Fantasy in Death (In Death, #30)

by J.D. Robb

WHILE SWORDS OF LIGHTNING SLASHED AND stabbed murderously across the scarred shield of sky, Bart Minnock whistled his way home for the last time.

The boy had sparked something in him in life—all that enthusiasm and discovery. And the boy had touched something in him in death—the waste, the cruelty of the waste.

“Sometimes you get lucky with who you let in your life. Sometimes you don’t. I’m feeling lucky today.”

She looked at him, those gilded eyes warm, so for a moment it seemed no one else walked the sidewalk, no one else breathed the air. Only the two of them.