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Detective Dallas is on the case, chasing an anonymous psychopath with a twisted taste in romance. But Eve seems a little more fragile this time around, still plagued by the nightmare of childhood abuse. Is retirement from the business of crime-solving in the near future for detective Dallas? Robb has found a winning formula in the genre, so hopefully we'll see a lot more of peppery Eve Dallas. --Alison Trinkle, Amazon.com
Audio CD
First published September 1, 2001









"Dachas," she said, "is, I'm told, Gaelic for hope."

."You're back early."
"A bit. Hello, Lieutenant."
At the sound of his voice, that subtle and rich lilt of Ireland, everything inside her tumbled. Then he smiled, just the faintest curve of his lips, and she took a step toward him.

"It is he that saith not Kismet."
"It is he who knows not fate."

"You pompous, egotistical, ignorant fuckhead."

The Irish in it occasionally gave her a strange thrill, along with misty images of warriors and fragrant fires. And poetry, she supposed ...

"I love you.
Darling Eve."
