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And how much will it cost her new family before they learn the final, shattering truth? Because as Sharlah knows all too well, the biggest danger is the one standing right behind you. Read an Excerpt. Say Goodbye. Come into my parlor. The story Delilah Rose tells Kimberly about her johns is too horrifying to be true—but prostitutes are disappearing, one by one, with no explanation, and no one but Kimberly seems to care.

Said the spider to the fly. The young agent is five months pregnant—she has other things to worry about than an alleged lunatic who uses spiders to do his dirty work. And his estranged wife, Rainie Conner, gone, leaving no clue to her fate. One man knows what happened that night. Adopting the alias of a killer caught eighty years before, he has already contacted the press. His terms are clear: he wants money, he wants power, he wants celebrity.


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The Killing Hour. Each time he struck, he took two victims. Day after day, he waited for the first body to be discovered—a body containing all the clues the investigators needed to find the second victim, who waited…prey to a slow but certain death. The clock ticked—salvation was possible. The police were never in time. Years have passed; but for this killer, time has stood still.

As a heat wave of epic proportions descends, the game begins again. Two girls have disappeared…and the clock is ticking. For the Killing Hour has arrived….

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The Next Accident. What do you do when a killer targets the people you love the most? When he knows how to make them vulnerable? When he knows the same about you? Ex-cop Rainie Connor had once been paired professionally—and personally—with the brilliant FBI profiler. He helped her through the darkest days of her life. But this killer is like none these two hard-boiled pros have ever encountered. This twisted psychopath has an insatiable hunger for revenge…and for fear.

As the clock ticks down to one unspeakably intimate act of vengeance, the only way Rainie can unmask this killer is to step directly in his murderous path. She will become a murder waiting to happen. She will be…the next accident.

Rainie Whether: Book Four of the Rainie Series

The Third Victim. An unspeakable act has ripped apart the idyllic town of Bakersville, Oregon, and its once-peaceful residents are demanding quick justice. But though a boy has confessed to the horrific crime, evidence shows he may not be guilty. Officer Rainie Conner, leading her first homicide investigation, stands at the center of the controversy. Not Rainie. No, the new and improved Lorraine Conner was sitting in her trendy loft in this trendy little neighborhood, trying to decide which was more important — money for the Laundromat, or a new carburetor for her fifteen-year-old clunker.

Viewers suspect she plans to get hold of the child.

On the one hand, clean clothes always made a good impression when meeting a new client. Details, details. She tried a fresh round of numbers in her Quicken file. Showing a gross lack of imagination, the file spit back the same red results.

She sighed. In the bad news department, the two-year license cost her seven hundred bucks. Then came the hundred dollars for the standard five-thousand-dollar bond to protect her against complaints. Finally, she got to fork over eight hundred dollars for a million dollars in errors-and-omissions insurance, more CYA infrastructure. All in all, Conner Investigations was moving up — except she was now out sixteen hundred dollars and feeling the crunch.

Series: Pierce Quincy and Rainie Conner

A buzzer sounded. Rainie sat up, dragging a hand discouragingly through her hair, while she blinked twice in surprise. A well-dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair stood patiently outside the locked front doors. As she watched, he buzzed her loft again.

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Then he glanced up at the camera. Her breath caught. Maybe her heart even stopped. She looked at him, the last person she expected to see these days, and everything inside her went topsy-turvy. She ran a hand threw her newly shorn hair again. She was still getting used to the look, and the heat made it flip out like a dark, coppery dish mop. Then there was her tank top — old and sweat-soaked. Her denim shorts, ripped up, frayed, and hardly professional.

She was just doing paperwork today, no need to dress up, and oh God had she put on deodorant this morning, because it was really hot in here and she could no longer tell. Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy remained gazing up at the security camera, and even through the grainy image, she could see the intent look in his deep blue eyes. Her hand settled at the hollow of her throat. His eyes still crinkled in the corners. His forehead still carried deep, furrowed lines. Same impeccably tailored suit.

Same hard-to-read face. There was no one quite like SupSpAg Quincy.

Gone - FBI Profiler Series - Lisa Gardner

He pressed the ringer for a third time. Once he made up his mind about something, Quincy rarely let it go. Except her Rainie shook her head in disgust. Shit happened. Whatever Quincy wanted now, she doubted it was personal. She buzzed him in. Eight floors later, he knocked at her front door. The pause drew out, and to her satisfaction, Quincy broke first. Then she swung the door open a bit wider, and truly let him in.

The eleven-foot ceilings of a converted warehouse space. The open, sunny layout with nothing but a kitchen counter and eight giant support columns to came out four simple spaces: kitchen, bedroom, family room, and study. The huge expanse of windows, filling an entire wall with the original paned glass. The woman who had owned the condo before Rainie had finished the entranceway with warm red brick and painted the living space with rustic shades of adobe and tan.

The result was the shabby chic look Rainie had read about it magazines, but knew better than to try on her own. It was fashionable, it was upscale, it was beautiful. And maybe if the new and improved Lorraine Conner lived in this kind of place, she could be that kind of person. Rainie scrutinized his face. He seemed sincere. She grunted a reply.

The previous owner. New hairdo? Not organized, as I can tell by looking at the desk, but clever. Then she propped up her hip on the edge of her desk, and knowing Quincy as well as she did, she waited. Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy had started his career as an FBI profiler, back in the days when that division was called the Investigative Support Unit and he was known as one of the best of the best. As the primary officer, she had walked that crime scene with him, having met him just an hour before and already impressed by how impassive he could keep his face, even when looking at the chalk outlines of the bodies of little girls.

Quincy had started as her ally. Eight months ago, without warning or explanation, the charges against her were dropped. It was over. Someone with clout. And far from drawing them together, it was one more thing cluttering the space between. She was simply Lorraine Conner, and she still had a lot to do to get her life on track. Rainie nearly snorted. Could I have a glass of water? Quincy with a personal mission. She was hopelessly intrigued. She went into the kitchen, fixed two glasses of water with plenty of ice, then joined him in the family room.

Quincy had already taken a seat on her over stuffed blue-striped sofa. The couch was old and threadbare, one of the few remnants of her life in Bakersville. No sounds of sirens or late-night partiers.