{"product_id":"unsub-isbn-9781101985540","title":"UNSUB","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom award-winning author Meg Gardiner, co-author of Michael Mann’s \u003ci\u003eHeat 2--\u003c\/i\u003eA riveting psychological thriller inspired by the never-caught Zodiac Killer, about a young detective determined to apprehend the serial murderer who destroyed her family and terrorized a city twenty years earlier.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin Hendrix has been a Narcotics detective for six months when the killer at the heart of all her childhood nightmares reemerges: the Prophet. An UNSUB—what the FBI calls an unknown subject—the Prophet terrorized the Bay Area in the 1990s and nearly destroyed her father, the lead investigator on the case.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Prophet’s cryptic messages and mind games drove Detective Mack Hendrix to the brink of madness, and Mack’s failure to solve the series of ritualized murders—eleven seemingly unconnected victims left with the ancient sign for Mercury etched into their flesh—was the final nail in the coffin for a once promising career.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Twenty years later, two bodies are found bearing the haunting signature of the Prophet. Caitlin Hendrix has never escaped the shadow of her father’s failure to protect their city. But now the ruthless madman is killing again and has set his sights on her, threatening to undermine the fragile barrier she rigidly maintains for her own protection, between relentless pursuit and dangerous obsession.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Determined to decipher his twisted messages and stop the carnage, Caitlin ignores her father’s warnings as she draws closer to the killer with each new gruesome murder. Is it a copycat, or can this really be the same Prophet who haunted her childhood? Will Caitlin avoid repeating her father’s mistakes and redeem her family name, or will chasing the Prophet drag her and everyone she loves into the depths of the abyss?\u003cb\u003ePraise for Meg Gardiner's \u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Gardiner's novel breathes new life into the sub-genre with her mastery of police procedure; with superb characterizations of her heroine, the heroine's father and the killer; and with enough twists and turns to leave fans of TV's 'Scandal' and 'How to Get Away With Murder' short of breath. The result is an intelligent, sharply written, compelling page-turner that is satisfying on every level.”\u003cb\u003e—Associated Press\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An adrenaline-fueled rush, this series first has newly minted narcotics detective Caitlyn Hendrix reassigned to homicide so she can track down a sadistic serial killer, the Prophet...Shades of “Silence of the Lambs’’ and the Zodiac Killer.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBoston Globe\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Gardiner has created the perfect balance of vulnerability and violence in her main characters, all of whom are damaged in their own ways. When the killer becomes a 'hot knife through the center of (Caitlin’s) head,' \u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e will already have a cold grip on your heart.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMilwaukee Journal-Sentinel\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Caitlyn’s desperate quest to stop the killings becomes all-consuming, and toward the end, the book is hard to put down. Fans will delight in the ending, which opens a pathway to a sequel... Thriller fans who like a strong shot of horror will be delighted by this gruesome and furiously fast-paced read.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Incorporates thriller conventions, true-crime elements and literary allusions to produce a suspenseful page-turner.”\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eHouston Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“A really frightening book, in large part because of Gardiner’s deft use of close third-person narration… the tension in \u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e is ratcheted way up because of our forays into the twisted mind of the Prophet…”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLitHub\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“The writing is sleek and compelling and emphasizes the escalation of tension, which is a must for a story such as this.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Oklahoman\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Outstanding series launch...Taut pacing and sympathetic characters play against a terrifying villain, who will crawl beneath your skin and trouble your sleep. Thriller fans will eagerly await the sequel.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Ratchets up suspense to its cliff-hanging epilog that begs for a sequel. Edgar Award–winning author Gardiner, long praised for developing full-bodied characters while spinning intense psychological thrillers, does herself proud here...hope to see more of Caitlin Hendrix.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gardiner keeps the suspense at peak levels throughout the novel, conjuring creepy, atmospheric music in the minds of her audience, who will be anxiously perched on the edges of their seats anticipating every next horror. Those who worship at the altar of the thriller shall rejoice. The Prophet has arrived.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“The staccato delivery and non-stop thrills will have you holding your breath until the very end. There is not one wasted word in her delivery...And remember as you read, breathe in and don’t forget to breathe out. Repeat as necessary.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Florida Times-Union\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Move over, Zodiac. The latest of the countless fictional serial killers you've inspired gives you a blistering run for your money.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Based on the unsolved crimes of the real-life Zodiac Killer, this thriller is well crafted and psychologically complex, easily comparable to Jeffery Deaver’s Lincoln Rhyme series.