“I’ve seen him several times since that night. I’ve been absolutely convinced.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead. Once, I was sure I saw the shooter in a crowd near the docks here.” Aiden gestured at the harbor.
Harper knew something was off. “You haven’t you told the police, have you?”
“They’d say what other people have told me: It’s a delusion.”
“Because you were so badly injured?”
“Because it’s true.” He smiled now, without humor. “I see ghosts.”
The Shadow Tracer
Sarah was no game player. She was a hunter, a manipulator, a professional liar. She was a skip tracer. She looked out the window, waiting.
Twenty-four hours would have changed everything. If Rory had been slower, if she had taken a breath and waited, she wouldn’t be here. If she’d torn up the place, gotten drunk, mooned the moneymen, seduced a border guard, she would have missed the flight home. She would have arrived twenty-four hours later and skipped this grief.
The Nightmare Thief
Gabe glanced inside the open door of the Hummer. Jo saw it too: A gleaming silver handgun with a telescopic sight.
Von said, “It’s a replica.” The man in the Edge Adventures cap wiped his palm on his jeans. “Don’t worry none about the guns. They’re for show.” Gabe smiled. “Just wondering what sort of birthday party you’re celebrating.”
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The Liar’s Lullaby
Jo pulled Tina against a pillar and watched, eyes stinging. The stampede flowed toward the right field stands. The screams turned into wailing and an eerie quiet in the upper reaches of the ballpark. “What just happened?” Tina said. “The worst stunt catastrophe in entertainment history” Jo said. She wasn’t even close.
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The Memory Collector
Jo looked down the empty length of the jet. You never knew what you were going to get in these situations. Catatonia. Religious mania. A bad drug trip. Drunkenness, or a violent psychotic episode. A guy trying to detonate his shoes.
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The Dirty Secrets Club
Something strange was going on here. And it wasn’t just the cold street or the neon glow of strip club marquees, a seedy Dashiell Hammett glare that played counterpoint to the emergency lights. This scene was giving her a professional case of the heebie-jeebies. And the dead were waiting for her, as usual.
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Jax Rivera was a recurring apparition in my life. A former CIA agent, she was glamorous, conniving and violent. She now ran a small business with her British husband, killing people for hire. They seemed a happy couple. And they liked me. Talk about unwelcome attention.
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I hit the elevator call button. The feds and I could ride down together. Two floors wouldn’t give me much time, but they apparently disliked conversation, so I could skip the pleasantries and boot them straight in the crotch. Probably just verbally.
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The cops stuck me in a holding cell. With the proud winner of a knife fight. She weight in at 220 and had Marie and Nolinda tattooed on her biceps, which could have been either her name or a list of defeated opponents. I kept my back against the wall, for an hour.
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He claimed he’d put it all behind him. No good looking back, he said. Eyes front, ’cause the future’s the only place you can go. Acceptance, they call this. And hearing the pain in his voice, I knew. It wasn’t true. Jesse accepted nothing, as long as Brand remained free.
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I would rather have pounded tacks into my tongue than tell my brother. But some things I do straight: drink, sex, bad news. The Remnant had weapons, a choir and a target list. Now it wanted Luke.
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