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She was just an instrument. A weapon. He wanted it to be in that house, inside the house where the cop believed his little girl would always be safe.
A phone call from up high interrupts Eve's plans to have a lazy day with her roguish husband Roarke: The teenage daughter of Captain Jonah McMasters, head of the NYPD drug squad, has been found raped and strangled.
A terrifying video of Deena, bloody and beaten beyond recognition, suggests a link to a criminal in her father's past, but Eve is getting nowhere - until another murder, and another video, reveals the killer's deadly intent: merciless retribution in the cruellest way possible.
Eve and her team must race against the clock to identify the next victim of a killer who will stop at nothing . . .
387 pages, ebook
First published November 3, 2009





“He’d walked into her life, and everything had changed. He’d found her; she’d found him—and all those dark places inside both of them had gotten a little smaller, a little brighter.”

Eve: "She completely eye-fucked you."
Roarke: "I know. I feel so cheap and used."
Eve: "Shit. You got off on it. Men always do."
Roarke: "True enough, which is why we're so often cheap and used.”

Her eyes met Roarke's. And there, she thought, right there was the reason for this. The reason for the flowers and the pomp, the fuss and the formality.
There was love.
Only you, she remembered. She'd walked to him on a summer day once before, and he'd seen only her.
He smiled at her as he had when she'd walked down a white runner to an arbor of white roses toward him.
As it had then, her heart gave one quick leap.
Sometimes, she thought as she took her place, turned, life could be pretty damn perfect ...