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Gardiner shines, as usual, with character development, building her grisly psychological thriller around detective Caitlin Hendrix, whose father failed to catch the killer decades earlier. Suspense fans should grab the opportunity to meet Caitlin on her first outing...”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBookPage.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“This is one of those perfect serial killer fares that bring on the nightmares only a fantastic writer like Gardiner can create...This story is one of those ‘too good’ to review tales. Nothing can be given away when it comes to this plot. All that can be said is Meg Gardiner is an amazing writer and this is yet another book that proves that point to a ‘T.’”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSuspense Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“In this satisfying psychological thriller inspired by the terrifying, never-solved, reallife ‘Zodiac’ killings, the brisk pace never lets up and the twists keep coming to the very last line...Meg Gardiner’s crisp prose and sharply drawn, believable characters maintain the reader’s interest from the first page to the last.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMystery Scene Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e, the new serial killer novel by Meg Gardiner, will surely delight the fans of fast-paced thrillers. Gardiner’s plots are always nail-biting and her twists are more like cliffs that she takes you to the edge of and then at the last moment pulls you back...a perfect summer read.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMystery Tribune\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Meg Gardiner has brought a new dimension to the sub-genre of serial killer novels. Her killer is a monster, but he is a monster that is more realistic than most fictional serial killers, thus making him more frightening...Gardiner has created a female detective who is empathetic, tough but not hard...no fan of psychological thrillers should miss \u003ci\u003eUnsub\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNew York Journal of Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With a killer from your nightmares and a heroine who must risk everything to stop him, \u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e grabs you by the heart and refuses to let go. A relentless, compelling thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—Lisa Scottoline, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOne Perfect Lie\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“‘Sleep Destroyer’ Meg Gardiner is up to her evil tricks again with \u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e, a bracingly fresh serial-killer novel that hums like the third rail. It has all her trademarks—a complex, compelling heroine, a jet-fueled story, and elegant, crisp prose. I blasted through it in a single sitting last night and remain conscious today only due to espresso and the half-life buzz of reading adrenaline. An entrancing and stunning thriller!”\u003cb\u003e—Gregg Hurwitz, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Nowhere Man\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Like \u003ci\u003eThe Silence of the Lambs\u003c\/i\u003e, this novel scared the hell out of me. I dare you to try putting it down. The UNSUB, or unknown subject, at the heart of Meg Gardiner’s thriller is terrifying.”\u003cb\u003e—Don Winslow, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Cartel\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eUNSUB\u003c\/i\u003e is a mesmerizing, unforgettable, nonstop thriller that never lets you go. The single most terrifying book of the past decade.”\u003cb\u003e—Steve Hamilton, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eExit Strategy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eMeg Gardiner \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of twelve critically acclaimed novels, including \u003ci\u003eChina Lake\u003c\/i\u003e, which won the Edgar Award. Originally from Santa Barbara, California, she lives in Austin, Texas.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Equinox\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Present Day\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Weapon at her side, eyes on the night, Caitlin approached the      house. Fog clung to the ground, rolling thick off San Francisco      Bay. It hid the stars, their faces, the view beyond.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Silently they climbed the steps to the broad porch. The March      chill weeviled down Caitlin's arms. By the doorbell a faded      sticker announced that jesus saves, but Caitlin saw no evidence of      it. Not tonight, she thought. Tonight, he didn't get the call.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They stacked up beside the door. Behind drawn blinds, a television      burbled. Intel suggested that six people were inside. But      suggested didn't mean confirmed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin's heart beat hard against her ballistic vest. Beneath it      she wore a T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. Her auburn hair was      tucked beneath a ball cap. Her nerves were tuned to an ultrahigh      frequency, adrenaline crackling through her like static, waiting      for the sign.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The raid leader held up a fist. The team stilled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios was an Oakland Police Department sergeant, built like a      furnace in black tactical gear. He glanced at them over his      shoulder: Oakland Police, San Francisco PD, Alameda County.      Caitlin's vest said sheriff. Her ball cap said narcotics task      force. They gave him a thumbs-up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The moments before, the suspense, always fried her. Anticipation      was hell. The hateful uncertainty. The house was two-story,      decrepit, secretly humming with danger. Caitlin hugged the stucco      wall, SIG Sauer warm in her hand. At her back, a young Alameda      sheriff's deputy named Marston thrummed with apprehension. Come      on, she thought. Jesus might not get the call tonight, but we're      here. Let's move.