Glory in Death by J.D. Robb (English) Paperback Book

Description: Glory in Death by J.D. Robb, Nora Roberts Suspecting a link between the murders of two beautiful and highly successful women, police lieutenant Eve Dallas follows up on a long list of suspects that includes her own lover, Roarke. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Lieutenant Eve Dallas never wavers in her search for justice. But in this gripping novel in the #1 New York Times bestselling In Death series, shell learn that matters of the heart are never black and white.The first victim was found lying on a sidewalk in the rain. The second was murdered in her own apartment building. Police Lieutenant Eve Dallas had no problem finding connections between the two crimes. Both victims were beautiful and highly successful women. Their glamorous lives and loves were the talk of the city. And their intimate relations with men of great power and wealth provided Eve with a long list of suspects—including her own lover, Roarke. As a woman, Eve was compelled to trust the man who shared her bed. But as a cop, it was her job to follow every lead...to investigate every scandalous rumor...to explore every secret passion, no matter how dark. Or how dangerous. Author Biography J. D. Robb is the pseudonym for a #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than 200 novels, including the bestselling In Death series. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print. Review "Sexy…A perfect balance of suspense, futuristic police procedural and steamy romance."—Publishers Weekly"Some authors break the rules very successfully; a very rare few define them. Nora Roberts, writing as J.D. Robb, is a spectacular innovator who always leaves her fans desperate for more."—RT Book Reviews"Ms. Robbs brilliant talent for creating fresh, innovative plots…is unsurpassed."—RendezvousMore Praise for the In Death series "Robb is a virtuoso."—Seattle Post-Intelligencer "Its Law & Order: SVU—in the future."—Entertainment Weekly "J. D. Robbs In Death novels are cant-miss pleasures."—#1 New York Times bestselling author Harlan Coben "Anchored by terrific characters, sudden twists that spin the whole narrative on a dime, and a thrills-to-chills ration that will raise the neck hairs of even the most jaded reader, the J. D. Robb books are the epitome of great popular fiction."—New York Times bestselling author Dennis Lehane Review Quote "Sexy...A perfect balance of suspense, futuristic police procedural and steamy romance."-- Publishers Weekly "Some authors break the rules very successfully; a very rare few define them. Nora Roberts, writing as J.D. Robb, is a spectacular innovator who always leaves her fans desperate for more."-- RT Book Reviews "Ms. Robbs brilliant talent for creating fresh, innovative plots...is unsurpassed."--Rendezvous More Praise for the In Death series "Robb is a virtuoso."-- Seattle Post-Intelligencer "Its Law & Order: SVU --in the future."-- Entertainment Weekly "J. D. Robbs In Death novels are cant-miss pleasures."--#1 New York Times bestselling author Harlan Coben "Anchored by terrific characters, sudden twists that spin the whole narrative on a dime, and a thrills-to-chills ration that will raise the neck hairs of even the most jaded reader, the J. D. Robb books are the epitome of great popular fiction."-- New York Times bestselling author Dennis Lehane Excerpt from Book Fame then was cheap . . . And they have kept it since, by being dead. --DRYDEN Chokd with ambition of the meaner sort. --SHAKESPEARE chapter one The dead were her business. She lived with them, worked with them, studied them. She dreamed of them. And because that didnt seem to be enough, in some deep, secret chamber of her heart, she mourned for them. A decade as a cop had toughened her, given her a cold, clinical, and often cynical eye toward death and its many causes. It made scenes such as the one she viewed now, on a rainy night on a dark street nasty with litter, almost too usual. But still, she felt. Murder no longer shocked, but it continued to repel. The woman had been lovely once. Long trails of her golden hair spread out like rays on the dirty sidewalk. Her eyes, wide and still with that distressed expression death often left in them, were a deep purple against cheeks bloodlessly white and wet with rain. Shed worn an expensive suit, the same rich color as her eyes. The jacket was neatly buttoned in contrast to the jerked-up skirt that exposed her trim thighs. Jewels glittered on her fingers, at her ears, against the sleek lapel of the jacket. A leather bag with a gold clasp lay near her outstretched fingers. Her throat had been viciously slashed. Lieutenant Eve Dallas crouched down beside death and studied it carefully. The sights and scents were familiar, but each time, every time, there was something new. Both victim and killer left their own imprint, their own style, and made murder personal. The scene had already been recorded. Police sensors and the more intimate touch of the privacy screen were in place to keep the curious barricaded and to preserve the murder site. Street traffic, such as it was in this area, had been diverted. Air traffic was light at this hour of the night and caused little distraction. The backbeat from the music of the sex club across the street thrummed busily in the air, punctuated by the occasional howl from the celebrants. The colored lights from its revolving sign pulsed against the screen, splashing garish colors over the victims body. Eve could have ordered it shut down for the night, but it seemed an unnecessary hassle. Even in 2058 with the gun ban, even though genetic testing often weeded out the more violent hereditary traits before they could bloom, murder happened. And it happened with enough regularity that the fun seekers across the street would be miffed at the idea of being moved along for such a minor inconvenience as death. A uniform stood by continuing video and audio. Beside the screen a couple of forensics sweepers huddled against the driving rain and talked shop and sports. They hadnt bothered to look at the body yet, hadnt recognized her. Was it worse, Eve wondered, and her eyes hardened as she watched the rain wash through blood, when you knew the victim? Shed had only a professional relationship with Prosecuting Attorney Cicely Towers, but enough of one to have formed a strong opinion of a strong woman. A successful woman, Eve thought, a fighter, one who had pursued justice doggedly. Had she been pursuing it here, in this miserable neighborhood? With a sigh, Eve reached over and opened the elegant and expensive bag to corroborate her visual ID. "Cicely Towers," she said for the recorder. "Female, age