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Zusatztext "This is a return to form for Reichs! who keeps the story moving at a brisk clip but never forgets that! ultimately! we’re here to see Dr. Brennan." Informationen zum Autor Kathy Reichs Klappentext "The latest from Kathy Reichs finds Tempe Brennan investigating the connections between a long-dead business man, the smuggling of mummified dogs from Peru, and the death of a teenage girl killed in a hit and run. When she discovers a human trafficking enterprise at the center of it all, the scope of the case extends from South America to Afghanistan. And Tempe's soon-to-be ex might have connections that run to the very heart of the trafficking ring"--Bones of the Lost PROLOGUE HEART POUNDING, I CRAWLED TOWARD the brick angling down to form the edge of the recess. Craned out. More footfalls. Then heavy boots appeared at the top of the stairs, beside them a pair of small feet, one bare, the other in a platform pump. The feet started to descend, the small ones wobbly, their owner somehow impaired. The lower legs angled oddly, suggesting the knees bore little weight. Anger burned hot in my chest. The woman was drugged. The bastard was dragging her. Four treads lower, the man and woman crossed an arrow of moonlight. Not a woman, a girl. Her hair was long, her arms and legs refugee thin. I could see a triangle of white tee below the man’s chin. A pistol grip jutting from his waistband. The pair again passed into darkness. Their tightly pressed bodies formed a two-headed black silhouette. Stepping from the bottom tread, the man started muscling the girl toward the loading-dock door, pushing her, a hand clamping her neck. She stumbled. He yanked her up. Her head flopped like a Bobblehead doll’s. The girl took a few more staggering steps. Then her chin lifted and her body bucked. A cry broke the stillness, animal shrill. The man’s free arm shot out. The silhouette recongealed. I heard a scream of pain, then the girl pitched forward onto the concrete. The man dropped to one knee. His elbow pumped as he pummeled the inert little body. “Fight me, you little bitch?” The man punched and punched until his breath grew ragged. Rage flamed white-hot in my brain, overriding any instinct for personal safety. I scuttled over and grabbed the Beretta. Checked the safety, thankful for the practice I’d put in at the range. Satisfied with the gun, I reached for my phone. It wasn’t with the flashlight. I searched my other pocket. No phone. Had I dropped it? In my frenzied dash, had I left it at home? The panic was almost overwhelming. I was off the grid. What to do? A tiny voice advised caution. Remain hidden. Wait. Slidell knows where you are. “You are so dead.” The voice boomed, cruel and malicious. I whipped around. The man was wrenching the girl up by her hair. Holding the Beretta two-handed in front of me, I darted from the alcove. The man froze at the sound of movement. I stopped five yards from him. Using a pillar for cover, I spread my feet and leveled the barrel. “Let her go.” My shout reverberated off brick and concrete. The man maintained his grasp on the girl’s hair. His back was to me. “Hands up.” He let go and straightened. His palms slowly rose to the level of his ears. “Turn around.” As the man rotated, another fragment of light caught him. For a second I saw his face with total clarity. On spotting his foe, the man’s hands dipped slightly. Sensing he could see me better than I could see him, I squeezed further behind the pillar. “The fucking slut lives.” You’ll die, too, fucking slut. “Takes ball...
