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“I know her, Scott,” I say. I close my eyes and my head shakes back and forth as I struggle not to remember that fateful day. “She ripped my fucking heart out.”

‘If you continue to try to provoke the moment when you must release the arrow, you will never learn the art of the archer,’ says his master. ‘Sometimes, it is the archer’s own overactive desire that ruins the accuracy of the shot.’

‘Yes, you have been through all this before,’ replies his heart. ‘But you have never been beyond it.’

I smiled modestly. ‘Twenty-one. My last year in Cambridge. I was twenty-two when it was published. It was number nine on the Sunday Times bestseller list.’

‘I will take that as a no,’ Flair said. ‘In short, without the evidence found during the search by the police, you’d have nothing tying my client to anything illegal, isn’t that correct?’

‘I will take that as a no,’ Flair said. ‘In short, without the evidence found during the search by the police, you’d have nothing tying my client to anything illegal, isn’t that correct?’

‘I will take that as a no,’ Flair said. ‘In short, without the evidence found during the search by the police, you’d have nothing tying my client to anything illegal, isn’t that correct?’

‘I’m up,’ she groaned in a voice that indicated she was anything but. Marcia moved to the next room, Haley’s, and took a quick peek. The bed was empty.

I just finished The Shepherd's Calculus: A Political Suspense Thriller.

For a second, he looked stunned. Then he jerked violently backward. Struggling to stay upright, he lost the fight and fell at my feet. After a few whimpers, he closed his brown, almond-shaped eyes, went limp and lay still as a stuffed toy. One dead dog.

I just finished Lying in Wait.

I just finished The Husband's Secret: From the bestselling author of Big Little Lies, now an award winning TV series.

I just finished Behind Closed Doors: A Novel (Detective Chief Inspector Louisa Smith Book 2).

“I’m Theresa Wolcak,” she says, offering him a seat. “Jack Calvin,” he says. “As I told you on the phone, I represent a woman, now living in New York State, who used to come here for counseling three or four years ago, it would be now. Georgina Traynor.”

Funny, he thinks now, three beers in, it hasn’t occurred to him until this moment to remember what a hard time he had getting her to say yes. Of course it all makes sense now. She was already married.

“What is it?” Tom asks her, his eyes wild. Before she can find the words to tell him, he rushes past her into the bathroom. She comes up behind him. “What? What is it?” he asks. He can’t see what’s scaring her so badly, but he’s infected by her panic.

“The body’s intact.” Dr. Perriera begins cheerfully. “Caucasian male, late thirties, good health. The first shot went into the chest, the second into the cheek, but it was the third shot, which went right into the brain, that killed him. Death was fairly quick. He was shot at close range—from about six to eight feet away—with a thirty-eight-caliber handgun.”

“You can see her now,” the doctor says, “just you, for now, but not for too long. We’ve moved her to the fourth floor.” “I’ll wait here,” Dan says. At the thought of seeing Karen, Tom feels a new prickle of anxiety.

“Yeah, well, lots of housewives have a secret drug habit that hubbie knows nothing about,” Kirton says. “Maybe that’s why she was in that part of town—then she got high and freaked out in the car.”

Perhaps that was so. Jessie really couldn’t say. But one thing was certain: These foibling fuck-ups had turned her life to shit.

Tugging at her skirt, she took a seat, entwining her summer-tanned legs. Devoid of make-up and jewellery, she carried an innocent beauty as yet untainted by the modern world.