. He'd certainly had enough of that working with Emily. The U.N. sent them to the hot spots and war zones of the world to catalog, verify, and move the contents of museums to special preservation centers until it was considered safe to return the cultural treasures to their home bases. Not only did Joel have a Ph.D. in Archaeology and Antiquities, but he was fluent in Hebrew and several other Middle Eastern languages, making him invaluable to Emily. "But if you stay home, Maggie will make you marry her. No more ships that pass in the night."

 

He flinched. "Maybe I'll go on one more job with you."

 

"Is that the last load, Emily?" Al Turner stuck his head out the window from the driver's seat. "We'd better hit it. It looks like snow."

 

"I'm surrounded by weathermen," Emily said as she turned back to the museum. "That's it, Al. You and Don go on. Joel and I will take one more look around, then follow you in the other truck."

"Don't be too long," Al said. "You don't want to be caught by weather in these hills. I know the U.N. said they'd cleared the area of bandits, but they've been wrong before."

No one knew that better than Emily. She and Joel had almost been blown up in Baghdad when the military had assured them that the area the museum occupied was in a safe zone. Joel swore that the U.N. had pressured the military to make a hasty judgment. The artifacts in that museum had been priceless, and the U.N. had not wanted either theft or damage done as a result of the war effort. It would have been "awkward."

Copyright © 2009 by Johansen Publishing LLP.
| Close

Set largely in 12th-century Europe, this intricately plotted historical romance from bestseller Johansen, the sequel to Lion's Bride (1996), is replete with majestic castles, ruthless assassins and gentlemen rogues. Two star-crossed lovers become unwilling participants in a deadly struggle for control of an artifact that could contain the very secrets to immortality itself. Ex-assassin Kadar Ben Arnaud wants nothing more than to live a quiet life in Scotland with the love of his life, former slave Selene Ware. But when Arnaud is summoned by his old master to collect on a promise he made years earlier, he's honor-bound to leave the safety of his home and embark on a perilous journey to steal a priceless treasure from a stronghold in Tuscany. When Ware is kidnapped, Arnaud finds himself forc [...] Read More

Set largely in 12th-century Europe, this intricately plotted historical romance from bestseller Johansen, the sequel to Lion's Bride (1996), is replete with majestic castles, ruthless assassins and gentlemen rogues. Two star-crossed lovers become unwilling participants in a deadly struggle for control of an artifact that could contain the very secrets to immortality itself. Ex-assassin Kadar Ben Arnaud wants nothing more than to live a quiet life in Scotland with the love of his life, former slave Selene Ware. But when Arnaud is summoned by his old master to collect on a promise he made years earlier, he's honor-bound to leave the safety of his home and embark on a perilous journey to steal a priceless treasure from a stronghold in Tuscany. When Ware is kidnapped, Arnaud finds himself forced to embrace the darkness of his past in order to save her. | Close

It begins with a single shot. Devon Brady is a devoted veterinarian working in a makeshift hospital on a remote search and rescue mission. When a man arrives with his wounded black Lab, Ned, she has no idea that she is about to be plunged into a whirlwind of terror and destruction. Jude Marrock is out for revenge and has no choice but to involve Devon in a high-stakes cat-and-mouse game with an escalating body count. She doesn’t trust him one bit, but when the shots start flying and friends start falling, she finds herself with nowhere else to run. And there are innocent lives, both human and animal, at stake, including Ned and his mysterious pack. Is Jude her salvation or her damnation? Are the secrets he’s protecting worth killing for . . . or dying for? With a lightning [...] Read More

It begins with a single shot. Devon Brady is a devoted veterinarian working in a makeshift hospital on a remote search and rescue mission. When a man arrives with his wounded black Lab, Ned, she has no idea that she is about to be plunged into a whirlwind of terror and destruction. Jude Marrock is out for revenge and has no choice but to involve Devon in a high-stakes cat-and-mouse game with an escalating body count. She doesn’t trust him one bit, but when the shots start flying and friends start falling, she finds herself with nowhere else to run. And there are innocent lives, both human and animal, at stake, including Ned and his mysterious pack. Is Jude her salvation or her damnation? Are the secrets he’s protecting worth killing for . . . or dying for? With a lightning-fast pace, unforgettable characters, and gut-wrenching action, Dark Summer is compelling new terrain for this master storyteller. | Close

CHAPTER 1
 

Santa Marina Island

1:30 A.M.

