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Zusatztext Praise for John Sandford’s Prey Novels “Relentlessly swift...genuinely suspenseful...excellent.”— Los Angeles Times “Sandford is a writer in control of his craft.”— Chicago Sun-Times “Excellent...compelling...everything works.”— USA Today “Grip-you-by-the-throat thrills...a hell of a ride.”— Houston Chronicle “Crackling! page-turning tension...great scary fun.”— The New York Daily News “Enough pulse-pounding! page-turning excitement to keep you up way past bedtime.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune “One of the most engaging characters in contemporary fiction.”— Detroit News “Positively chilling.”— St. Petersburg Times “Just right for fans of The Silence of the Lambs .”— Booklist “One of the most horrible villains this side of Hannibal.” —Richmond Times-Dispatch “Ice-pick chills...excruciatingly tense...a double-pumped roundhouse of a thriller.” —Kirkus Reviews Informationen zum Autor John Sandford is the pseudonym of Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist John Camp. He is the author of the Prey novels, the Kidd novels, the Virgil Flowers novels, The Night Crew , and Dead Watch. He lives in New Mexico. Klappentext Years ago, Lucas Davenport almost died at the hands of Clara Rinker, a pleasant, soft-spoken, low-key Southerner, and the best hitwoman in the business. Now retired and living in Mexico, she nearly dies herself when a sniper kills her boyfriend, the son of a local druglord, and while the boy's father vows vengeance, Rinker knows something he doesn't: The boy wasn't the target-she was-and now she is going to have to disappear to find the killer herself. The FBI and DEA draft Davenport to help track her down, and with his fiancie deep in wedding preparations, he's really just as happy to go-but he has no idea what he's getting into. For Rinker is as unpredictable as ever, and between her, her old bosses in the St. Louis mob, the Mexican druglord, and the combined, sometimes warring, forces of U.S. law enforcement, this is one case that will get more dangerous as it goes along. And when the crossfire comes, anyone standing in the middle won't stand a chance.... Filled with the rich characterization and exceptional drama that are his hallmarks, Mortal Prey proves that John Sandford just keeps getting better. 1 THE THOUGHT POPPED INTO HER HEAD as she lay in the soft-washed yellowed sheets in the hospital bed. The thought popped in between the gas pains and muscle spasms, through the pungent odor of alcohol swabs, and if she'd read the thought in a book, she might have smiled at it. She wasn't smiling at anything now. She stared past the IV drip bag at the whitewashed plaster ceiling and tried not to groan when the pains came, knowing that they would end; tried not to look at the hard-eyed Mexicano at the end of the bed, his hand never far from the pistol that lay under the newspaper on the arm of his chair. Tried not to think about Paulo. Tried not to think about anything, but sometimes the thoughts popped up: tall, wiry Paulo in his ruffled tuxedo shirt, his jacket on the chair, a glass of red wine in one hand, his other hand, balled in a fist, on his hip, looking at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, pretending to be a matador. Paulo with the children's book Father Christmas , sitting naked at her kitchen table with a glass of milk and a milk mustache, delighted by the grumpy Santa Claus. Paulo asleep next to her, his face pale and trusting in the day's first light, the soft light that came in over the gulf just before sunrise. But the thought that might have made her smile, if it was in a book, was: Just like the fuckin ' Godfather. LIKE THIS:...