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios raised his semiautomatic rifle and pounded on the door.      \"Police.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A dog barked. The TV droned. Rios drew back his arm to pound on      the door again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A gunshot from inside blew splinters across the porch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The static in Caitlin's nerves resolved to a clear tone. Here we      go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Inside the house, feet pounded. Men yelled. Rios tested the      doorknob. Locked. He signaled the fourth man in the stack, an      Oakland cop who held the Little Pig.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin braced for more gunfire. The Oakland cop, Hillyer, rounded      them and aimed the Little Pig at the dead bolt. The scaled-down      shotgun was loaded with a breaching round. He fired from an inch      away. The dead bolt assembly blew into the house and Hillyer      stepped aside. The door yawned open. The Master Key-it worked on      any lock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios said, \"Go, go.\" Rifle to his shoulder, he led the formation      in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The lights were dim, the floor warped. Tight and fluid, they swept      into the hall. Rios aimed ahead, then to the right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Right clear,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin stepped to the left, pistol level. Checked her sector.      \"Left clear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The hall reeked of sulfur and ammonia. At the back of the house, a      battering ram smashed open the rear door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston stepped past her, checked his sector. \"Clear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They closed up behind Rios, left hands on the shoulder of the      person in front of them, and advanced to the wide doorway to the      living room. Rios pointed. Go. He swung in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Drop it,\" he yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A gun clattered to the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin came in behind him. Again she checked her sector. Rios      yelled, \"Get down,\" and peripherally she saw a man drop to his      knees. She said, \"Left clear.\" Rios kicked a handgun away from the      suspect and held his rifle on him while Marston and Hillyer swept      the room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All clear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Down the hall, men shouted. Footsteps raced back and forth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios pointed at Caitlin and Marston and put two fingers to his      eyes. \"Kitchen. Go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin returned to the hall. At the far end, men grabbed stacks      of cash and fled with officers in pursuit. She advanced toward the      kitchen door, weapon level, finger on the trigger. Her pulse      pounded in her ears. The kid, Marston, closed up behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His breath warmed her neck. She was taller than he was, five-ten,      and, for the moment, a shield. In another room, someone shouted      and slammed into a wall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Clear,\" an officer shouted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stench of ammonia burned her throat. At the threshold she      stopped, concealed. Heard nothing from the kitchen. Marston's hand      grabbed her shoulder. She nodded: Ready to clear the room. He      squeezed: I'll be right behind you. They moved together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She swung through the door with Marston on her heels, peripherally      checking the gap between the door and the frame. Vision pulsing,      SIG sweeping the room. She immediately stepped out of the doorway.      The fatal funnel, path of most bullets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Right clear,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston went around her. \"Left clear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Crusted dishes covered the counter. On the table sat a money      scale, colorful currency straps, and a pile of cash. A trail of      twenty-dollar bills wafted across the linoleum in the clammy      breeze blowing through the window. The screen had been punched      out. It looked like a quick getaway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A shiver climbed Caitlin's arms. She hated having a doorway behind      her. Even though the team had cleared the hall, a door always felt      like a hungry mouth at her back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And the window opened to darkness. To anyone outside, she and      Marston were brightly lit targets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston's knuckles were white on his gun. He was waiting for the      all clear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Beneath the chemical stench hung the reek of sweat. She eyed the      darkness outside, a pantry in the corner of the room, and the      twenties on the floor. The money didn't actually lead in a trail      to the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston stepped toward the table. Outside, the dog barked again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin raised her left hand, fisted. \"Stop . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The pantry door flew open. A man lunged out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Shirtless, strung out, he charged toward the table. A butcher      knife gleamed in his right hand. Caitlin turned to put him in her      sights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston was directly beyond him in her line of fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Screeching, the man drove the knife forward.