 

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO FIND anyone, you crazy dog.” Jude Marrok climbed over another pile of rubble, trying to keep up with the black Lab. “And I’m not going to keep on chasing after you. I’ll give you fifteen more minutes. After that, I’m calling the helicopter.” 

 

Ned didn’t even look back as he sniffed desperately at the remains of houses toppled by the earthquake. He was making soft, whimpering noises as he searched the ruins for life. 

 

Marrok muttered a curse beneath his breath. Dammit, he should have taken the dog down to the main rescue area after they’d been dropped by the helicopter in the foothills. This side of the mountain had already been searched by the canine rescue teams. 

 

When the volcano on this small Caribbean island had caused a 7.5 earthquake six days ago, it had devastated the two villages on both slopes of the mountain. The rescue teams had worked tirelessly on both villages, but after no one was found, they had abandoned this smaller village to concentrate on the one on the far side of the mountain. His dog, Ned, had refused to go to the other side of the mountain and insisted on going to the now- deserted village, and Marrok had gone along with him. Most of the time the Lab’s instincts were pretty good, and it wasn’t that unusual for him to find survivors after other rescue teams had abandoned hope. But they’d been searching for two hours, and Ned had not found any signs of life. 

 

And the blasted dog wouldn’t give up. The longer he searched, the more frantic he was becoming. He was whimpering now, and if he started barking, it could bring the soldiers who were guarding the ruins from vandals and looters. That couldn’t happen. Jude hadn’t had time to get papers when he decided to bring Ned to the disaster site. He’d put the usual Red Cross halter jacket on Ned, but the military would demand more proof. 

 

Oh, what the hell. He’d worry about being thrown in the local hoosegow if it happened. After all, he’d brought Ned here to put a stop to the depression he’d noticed in him for the last few weeks, and he’d stay the course. The dog’s depression used to be present only after he’d gone to a site and found nothing but the dead, but lately he always seemed to be waiting for any opportunity to make the attempt at rescue. 

 

Ned had stopped at a heap of timber and turned his head to stare at him with pleading dark eyes. 

 

“Okay, I’ll take a look.” He began to pull aside the debris. “But don’t get your hopes up, buddy.” He worked for fifteen minutes, and all the while Ned just sat gazing anxiously at him. “I told you. You know how many times it turns out that—” He stopped. “Shit.” 

 

Ned was whimpering, pressing close to his knees. 

 

“Dead.” The villager he’d uncovered was lying crumpled, his skull crushed. Poor bastard. “I told you. Now let’s go to the other side of the mountain where we have a chance of finding—” 

 

Ned lifted his head and howled. 

 

“No.” Marrok fell to his knees and put his arms around the Lab.  “Shhh, I know it hurts. Me, too. But you have to be quiet, Ned. We’re not supposed to be here.” Ned was whimpering again, but at least he wasn’t howling any longer. He buried his nose against Marrok’s chest. “We’ll keep looking. You’ll find someone alive. I promise.” He hoped he was telling the truth. It was breaking his heart to see Ned grieving. He stroked the dog’s head. “Come on. We’ll go and join the rescue teams on the other side of the mountain. You can show those other dogs how smart you are.” 

 

And Marrok would be walking a tightrope and have to lie himself blue in the face if he was challenged by anyone. Well, it wasn’t as if that would be unfamiliar territory. He had become an expert at both over the years. Ned was worth any amount of trouble he had to face. He got to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said gently. “No reason for staying here. We can’t help him.” He put a marker on the spot for body retrieval. “It will be better if we—” 

 

Ned was no longer beside him. He was running across the rubble, his lean midnight-black body taut with eagerness. He had caught another scent, Marrok realized, and he was following it with reckless speed. It seemed the dog wasn’t ready to obey him, he thought ruefully. It  wasn’t surprising since their relationship was that of close friends rather than master and canine. They had long ago passed that point. “Okay, we’ll go your way for a while.” He took off after Ned. “But you’d better be right this time. I can’t spend all night comforting you.” But he knew he’d do precisely that. You didn’t question when a friend was in need. He’d almost caught up with Ned, and the Lab was staring at him hopefully. “Let’s make a deal.” He started to bend to shift the debris. “If we don’t find anyone this time, you give it up and do it my—” 

 

A whistle of sound streaked by his cheek. 

