By James Patterson, Maxine Paetro
It's eventually time! Detective Lindsay Boxer is in labor--while killers are at the loose.
Lindsay Boxer's appealing child is born! yet after just a week at domestic together with her new daughter, Lindsay is pressured to come back to paintings to stand of the largest circumstances of her career.
A emerging big name soccer participant for the San Francisco 49ers is the leading suspect in a grisly homicide. even as, Lindsay is faced with the strangest tale she's ever heard: An eccentric English professor has been having bright nightmares a few violent homicide and he's confident is actual. Lindsay doesn't think him, yet then a capturing is named in-and it matches the professor's description to the final detail.
Lindsay doesn't have a lot time to forestall a terrifying destiny from unfolding. yet all of the crimes on the earth look like not anything while Lindsay is all at once confronted with the opportunity of the main devastating lack of her existence.
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Extra info for 12th of Never (Women's Murder Club, Book 12)
The cloth’s pattern had a meaning also: White and black represented the Balinese duality of gods and demons, good and evil. Kicking off her sandals, Moira stepped onto the square stone in front of the shrine, put her palms together at forehead height, and bowed her head. “I didn’t know you were a practicing Hindu,” Bourne said when she was finished. Moira picked her sandals up, swung them at her side. ” She gave him a wry smile. ” They had booked the evening alone at the beach club. Towels were waiting for them, as well as frosty glasses of mango lassi, and pitchers of tropical juices and ice water.
The water was warm, as soft on the skin as velvet. Across the dark beach, hermit crabs went about their sideways business, and here and there bats could be seen winging in and out of a cave at the other end of the beach, just beyond a finger of rocks, part of the western half of the crescent cove. Afterward they drank their mango lassis in the pool, guarded by a huge grinning wooden pig with a medallioned collar and a crown behind its ears. ” They swam laps, then came together at the end of the pool over-hung by a magnificent frangipani tree with its buttery white and yellow blossoms.
She laughed. ” Swifts darted like bats from tree to tree, or skimmed the surface of the highest pool. The muted crash of the surf lulled them from below. Moments ago two small Balinese girls had presented them with a handful of fresh blossoms in a bowl of palm leaves they had woven by hand. Now the air was perfumed with the exotic scents of frangipani and tuberose. Moira turned to him. ” Bourne, his eyes half closed, was dreaming of another life—his life—but the images were dark and murky, as if seen through a projector with a faulty bulb.
12th of Never (Women's Murder Club, Book 12) by James Patterson, Maxine Paetro