and had just seen for myself that Gabby Corrales was right about Port Royal. Every mansion was a gated island, crowns of brick or stone poking through the trees, with winding driveways shaded by oaks or, in Olivia’s case, a quarter mile of royal palms, solid as cement, the trees spaced like shagg...
turned out to be a junkyard in Glades City, which I thought was an intentional error until I saw the dog. It was a brindle-yellow pit bull, the same alpha female that had attacked me Friday, minus her pack mate whose head had been found in a freezer. By the time I saw the ...
So were her friends—the nicest surprise so far in this long, long night. I had slipped along the edge of the building, through a hedge of jasmine, lifted one eye to the window and there they were. The ladies sat a few yards away against a wall, hands still tied behind them, Sharon in the middle w...