 

Ned cried out and fell to the ground, blood pouring from his side. 

 

A bullet, dammit. 

 

Copyright © 2008 by Johansen Publishing LLP. | Close

Hannah Bryson is a marine architect who's been given a fascinating assignment. A Russian nuclear submarine called the Silent Thunder has been purchased by the United States for exhibition in a museum. All Hannah needs to do is run a schematic on the sub to check for hazards before it can be opened to the public. Her brother Connor, acting as her assistant, knows how much this work means to Hannah. But Connor discovers something on the sub…a mysterious message hidden behind one of the panels. And then, in a deadly explosion, Connor is killed. Hannah knows it's no accident, and the chase is on to find her brother's killer. Soon Hannah discovers that she's being used as bait. Because what she doesn't even realize she knows…could end her life as well. Brisk, exhilarating, an [...] Read More

Hannah Bryson is a marine architect who's been given a fascinating assignment. A Russian nuclear submarine called the Silent Thunder has been purchased by the United States for exhibition in a museum. All Hannah needs to do is run a schematic on the sub to check for hazards before it can be opened to the public. Her brother Connor, acting as her assistant, knows how much this work means to Hannah. But Connor discovers something on the sub…a mysterious message hidden behind one of the panels. And then, in a deadly explosion, Connor is killed. Hannah knows it's no accident, and the chase is on to find her brother's killer. Soon Hannah discovers that she's being used as bait. Because what she doesn't even realize she knows…could end her life as well. Brisk, exhilarating, and filled with authentic details, SILENT THUNDER is the brainchild of the biggest name in suspense, teamed with the meticulous research of an Edgar-award winning author. | Close

CHAPTER ONE

Rock Bay Harbor, Maine

Eight Months Later

"She’s beautiful, isn’t she?" Conner parked the van on the dock and leaned back in his seat with a sigh of contentment. "She looks like a panther. Sleek, graceful, and magnificently lethal."

"My God, you’re waxing poetic." Hannah chuckled and shook her head as she jumped out of the van. "It’s a machine, Conner. A submarine. And she’s beautiful only in the way a finely constructed machine is beautiful. It was designed and built by man. It’s not as if it’s alive."

"You have no soul." Conner got out of the van and moved eagerly toward the edge of the pier. "Do you think Michelangelo’s David has no beauty because it was carved from stone? This is the same thing."

"You always say that." She followed her brother to the edge of the pier and gazed appraisingly at the black submarine. But she could see why Conner was bubbling with enthusiasm. There was something sleek and elegant about all submarines and this Oscar II was no exception although the hull showed every one of its twenty-two years.  Officially named Kulyenchikov, the twin-reactor nuclear sub was dubbed Silent Thunder by its builders in the Severodvinsk shipyard, and the workers’ name stuck. An appropriate moniker, Hannah thought. The Silent Thunder’s dark, massive hull seemed to devour all light around it. At more than five hundred feet in length, it was one of the largest submarines in the world.

She glanced back at Conner. "You even thought that submersible I designed for the Titanic expedition was beautiful, and it looked like a goggle-eyed frog."

"Frogs can be beautiful." He made a face. "Well, they can be interesting-looking. Did I really say it was beautiful?"

She nodded. "But you were drunk at the time. It was the night we had the party at that bar in Halifax when the expedition was over. You were going home to Cathy and the kids, and you thought everything was beautiful."

"That was the longest time I ever had to be away from them. You had too many damn problems with that submersible."

"But interesting problems. And it performed well in the end."

He lifted a brow. "And that was all that was important to you. All the romance and excitement of the greatest expedition of the century, and you were only concerned with how efficiently your machine worked."

"You can have all the excitement." She took a step closer to the sub. "Satisfaction is enough for me. I did a good job, and it made it possible for all you dreamers to indulge yourselves to your hearts’ content."

"Well, thank God this job won’t be as all-consuming. Cathy told me she wanted me home in two weeks, or she was filing for divorce."

