Pamela Shropshire

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She walked away, found Mira. “I’m going to ask you for a favor. I need you to keep your eye on Roarke. If he looks like he needs it, jab him with a damn pressure syringe full of tranqs. I’ll take the rap.” “Don’t worry.” Mira slipped her arm around Eve’s waist, just for a moment. “We’ll have him outnumbered.”
Fantasy in Death (In Death, #30)
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