Thirteen (Eddie Flynn #4)

by Steve Cavanagh

I had never gotten used to looking at violent death. I prayed I never would, because that part of me would die and never return. And I needed it. I welcomed that pain. A man and a woman had been ripped from this world—everything they had in life and everything that they would ever become had been taken from them. One word rolled around in my head. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. They did nothing to deserve this.