"Fat chance." Cathy was as practical as Conner was idealistic, and after ten years of marriage it had become second nature to her to act as her husband’s guardian as well as his lover. Since Cathy had been a high-powered and very successful aide to Congressman George Preston before the birth of their son, the transition was entirely natural. "But the job shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks. All I’m being paid for is doing a second schematic of the sub, checking it out for possible hazards, and suggesting a few tourist-friendly modifications before the museum opens it for exhibition. That’s the only reason I took the job. I needed a filler while I waited for them to be ready for me on the Marinth site."

"Oh, no, you couldn’t just sit back and rest for a little while. I’m surprised they didn’t do that check before they sailed it into this harbor. After all, it’s a nuclear submarine."

"The government did check it out for weapons and contamination last year when they discovered it hidden in that bay in Finland."

"That’s another weirdo. Why would the Russians want to hide this particular sub?"

"They say they didn’t, that they merely lost track of it during the political upheaval when the Soviet Union was breaking apart." She shrugged. "But the State Department thinks they’re giving us the usual bullshit. The Russians still don’t tell us anything they can keep to themselves. The scuttlebutt is that some Russian bureaucrat pocketed the money that had been appropriated for its dismantling. He paid off the shipyard director in Finland to hide it among the dozens of other ships and subs that the Russian Navy has there awaiting deactivation."

"There are that many?"

She nodded. "It’s expensive to scrap a submarine, especially if there are nuclear materials involved. Anyway, Bradworth says they’ve been very cooperative since the Finns discovered it."

"Bradworth?"

"Dan Bradworth, he’s the State Department liaison who negotiated with the Russians for the purchase of the sub for the Maritime Museum. Though not that much negotiation was necessary. Russia is so strapped for cash, they gave the museum a bargain. But the museum didn’t want to take any chances on surprises when they brought it here to set up the exhibit. That’s why Bradworth tapped us for the job."

"Tapped you," he corrected. "You’re the expert. You know it was the Ariel that got you the job."

She shrugged. "Maybe." Four years before, she’d designed a new Orca-class U.S. Navy submarine called Ariel, and it had marked a bold departure from what had come before. Nuclear-powered submarines had changed little in their first half century of use, and her innovative concepts brought her much attention among naval buffs and marine architects. Although the Orca program was ultimately shelved due to bud get cuts, the classified plans found their way into naval magazines and Web sites, where The Submarine That Never Was and its young creator had taken on a peculiar mystique. Whenever Hannah met someone in her profession, the Ariel was one of the first topics of conversation.

Copyright © 2008 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

| Close

Returning from Johansen’s New York Times bestselling thriller, Stalemate, forensic sculptor Eve Duncan is still reeling from the disappearance of her daughter, Bonnie.  Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she enlists the clairvoyant skills of Dr. Megan Blair to help find her. No strangers to looking for clues where there seem to be none, the two women use their highly specialized talents to hunt down Bonnie’s elusive kidnapper and return her to her mother’s arms. But is Bonnie still alive? Will the two women find her in time?  Iris Johansen strikes again with this non-stop, action packed thriller, keeping readers turning pages well into the night.

Returning from Johansen’s New York Times bestselling thriller, Stalemate, forensic sculptor Eve Duncan is still reeling from the disappearance of her daughter, Bonnie.  Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she enlists the clairvoyant skills of Dr. Megan Blair to help find her. No strangers to looking for clues where there seem to be none, the two women use their highly specialized talents to hunt down Bonnie’s elusive kidnapper and return her to her mother’s arms. But is Bonnie still alive? Will the two women find her in time?  Iris Johansen strikes again with this non-stop, action packed thriller, keeping readers turning pages well into the night. | Close

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEONE WAS WATCHING HIM. 

Henry Kistle’s hand tightened on the curtain as he looked down, careful to stay hidden from view. There, in the shadow of the elm a short distance down the street, was a tall, thin man. He was talking on a cell phone. Who was he talking to? Who had managed to track him down this time? 

Don’t be nervous, he told himself. It didn’t matter if one of them had found him. He had occasionally been found before and managed to survive. It was only a matter of removing the immediate threat and then running. But he saw to it that those bastards who made him run were always punished for it when he was safe again. 

And the immediate threat was standing down there waiting for him to make a mistake. A surge of anger tore through him. It wasn’t fair. He had a right to live and take what ever plea sure he could find in this crap yard of a world. 

