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Relying on her own brawn and brains, as well as that of her aide Peabody and her husband Roarke, Eve begins to unravel a mystery that began decades before. When the killer's threats land close to home, Eve knows she has no choice but to gamble her own life for the chance to save her city as well as her loved ones.
J.D. Robb's combinations of mystery, suspense, and romance keep the fans of this series clamoring for more, and Loyalty in Death has equal amounts of each. While the passion between Eve and Roarke is as good as ever, the introduction of a new romantic element certainly turns up the heat and is a welcome twist. Though the evil-terrorist-in-NYC theme has been done before (most recently in The Siege), these beloved characters put up a good fight, and keep us glued to the pages. --Nancy R.E. O'Brien
539 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 1999

"Anne rose, moved to the the board. The next thirty minutes were technical: electronics, triggers, timers, remotes, materials. Rates of detonation, scope of impact."
"His voice carried the faintest whisper of France, like a sprinkle of thyme over broth."
"'When you finish being sixteen, Officer, map out the damn route.'
"You never stop being sixteen,' Peabody murmured...'Oh man, I want one of these.' Peabody grinned as the scenery blurred and flew by. 'How much do you think this honey goes for?'
This model retails for one hundred sixty-two thousand dollars, excluding tax, fees, and licenses.
'Holy shit.'
'Still feeling sixteen, Peabody?'"



Out of the dark, out of the delicate mist, the lady rose up.

"What's this?"
"I think it's a very sick, mutant rose. I bought it for you."
It was so rare to see Roarke taken by surprise, she nearly laughed. His gaze met hers and she thought - hoped - it might have been baffled pleasure she saw there before he looked down at the rose again.
"You brought me a flower."
"I think it's sort of traditional. Fight, flowers, make up."
"Darling Eve."






She'd never lived through war. Not the kind that killed in indiscriminate masses. Her dealings with death had always been more personal, more individual. Somehow intimate. The body, the blood, the motive, the humanity.
What she saw now had no intimacy. Wholesale destruction accomplished from a distance erased even that nasty bond between killer and victim.
All we can do is move forward and try to stop the next.