Read more
Zusatztext “Supremely paced. . . . Rewards Kava fans and thriller lovers alike.” — Lincoln Journal-Star “Fireproof is Kava at her absolute best.” — Bookreporter “Kava seems to get better with every book.” — Omaha World Herald “Maggie! who handles forensic evidence with ease . . . can give Patricia Cornwell’s Kay Scarpetta a run for her money.” — Booklist “Alex Kava has created . . . a winning character in Agent O’Dell.” — The Washington Post Book World “Kava’s . . . cliffhanger endings are spot on.” — The Boston Globe “O’Dell could be Reacher’s long-lost twin.” —Lee Child “A fantastic thriller.” —Crimespace.com “Maggie O'Dell is a brilliant and complicated heroine—at once witty! smart! and detailed! but always highly entertaining.” — Steve Berry “Irresistible.” — Publishers Weekly “Starts with a bang. . . . Well written and fast-paced.” — The Mystery Tribune “Maggie . . . is a convincing! tough! and likable protagonist. . . . Kava’s ability to create real! ethically tricky situations for the reader to ponder help this novel rise above the normal mainstream novel of suspense.” —Reviewingtheevidence.com Informationen zum Autor Alex Kava is the author of thirteen novels, including the internationally bestselling mystery series featuring FBI profiler Maggie O'Dell. Her novels have been published in over twenty countries around the world. She is a member of International Thriller Writers and divides her time between Omaha, Nebraska, and Pensacola, Florida. Klappentext "New York Times"-bestselling author Kava returns in a blaze of glory with a gripping! action-packed thriller featuring special agent Maggie O'Dell! who leads the search for a serial arsonist whose crimes threaten Maggie dangerously close to home. Chapter 1 Washington, D.C. Cornell Stamoran slid his chipped thumbnail through the crisp seal of Jack Daniel’s. He stared at the bottle and swallowed hard. His throat felt cotton-dry. His tongue licked chapped lips. All involuntary reactions, easily triggered. Back in the days when he was a partner in one of the District’s top accounting firms, his drink had been Jack and Coke. Little by little the Coke disappeared long before he started keeping a bottle of whiskey in his desk’s bottom drawer, and by then it didn’t even need to be Jack or Jim or Johnnie. He probably wasn’t the first accountant to stash his morning fix in his corner office, but he was the only one he knew of to exchange that desk and office for a coveted empty cardboard box, the Maytag stamp still emblazoned on the side. His first week on the streets Cornell had slept behind a statue on Capitol Hill. Frickin’ ironic—he used to sit in the back of clients’ limos driving by those same streets. Funny how quickly your life can turn to crap and suddenly you’re learning the value of a good box and a warm blanket. Usually Cornell hid the box out of sight between a monster-size Dumpster and a dirty brick wall when he needed to make a trip downtown. Out here on the outskirts of warehouseland it was quiet. Nobody hassled you. But it got boring as hell. Cornell would make a trip downtown at least once a week. Pick up some fresh cigarette butts, do a little panhandling. Sometimes he’d sit in the library and read. He couldn’t check out any books. Where the hell would he keep them? What if he didn’t get them back on time? In this new life he didn’t want even that little bit of obligation or responsibility. Those were the pitfalls that had landed him on the streets in the first place. So once a week he’d leave his prized possessions—the box, a couple of blankets someone had mistakenly tossed in a Dumpster. He’d put his few small valuables in a dirty red backpack and lug it around for the day. If he didn...