Who was it? A father, a brother, a cop? Which one? 

It didn’t matter. He’d find out. But he had to be ready to go. Grab a few clothes. Pack his guns, his precious memory box, and have everything in the car. 

He turned away from the window. 

Damn him. He didn’t want to have to run now. He hadn’t had his fill yet of this small, sleepy town. Cities were safer, but pitting his wits against these yokels was exciting. They felt so safe that he could walk into their lives and take whatever he pleased. 

Oh, well, there would be another time. 

Another town. 

Another child... 

Yes, another child... 

“HE WENT INTO THE HOUSE AT seven this evening and hasn’t come out,” Jedroth said into his cell phone. “The lights are still on. It’s only eight- forty. They went out at eleven last night.” 

“And you’re sure he didn’t leave the place all night, Sheriff?” Joe Quinn asked. 

“I may not be a big-city cop, but I know my business,” Jedroth said sourly. “I wouldn’t let a scumbag like that out of my sight.” 

“And surveillance during the day?” 

“I have a deputy keeping an eye on him. But we can’t keep spending the taxpayers’ money without evidence. One more night and that’s it.” 

“I don’t have evidence. I just located Kistle late yesterday. I need more time.” 

“Look, I didn’t set up this surveillance without checking you out. I have an idea why you’re so hot to get your hands on this bastard. I’m going along with you because Kistle may be a threat to my town. But I’ve got to have more than your say-so.” 

“I understand. I’ll be up there by eight tomorrow morning to take over. If you need to contact me again, don’t use this number. The cell phone number I gave you will reach me.” 

“Get here as quick as you can.” The sheriff paused. “But we’re not going to quibble about a few hours. Kistle isn’t going anywhere. I have a few questions to ask him. We had a little boy go missing three weeks ago. Bobby Joe’s tennis shoes and shirt were found on the bank of the river and he was presumed drowned.” 

“No body recovery?” 

“Not yet. It’s a fast-moving river and there are branches on the bottom carried down from flooding up north. It would be easy for a swimmer to get trapped.” 

“It could happen.” 

“That’s what I thought until you called me yesterday and asked me to order surveillance on Kistle. 

I hate child molesters. We know how to treat them in 

my town.” 

“I’m sure you do. Call me if he makes a move.” 

Copyright © 2008 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

| Close

Dr. Megan Blair is a successful young physician known both for her skill and her empathy. In fact, she's almost too open to the emotional pains of her patients and their families. Unknowingly, she is the carrier of strong psychic powers form her mother--powers that have been dormant for years. But now, everything is reaching a boiling point. Someone is trying to kill her, and others are trying to use her. Including the sexy Neal Grady, a man from Megan's past who holds the key to understanding her future. Now, the only question is: can Megan gain control of her heritage in time to save herself, and everything she believes in?Fast-paced, suspenseful and thrilling, PANDORA'S DAUGHTER is Iris Johansen as you've never read her before.

Dr. Megan Blair is a successful young physician known both for her skill and her empathy. In fact, she's almost too open to the emotional pains of her patients and their families. Unknowingly, she is the carrier of strong psychic powers form her mother--powers that have been dormant for years. But now, everything is reaching a boiling point. Someone is trying to kill her, and others are trying to use her. Including the sexy Neal Grady, a man from Megan's past who holds the key to understanding her future. Now, the only question is: can Megan gain control of her heritage in time to save herself, and everything she believes in?Fast-paced, suspenseful and thrilling, PANDORA'S DAUGHTER is Iris Johansen as you've never read her before. | Close

CHAPTER ONE

PHILLIP CALLED HER WHEN she was getting on the freeway.  She pressed Connect on her cell phone earpiece for hands-free operation.  “Everything all right? I don’t want to be a worrywart but I knew you got off duty a couple hours ago.  If you’re out having a drink with Scott and Jana, just tell me to buzz off.”

Lord, she was glad to hear his voice.  From the moment he had walked toward her at her mother’s funeral, she had felt his warm sense of belonging whenever she was around him.  “No, it was just a rough night.  I had a few problems.  I’ll tell you about it when I get home.  I’m on my way.  What are you doing awake anyway?  It’s after two in the morning.”

“I was dozing.  The football game didn’t end until midnight.  We won in the last four seconds.  I was too wired to relax.”