forty-five, divorced. Resides twenty-one thirty-two East Eighty-third, number Sixty-one B. No robbery. Victim still wearing jewelry. Approximately . . ." She flipped through the wallet. "Twenty in hard bills, fifty credit tokens, six credit cards left at scene. No overt signs of struggle or sexual assault." She looked back at the woman sprawled on the sidewalk. What the hell were you doing out here, Towers? she wondered. Here, away from the power center, away from your classy home address? And dressed for business, she thought. Eve knew Cicely Towerss authoritative wardrobe well, had admired it in court and at City Hall. Strong colors--always camera ready--coordinated accessories, always with a feminine touch. Eve rose, rubbed absently at the wet knees of her jeans. "Homicide," she said briefly. "Bag her." It was no surprise to Eve that the media had caught the scent of murder and were already hunting it down before shed reached the glossy building where Cicely Towers had lived. Several remotes and eager reporters were camped on the pristine sidewalk. The fact that it was three A.M. and raining buckets didnt deter them. In their eyes, Eve saw the wolf gleam. The story was the prey, ratings the trophy. She could ignore the cameras that swung in her direction, the questions shot out like stinging darts. She was almost used to the loss of her anonymity. The case she had investigated and closed during the past winter had catapulted her into the public eye. The case, she thought now as she aimed a steely glance at a reporter who had the nerve to block her path, and her relationship with Roarke. The case had been murder. And violent death, however exciting, soon passed out of the public interest. But Roarke was always news. "What do you have, Lieutenant? Do you have a suspect? Is there a motive? Can you confirm that Prosecuting Attorney Towers was decapitated?" Eve slowed her ground-eating stride briefly and swept her gaze over the huddle of soggy, feral-eyed reporters. She was wet, tired, and revolted, but she was careful. Shed learned that if you gave the media any part of yourself, it squeezed it, twisted it, and wrung it dry. "The department has no comment at this time other than that the investigation into Prosecuting Attorney Towerss death is proceeding." "Are you in charge of the case?" "Im primary," she said shortly, then swung between the two uniforms guarding the entrance to the building. The lobby was full of flowers: long banks and flows of fragrant, colorful blooms that made her think of spring in some exotic place--the island where she had spent three dazzling days with Roarke while shed recovered from a bullet wound and exhaustion. She didnt take time to smile over the memory, as she would have under other circumstances, but flashed her badge and moved across the terra-cotta tiles to the first elevator. There were more uniforms inside. Two were behind the lobby desk handling the computerized security, others watched the entrance, still others stood by the elevator tubes. It was more manpower than necessary, but as PA, Towers had been one of their own. "Her apartments secured?" Eve asked the closest cop. "Yes, sir. No ones been in or out since your call at oh two ten." "Ill want copies of the security discs." She stepped into the elevator. "For the last twenty-four hours, to start." She glanced down at the name on his uniform. "I want a detail of six, for door-to-doors beginning at seven hundred, Biggs. Floor sixty-one," she ordered, and the elevators clear doors closed silently. She stepped out into the sixty-firsts lush carpet and museum quiet. The halls were narrow, as they were in most multihabitation buildings erected within the last half century. The walls were a flawless creamy white with mirrors at rigid intervals to lend the illusion of space. Space was no problem within the units, Eve mused. There were only three on the entire floor. She decoded the lock on 61-B using her Police and Security master card and stepped into quiet elegance. Cicely Towers had done well for herself, Eve decided. And she liked to live well. As Eve took the pocket video from her field kit and clipped it onto her jacket, she scanned the living area. She recognized two paintings by a prominent twenty-first century artist hanging on the pale rose-toned wall above a wide U-shaped conversation area done in muted stripes of pinks and greens. It was her association with Roarke that had her identifying the paintings and the easy wealth in the simplicity of decor and selected pieces. How much does a PA pull in per year? she wondered as the camera recorded the scene. Everything was tidy, meticulously so. But then, Eve reflected, from what she knew of Towers, the woman had been meticulous. In her dress, in her work, in maintaining her privacy. So, what had an elegant, smart, and meticulous woman been doing in a nasty neighborhood in the middle of a nasty night? Eve walked through the room. The floor was white wood and shone like a mirror beneath lovely rugs that echoed the dominant colors of the room. On a table were framed holograms of children in varying stages of growth, from babyhood on through to the college years. A boy and girl, both pretty, both beaming. Odd, Eve thought. Shed worked with Towers on countless cases over the years. Had she known the woman had children? With a shake of her head, she walked over to the small computer built into a stylish workstation in the corner of the room. Again she used her master card to engage it. "List appointments for Cicely Towers, May two." Eves lips pursed as she read the data. An hour at an upscale private health club prior to a full day in court followed by a six oclock with a prominent defense attorney, then a dinner engagement. Eves brow lifted. Dinner with George Hammett. Roarke had dealings with Hammett, Eve remembered. Shed met him now twice and knew him to be a charming and canny man who made his rather exorbitant living with transportation. And Hammett was Cicely Towerss final appointment of t Details ISBN0425150984 Author Nora Roberts Short Title GLORY IN DEATH Language English ISBN-10 0425150984 ISBN-13 9780425150986 Media Book DEWEY FIC Year 1995 Imprint Penguin Putnam Inc Place of Publication New York, NY Country of Publication United States Alternative 9781597103237 Birth 1950 Residence MD, US DOI 10.1604/9780425150986 Series Number 2 AU Release Date 1995-12-01 NZ Release Date 1995-12-01 US Release Date 1995-12-01 UK Release Date 1995-12-01 Pages 320 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Series In Death Format Paperback Publication Date 1995-12-01 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:2616189;

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