By Shelby Smoak
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Mick ''Brew'' Axbrewder used to be an excellent P. I. That was once ahead of he unintentionally shot and killed a cop-worse, a cop who occurred to be his personal brother. Now he merely works from time to time, as muscle for his previous associate, Ginny Fistoulari. it is a dwelling. And it offers an occasional chance for him to dry out.
Crawling on elbows and knees, a guy slowly inches ahead, making his approach via a cramped area and suffocating darkness. He does not understand that somebody is looking at, and in a flash of sunshine, his trip is over. Now, fifty years later, small-town newspaper reporter Philip Dryden is on-site at a former global battle II POW camp staring at an archeological dig.
Whilst a widely known French collector donates a Rembrandt to the museum, curator Chris Norgren travels to Europe on a fact-finding journey that takes a sinister flip. by way of the writer of A Glancing mild and Make No Bones.
- Honey in his Mouth (Hard Case Crime)
- SMUGGLERS' REEF.
- Blast from the Past (A Where Are They Now? Mystery)
- The Movie
Additional resources for Bleeder
Too accessible. The desk? No, though the pencil drawer has some promise. I squeeze the AZT bottle in my hands, its plastic unyielding in my tight clutch as I cast my eyes about the room for a safe hiding place. I spy my dresser, and I shove the AZT deep into a sock, it seeming safe for now. With my things unpacked and my secrets safely hidden, I rest beside the window at my desk and arrange my reference books—dictionary, thesaurus, word menu, guide to birds in America—before settling my view on the campus yard that is now wreathed in the soft pink of an evening sunset.
I have condoms underneath my bed,” Ana whispers into my ear. My mind tugs at me, but when Ana unrolls a condom along me, I let her. We become two bodies, one movement, and we press our desire as far as it will go. When the moment ends, Ana fills a glass of water at her sink, drinks deeply, and then offers it to me. I swallow, pause for a breath of air, and finish it off. It is cool and tastes like nothing, but is everything. Ana rests the glass on her floor and returns to bed where I slip an arm around her.
I watched as the first tails sparked. Still able to see their bodies in the dark purple light, I chased their glimmer through the fresh-cut grass and cupped their fragile bodies in my palms, watching my hands glow a strange red as the bug’s tail ignited. After I forced their flashing bodies into thick-glass Mason jars, Mom punched air holes through the lid, and when bedtime came I propped the jar on my dresser and watched their tails dance light across my room as crickets hymned songs outside my open window.