“Hoorah Falcons.”

“Damn right.”  He paused.  “What kind of problems?”

 “A fourteen-year-old boy died on the table.  I couldn’t save him.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.  How about having a cup of hot chocolate with me and you can tell me about the game?”

“Sounds good.  I’ll have it ready.  How close are you?”

“I’m on the freeway.  Twenty minutes.”  She frowned as blinding lights glared in her rearview mirror.  “Cripes, I’ve got a tailgater.  It’s a truck, I think.  He must be drunk.  At this time of night you’d think he’d realize that he’s got plenty of room to pass me.”  The lights were suddenly gone.  “Okay, he’s passing in the left lane now.  Good riddance.  I hope he gets a tick— What the hell!”

The truck had slammed into the side of her 4Runner!  She fought the wheel as she pushed toward the side of the highway. 

“What’s happening, Megan?”  Phillip’s worried voice in her ear.

No time to answer him.

The truck slammed her again.

Crazy bastard.  He’d rammed her against the low bridge over the river.  One more hit like that and her SUV might roll over and go into the water.

She barely managed to straighten before the truck slammed into her from behind, sending her wheeling wildly in a circle.

Straighten out.  Get off the bridge.  She had a better chance going down the embankment.

She straightened back in her lane and pressed the accelerator.

“Megan!”  Phillip’s voice.

The truck was next to her again.

Get off the bridge.

She stomped on the accelerator and momentarily left the truck behind her.

Twenty yards and she’d be across the water.

The truck was gaining on her.

He hit her rear door as she reached the end of the bridge.

The 4Runner went off the highway and began bouncing down the embankment.

She had to stop it before she reached the river,

She stomped on the brakes and skittered sideways, slid fifteen yards before she was stopped by a pine tree.

Her air bag went off, pinning her to the seat.

Helpless.

She could see the truck stopped on the road above her and a silhouette moving toward the embankment.  He was tall, thin, wearing jeans and a cowboy hat.

Her OnStar program was telling her that her air bags had gone off and that they’d notified 911.

But the man on the bank was already starting down the ridge.

The she heard the sirens.

Hurry.  Dammit, hurry.

The man hesitated and then turned and started climbing back up the embankment.  A moment later he was in his truck and driving away.

She felt limp with relief.

Thank God.

Copyright © 2007 by Johansen Publishing LLP.

| Close

Forensic sculptor Eve Duncan is a complicated woman. She has survived her years in the school of hard knocks, although not without scars. And she has suffered the worst event a parent can, losing a child to abduction. Now she helps other stricken parents by reconstructing skulls so that victims can be identified. In this, she is one of the best. In addition to her work, she has Joe, a wonderfully understanding man with many military and government connections. But all this abruptly changes when Eve gets a phone call from Montalvo, a drug lord in South America in need of her services. Eve initially refuses to make the journey, but after he promises to use all his resources to find her daughter's killer and her body, this scarily single-minded and stubborn woman agrees to go, despite knowing [...] Read More

Forensic sculptor Eve Duncan is a complicated woman. She has survived her years in the school of hard knocks, although not without scars. And she has suffered the worst event a parent can, losing a child to abduction. Now she helps other stricken parents by reconstructing skulls so that victims can be identified. In this, she is one of the best. In addition to her work, she has Joe, a wonderfully understanding man with many military and government connections. But all this abruptly changes when Eve gets a phone call from Montalvo, a drug lord in South America in need of her services. Eve initially refuses to make the journey, but after he promises to use all his resources to find her daughter's killer and her body, this scarily single-minded and stubborn woman agrees to go, despite knowing that she will most likely be killed. Eve is then simultaneously repelled by and attracted to Montalvo. Johansen strikes again, creating both a nonstop thriller and a character study about an individual who has long seen the world in black and white, and now perceives only shades of gray. | Close

Sophie Dunston, a top-notch sleep researcher, developed a drug to battle the insomnia from which her father and millions of others suffer. But her nefarious former boss and his cohorts have used the drug she created to alter the minds of ordinary people like her father, who killed his wife and threatened Sophie and her young son. With hardened heart, Sophie has one goal: to kill her former boss, since every attempt she's made to expose him to the authorities has failed. Just as she discovers that there are many victims of her nemesis' mind-controlling experiments, one shows up with the same murderous intention. Sophie is leery of Matt Royd, and his first thoughts are to use Sophie, the author of his nightmares, to destroy the others. Brutal and deadly himself, Royd leaves Sophie no choice [...] Read More