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She launched at him, a flying dive, and tackled him around the      chest. He was ripe with sour sweat. Twenties were falling from his      pockets. They hit the kitchen table and slid across it. Twitching      eyes. Blackened teeth. Clawing hands. She worked the momentum and      rolled, flinging him with her to the floor. He shrieked like a      smoke alarm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She flipped him facedown and subdued him with a wristlock, forcing      his head into the linoleum, knee shoved against his elbow. Marston      stood above her, eyes on his own chest. The knife jutted from his      ballistic vest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios came through the door, weapon raised. He stopped at the sight      of Marston and of the man thrashing under Caitlin's grip amid      broken dishes and crumpled cash.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston pulled the knife from his vest. \"All clear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios lowered his rifle. \"The guy pop out of the toaster?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin handcuffed the man and pulled him to his feet. \"It's the      meth fairy. Tweakerbell.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios's eyes didn't match his light tone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Under control,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marston touched his vest, wincing like his ribs were bruised. Rios      told him to bag the knife for evidence and take the suspect into      custody. As Marston led him away, Hillyer appeared in the doorway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"House is clear,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin followed Rios into the hall. The yelling and running had      stopped. In the living room three men sat cuffed on the floor,      backs against the wall. The SFPD officers were counting bags of      crystal meth. She holstered her gun and exhaled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Overhead came a noise. They all tilted their heads to the ceiling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rios pointed at Caitlin and Hillyer. \"Upstairs. Two bedrooms. Go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The tone in her head revved like a firehouse Klaxon. She didn't      ask what the team had missed. She drew her gun again and led      Hillyer down the dingy hallway. Her vest felt heavy. So did the      SIG Sauer, in a two-handed combat grip. At the foot of the stairs,      Hillyer put his hand on her shoulder. Steady. Together they      climbed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Upstairs they cleared the hall and first bedroom. The second      bedroom door was half closed. From within came muffled sounds.      Caitlin leveled the SIG. Not gonna get surprised again. Gonna be      ready.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The sounds intensified. Almost a cry. She and Hillyer stopped      outside the door. They had concealment but not cover, not if      whoever was inside decided to shoot them through the plywood. She      tried to slow her breathing. She nodded, Hillyer squeezed her      shoulder, and she flowed through the door, gun aimed at the source      of the sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sheriff. Don't move.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The crying intensified. Hillyer slid around her, his weapon      swinging.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Stop. Stop.\" She raised a fist. Grabbed Hillyer's vest. \"Don't      move. Don't breathe. Take your finger off the trigger.\" She      lowered her gun. \"Oh, my God.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Caitlin closed the front door behind her and flipped the dead      bolt. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. A table lamp      gave the living room an amber glow. She reached to unhook her duty      belt. She couldn't get her fingers to work the buckle. She closed      her eyes and clenched her fists. After a few seconds the shaking      eased. She unbuckled the belt and dropped it, clattering, on the      coffee table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her jeans were torn, her knee swollen where she'd hit the      crank-house kitchen floor. Her red hair was disheveled. Beneath      her white T-shirt, the scarred bullet hole in her shoulder ached.      The world seemed bright and supersonic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e From the back of the house, Shadow came running. Big ears alert,      tongue lolling. Caitlin knelt and buried her face in Shadow's soft      exuberance and let the dog lick her face. The tremor in her hands      subsided.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She leaned back and looked at Shadow's bright eyes. \"Who's a good      girl?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The mutt yipped and sat, tail wagging. She was skinny, black with      white paws. Caitlin roughed her fur, then groaned to her feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She followed Shadow to the kitchen and filled her water bowl. The      small house was warm against the foggy night. It was a rental in      Rockridge, a Craftsman cottage behind a Father Knows Best picket      fence. The Berkeley Hills rose behind it. The neighborhood was      crowded, eclectic, heavy with fir trees and spilling ivy-which      meant she was safely beyond the fire line. At least until the fire      line burned its way downhill to her street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In her bedroom she cleared her SIG and set it on the dresser. She      shucked off her clothes and showered away the eau de meth head and      the knots in her shoulders. She was pulling on clean jeans and a      T-shirt when she heard a knock on the front door and a key turning      in the lock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She leaned around the doorway and saw Sean Rawlins walking down      the hall toward her. She exhaled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sean had just come off surveillance, but he didn't take his eyes      off of her. His stride was long and slow, boots clocking on the      floor. His dark hair was windblown. His brown eyes were intense.      