4th of July (Women's Murder Club, Book 4)

4th of July (Women's Murder Club, Book 4)

James Patterson, Maxine Paetro

Language: English

Pages: 210

ISBN: B007X4DZMG

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A young girl is killed in the crossfire after a routine arrest goes terribly wrong, and Lt. Lindsay Boxer has to defend herself against a charge of police brutality. In a landmark trial that transfixes the nation, Lindsay fights to save her career and her sanity. While awaiting trial, Lindsay escapes to the tranquility of the beautiful town of Half Moon Bay. But the peaceful community there is reeling from a string of unspeakable murders. Working with her friends in the Women's Murder Club, Lindsay finds a link between these killings and a case she worked on years before - an unsolved murder that has haunted her ever since. As summer comes into full swing, Lindsay battles for her life on two fronts: before a judge and jury as her trial comes to a climax and facing unknown adversaries who will do anything to keep her from the truth about the killings. It all comes to a head before the big annual 4th of July celebration on the waterfront at Half Moon Bay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

world crashing back. Joe said, “Yes, sir. Will do,” and snapped the phone shut. He opened his arms and folded me back in. I reached up and kissed his neck. “So. When is the car coming for you?” “Couple of minutes.” Joe didn’t exaggerate. I had 120 seconds to watch him dress in the dark room, one lone ray of light slipping beneath the window shades to show me how sad he looked as he left me. “Don’t get up,” Joe said as I pushed back the covers. He drew them up to my chin. He kissed me about

night out.” A frown suddenly crossed the guy’s face, like the lights dimming during a brown-out. A fraction of a second later, his cockiness surged back, as did his beautiful smile. “You couldn’t be having such a good time. Come on. Even if you’re the kind of girls who don’t like guys, it’s okay with me. It’s just dinner.” Dennis Agnew was a crazy blend of smooth and crude, but whatever he was up to, I’d had enough of it. “Hey, Dennis,” I said, fishing my badge out of my handbag and flashing

Bing. All these signed photos from porn queens and wiseguys. Unreal. Claire, will you open that, please?” Claire took three pages from the envelope. They were stapled together and annotated with a Post-it note from Jacobi. “Read it out loud, if you don’t mind,” Cindy said, leaning over the back of the front seat. “There’s some minor league stuff: DWI, assault, domestic violence, a drug bust and some time at Folsom. But here ya go, Linds. Says he was charged with first-degree murder five years

A moment later, Dr. and Mrs. Cabot came into the courtroom and sat behind their attorneys. The reedlike Dr. Cabot and his blond and visibly grieving wife immediately fixed their eyes on me. Andrew Cabot was a trembling rock of contained rage and anguish. And Eva Cabot’s face was a picture of desolation that would never end. She was a mother who’d inexplicably lost her daughter because of me, and I’d crippled her son as well. When she turned her red-rimmed gray eyes on me, all I could see was her

to the squad room by dispatcher May Hess, our self-anointed Queen of the Batphone. Hess told me, “A woman of few words called and reported two people dead at the Ellsworth compound. “She sounded for real,” Hess continued. “She said there were no intruders in the house and she was in no danger. Just ‘Two people are dead.’ Then she hung up. I called back twice but got an answering machine both times. I put out a call.” I listened to the 911 tape. The caller had a British accent and sounded

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