Sophie Dunston, a top-notch sleep researcher, developed a drug to battle the insomnia from which her father and millions of others suffer. But her nefarious former boss and his cohorts have used the drug she created to alter the minds of ordinary people like her father, who killed his wife and threatened Sophie and her young son. With hardened heart, Sophie has one goal: to kill her former boss, since every attempt she's made to expose him to the authorities has failed. Just as she discovers that there are many victims of her nemesis' mind-controlling experiments, one shows up with the same murderous intention. Sophie is leery of Matt Royd, and his first thoughts are to use Sophie, the author of his nightmares, to destroy the others. Brutal and deadly himself, Royd leaves Sophie no choice but to cooperate. The danger increases tenfold as the hunters become the hunted in this suspenseful tale of nightmarish evil. | Close

The CIA put Grace Archer and her young daughter, Frankie, under protective custody on a small horse farm in Alabama. When their cover is blown, the CIA wants to use Grace and Frankie as bait to smoke out Marvot, an old enemy. The only person who can help is Jake Kilmer, a rogue agent. Years ago, he trained Grace as an operative so that the CIA could benefit from her uncanny talent for handling horses. They wanted to find out why a French Moroccan underworld kingpin wanted to train two beautiful, wild, and extremely dangerous horses known as "the Pair." The mission was a failure, and Grace, then pregnant, went into hiding, distrusting Kilmer, with whom she was having an affair. Now Marvot has put a bounty on Grace and Frankie's heads, wanting to bring them back to Morocco to train the horse [...] Read More

The CIA put Grace Archer and her young daughter, Frankie, under protective custody on a small horse farm in Alabama. When their cover is blown, the CIA wants to use Grace and Frankie as bait to smoke out Marvot, an old enemy. The only person who can help is Jake Kilmer, a rogue agent. Years ago, he trained Grace as an operative so that the CIA could benefit from her uncanny talent for handling horses. They wanted to find out why a French Moroccan underworld kingpin wanted to train two beautiful, wild, and extremely dangerous horses known as "the Pair." The mission was a failure, and Grace, then pregnant, went into hiding, distrusting Kilmer, with whom she was having an affair. Now Marvot has put a bounty on Grace and Frankie's heads, wanting to bring them back to Morocco to train the horses. Kilmer wants to kill Marvot and use "the Pair" himself. Frankie trusts Kilmer; now Grace must find out if she can do the same. | Close

The legend of Cira and her gold intrudes once again on Jane MacGuire's life. In Blind Alley, the streetwise adopted daughter of forensic sculptor Eve Duncan and Atlanta detective Joe Quinn became a serial killer's pawn. Now she's a target for terrorists who believe she has the key to a lost treasure. When one of Jane's childhood friends is killed, she realizes that she must find out why, especially when, as before, Scotland Yard's handsome Mark Trevor becomes involved. He has tried to keep Jane out of his latest escapade, but he swoops in to the rescue, bringing her to Scotland to keep her safe. Never completely on the right side of the law, Jane questions Trevor's motives while trying to keep in check the sexual tension between them as they try to quell a deranged madman who is after Trev [...] Read More

The legend of Cira and her gold intrudes once again on Jane MacGuire's life. In Blind Alley, the streetwise adopted daughter of forensic sculptor Eve Duncan and Atlanta detective Joe Quinn became a serial killer's pawn. Now she's a target for terrorists who believe she has the key to a lost treasure. When one of Jane's childhood friends is killed, she realizes that she must find out why, especially when, as before, Scotland Yard's handsome Mark Trevor becomes involved. He has tried to keep Jane out of his latest escapade, but he swoops in to the rescue, bringing her to Scotland to keep her safe. Never completely on the right side of the law, Jane questions Trevor's motives while trying to keep in check the sexual tension between them as they try to quell a deranged madman who is after Trevor and the lost treasure. Along the way, Jane discovers that many people are trying to find the truth about Cira, and that Jane herself is perceived as the reincarnation of that fabled Roman figure. | Close