By Kevin O'Brien
The homes in Willow Tree court docket are modern and modern—the sort designed to harbor satisfied households and giggling young children. not anyone could bet the secrets and techniques that lurk past the neat lawns and gorgeous facades.
Molly Dennehy is making an attempt to slot in to her new atmosphere, notwithstanding her acquaintances are basically dependable to her husband's ex-wife. yet that's the least of Molly's concerns. Her stepson's college has been rocked by way of a brutal slaying, and a psychopath often called the Cul-de-Sac Killer is murdering households in Seattle houses. houses similar to Molly's.
With each one passing day, Molly grows extra confident that somebody is observing her relatives, a person fed on with rage and vengeance. in this quiet street, a nightmare has been unleashed, and the path of terror will lead correct to her door. . .
Praise for the Novels of Kevin O'Brien
"Deftly woven plot twists. . .the speed of the radical is powerful and the tale intriguing." –Publishers Weekly on Vicious
"Scary! learn this web page turner with the lighting fixtures on!" —Lisa Jackson on Watch Them Die
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Additional resources for Disturbed
He missed a meeting with me this morning and did not answer his page. ” Langdon felt a sudden chill realizing that he was about to see a dead body. His stomach had never been particularly stalwart. It was a weakness he’d discovered as an art student when the teacher informed the class that Leonardo da Vinci had gained his expertise in the human form by exhuming corpses and dissecting their musculature. Kohler led the way to the far end of the hallway. There was a single door. “The Penthouse, as you would say,” Kohler announced, dabbing a bead of perspiration from his forehead.
Although his people did not celebrate Christmas, he imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a Christian child, sitting before a stack of Christmas presents, about to discover the miracles inside. He opened the album and examined the photos. A lifetime of sexual fantasies stared back at him. Marisa. An Italian goddess. Fiery. A young Sophia Loren. Sachiko. A Japanese geisha. Lithe. No doubt skilled. Kanara. A stunning black vision. Muscular. Exotic. He examined the entire album twice and made his choice.
6 Sixty-four minutes had passed when an incredulous and slightly air-sick Robert Langdon stepped down the gangplank onto the sun-drenched runway. A crisp breeze rustled the lapels of his tweed jacket. The open space felt wonderful. He squinted out at the lush green valley rising to snowcapped peaks all around them. I’m dreaming, he told himself. Any minute now I’ll be waking up. “Welcome to Switzerland,” the pilot said, yelling over the roar of the X-33’s misted-fuel HEDM engines winding down behind them.