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Overview
Ensor is no ordinary cop. He’s a hero, winner of the Medal of Valor, devoted family man and coach, helping at-risk kids. But the driver who struck him down and didn’t stop isn’t ordinary either. He’s Judge Frank Stevenson, up-and-coming member of the bench, also devoted to his wife and daughter, involved in charities and good works. In a split second he did something completely uncharacteristic that irrevocably changes his life and the lives of everyone close to him.
Terry Nye is a couple of weeks from retirement as a detective, head of Major Crimes. He’s trying to pack thirty years of bloody experiences and hard lessons into those two weeks for his new partner, Rose Tafoya. Rose is a young detective, smart, more than a little ambitious, but also insecure. Together she and Nye are a powerhouse team. He’s determined to find Ensor’s assailant and he’s going to make sure Rose doesn’t make the same mistakes he did, especially the unforgivable one that has come back to darkly haunt him after Ensor’s accident.
With the city in turmoil after Ensor's death, the hunt for the cop killer rushes ahead relentlessly. The guilty and innocent are sucked into the intense investigation—and everyone will realize that their lives can change in the blink of an eye.
Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9781620454664 |
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Publisher: | Turner Publishing Company |
Publication date: | 02/18/2014 |
Pages: | 424 |
Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 1.20(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Quintana watched him, hunched over in the rain and wind, heading for Capitol Mall on which the grand new structure faced. Half of the block had been cordoned off partly with chain link fence and orange traffic cones for men and machines to use during the day. Quintana realized that Ensor, like him, had taken off his orange reflective vest sometime during their dull, lonely vigil. People emptied out of the heart of California’s capital city after five and after midnight there was no traffic, either. Just extra off-duty pay.
He turned and headed back through the lobby that had a reeking smell of damp cement and upturned earth. His flashlight beam bouncing around the manmade cavern made spectral shadows and fantastic monsters.
Suddenly Quintana heard the sharp screech of tires and a crunching—almost gelatinous—thud and a speeding engine’s whine fading swiftly with distance. The sounds came from behind him. Between them it seemed like a great deal of time passed, even though he realized it was a second, a fraction of a second perhaps.
He yanked out his handi-talkie from his raincoat and at a lope started back to the front of the construction site. “Tommy? What’s up? Tommy, you there? What’s going on?” he said rapidly.
His harsh questions to Ensor were met with silence. He snapped off his flashlight in case someone was waiting in the darkness and picked up his pace as he now raced toward the entrance.
Quintana splashed through the pooled rain and mud outside the building, passed the trucks and cranes. He got to Capitol Mall, rain swept and deserted. He looked up and down the street and saw no one and he kept calling for Ensor on the handi-talkie, then he lifted his head and shouted aloud.
He snapped is flashlight back on and sent its beam sparkling with raindrops dancing into the street, past the link fence and the ragged line of overturned orange plastic cones. Then he spotted a bunched black shape in the middle of Capitol Mall.
As he ran toward it, Quintana wondered why everything was so dark; then an observant, detached part of his mind noted that several of the high overhead streetlights had blown out sometime recently during the storm.
When he got to the middle of the street, he instantly recoiled . . Ensor had been thrown onto his back, his uniform hat farther down in the lane. His right arm was bent across his body, white bone sticking up jaggedly, and his legs were tangled impossibly with each other so he seemed to have two left feet. Quintana got down on his knees and quickly checked for a pulse, found it in Ensor’s neck, and checked his breathing. He then saw that the left side of Ensor’s head, the prematurely gray-white streaked hair, was red and through a ragged hole, Quintana could see the pale gray of Tommy Ensor’s brain.
“Tommy? Can you hear me? Tommy? Tommy?” Quintana said loudly as a red sheet spread across Ensor’s face, blood and rain obscuring his unseeing eyes.
Quintana knew he shouldn’t move Ensor, but he couldn’t leave him in the middle of the street. Any car or truck wouldn’t make out either of them until it was too late.