In her acclaimed debut, The Cutout, former CIA analyst Francine Mathews defined a world of intrigue where only the savvy survive. Now, in The Secret Agent, Mathews propels us deep into the baffling history of a maverick American’s glittering life and his sudden, cataclysmic disappearance…. Here i...
When Rusty Mason, scion of one of Nantucket's oldest and wealthiest families, is found dead in a flooded cranberry bog one foggy fall night, thirty-two-year-old detective Meredith Folger is faced with her first murder case. Rusty, it seems, had been absent from the country for over a decade - eve...
Death in Rough Water is the second book in the Merry Folger mystery series set on Nantucket Island. In the first book Merry proved to herself and her police chief father that she is competent as a detective. Now she is further challenged to solve the murder of a dear friend. Joe Duarte was a trad...
Cory Rinehart frowned. “I’m surprised. The BKA is usually less . . . resourceful.”“Wally Aronson turned his old friend in,” Scottie replied dryly; he planned on kicking Wally the length of Europe for having done so. “Apparently Eric showed up on his doorstep begging for help.”Rinehart glanced up ...
YOU,” CAROLINE SAID BRIEFLY. “I might say the same,” Shephard replied, “only I’d be lying. Who are you trying to be, anyway? Liza Minnelli does Sally Bowles?” “You were following me.” “Right again. Boy, you Agency broads are quick.” She didn’t move. “Oh, for crying out loud, get in. We’re due at ...
GAMBLERS IT TOOK A WHILE TO WALK to the end of the pier. Jack figured it was about six football fields in length, maybe longer, and as he trudged farther out into the bay the wind picked up and the temperature dropped. He kept his hands thrust into his overcoat pockets and felt the heavy wooden t...
Ian’s stitches were intact but seeping blood; a medic painted him with iodine and applied fresh bandages. Fatima had pieces of German steel in her left arm. “It is of no importance,” she said impatiently, as the medic picked at the shrapnel with a p...
The sweeping strains of Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto filled the room, a faint breeze stirred in the darkness beyond the open window, and Ney lay at his feet, warm and relaxed, whiffling softly in his sleep. Usually Peter required nothing more than these—good books, good music, a day...