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Informationen zum Autor Iris Johansen is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and No One to Trust. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia. Klappentext The suspense begins with a phone call and leads forensic sculptor Eve Duncan onto the harrowing trail of a killer that even the most cold-blooded killers fear to face. No one leaves this game alive Her skill in identifying murder victims was worldrenowned, but Eve Duncan worked only for law enforcement and the families of innocent victims. The man on the other end of the phone was anything but law-abiding or innocent. She'd already turned down his offer twice, but the third time it comes with a grisly warning. Forced to accept, Eve will leave everything and everyone she loves to travel alone to the luxurious armed compound of one of the world's most wanted criminals to identify a skull he's recovered. She's agreed to this devil's bargain to save an innocent family, but also for a reason she can't admit to the police, to the CIA, to anyone. For the man in the Colombian jungle promises Eve what she wants most of all-the key to solving the most painful mystery of her past. Chapter One The phone was ringing. Ignore it, Eve told herself, her fingers moving swiftly on the skull reconstruction she'd given the name of Marty. She could call whoever it was back when she was through working. The phone was set for speaker and she could pick up if it was Joe or Jane. She was getting too close to that important last step in the sculpting. On the sixth ring the answering machine picked up. "I need to speak to you. Answer the phone, Ms. Duncan." She froze, her fingers stopped in midstroke. Luis Montalvo. Though she had spoken to him only twice that faint accent was unmistakable. "I know you're there. You haven't left that cottage in the last week." His voice became faintly mocking. "Your dedication is admirable and I understand you're brilliant at your job. I look forward to having both focused soon on my behalf." He paused. "Do pick up the phone. I'm not accustomed to being ignored. It upsets me. You don't want to upset me." And she didn't want to pick up the phone. He might jar her out of the zone of feverish intensity she needed when she was working this close to completion. Dammit, she had hoped he wouldn't call her again after she'd turned him down when he'd phoned her the last time, over a week ago. "I won't give up, you know." No, he probably wouldn't. Montalvo had been polite during the first call and even after she'd refused his offer, the second time he'd phoned he'd displayed no anger. His voice had been smooth and soft, almost regretful, yet there had been a note beneath that velvet courtesy that had puzzled her. It had made her uneasy then but tonight it filled her with impatience. She had no time for this now. Marty was waiting. She strode across the room and picked up the phone. "Montalvo, I'm very busy. You've had your answer. Don't call me again." "Ah, how delightful to hear your voice. I knew you wouldn't be so rude as to leave me hanging on that dreadful answering device. I hate impersonal machines. I'm a man of emotion and passion and they offend me." "I really don't want to hear what you love or hate. I don't care. I want to get off this phone and forget you exist." "I realize that sad fact. You're absorbed in your latest reconstruction, of that boy found buried in Macon. Have you named him yet? I understand you name all the skulls you work on." She stiffened. "How did you know that?" "I know everything about you. I know you live with a Detective Joe Quinn of the Atlanta Police Department. I know you have an adopted daughter, Jane MacGuire. I know you're possibly the best forensic sculptor in...