His great-great-grandfather had ridden with the Chiricahua Apache      into the Sierra Madre, and Caitlin thought of that look as Sean's      raider stare. The take-no-shit look he gave to suspects and car      salesmen. She thought he was the best-looking thing she'd ever      seen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stare turned to a smile. He held up a bottle of tequila.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She laughed, took the bottle, and tossed back a swallow. Her chest      heated. She blew out a breath.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Perfect.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She didn't drink during the week-holidays, Warriors'      championships, and shots fired excepted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"There's more,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Better be.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pulled her along the hall to the kitchen. On the counter sat a      brown paper bag from a neighborhood taqueria.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Praise Jesus,\" Caitlin said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They didn't bother with plates but stood at the kitchen island      bent over their tacos, spilling pico de gallo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"There's something else,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Did I win the lotto?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You made the news.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His voice, usually cool, took on an edge. He pulled up a video on      his phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Last thing I expected to see you carrying out of a crank house      was a baby,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You never know what's behind door number three.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The screen went bright, the late news, and yeah, there she was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maybe the Narcotics Task Force had alerted the media about the      raid. Maybe reports of gunfire had brought them out. She forgot      the food and watched herself at a weird remove.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Coming out the front door of the crank house, cradling a squalling      infant. On-screen, she blinked as though caught by surprise. She      had been.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When she'd rounded the doorway into the upstairs bedroom at the      raid house, she had been that close to firing. She could still      feel the pressure of her finger on the trigger as she shouted at      the room-and stopped dead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Seeing the baby, only a few months old, trying to kick her way out      from under the ratty blanket heaped on the floor. Window wide,      cold air heaving in. Little fists clenched by her red face, chubby      legs bicycling. Caitlin had holstered her gun and scooped her up.      Stunned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Just like she looked on the video. Under control, she'd told Rios.      Like hell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"For a little thing, she had a ton of fight in her. I hope that's      a good sign,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Always,\" Sean said. \"Whether you're twenty inches or five foot      ten.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She gave him an appreciative look, shut off the phone, and caught      a view of herself in the window. Eyes too hot. She grabbed the      tequila bottle and poured another shot. It burned less than the      first.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She wound an arm around Sean's waist and nodded at the ATF badge      that hung on a chain around his neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Off the clock,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pulled it over his head and set it on the counter. Then he      picked her up and set her on the counter too. She pulled him      close. He smelled like soap and the outdoors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You got more to bring me tonight?\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He smiled, and it looked like a wicked promise. She laughed. The      remnants of her stress evaporated. She kissed him. Then wrapped      her arms around his shoulders and kissed him some more. He ran his      fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Headlights swept past the window. She slid off the counter,      hanging on to him, and reached to close the shutters. A car door      slammed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They paused. Turned to the window. Outside, an Alameda County      sheriff's car had pulled to the curb.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They looked at each other. A cop car was never a good sign, not      even at a cop's house. A heavy knock sounded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She opened the door to the cold night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The plainclothes officer who stood there looked like so many older      cops who hung on to the job until somebody told them it was time      to retire. Jowls and a slouch. His grim expression said that      something was seriously wrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Detective Hendrix. I need you to come with me.\"","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303661523173,"sku":"NP9781101985540","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101985540.jpg?v=1767743296","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/unsub-isbn-9781101985540","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}