SPECIAL BOOK LAUNCH PREVIEW

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidentseither are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole orin part, or stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,

mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2014 by Andy StrakaAll rights reserved.

Library of Congress Control Number 2014935208

978-0-9891465-5-5

Cedar Creek PublishingVirginia, USA

www.cedarcreekauthors.com

3

;1

The killer on the curb looked like any other Washington,

DC, rent-a-cop.

Early to mid-thirties. Caucasian of average height.

Sporting a military-style haircut and decked out in a

parapolice uniform emblazoned with the requisite security

officer patch, he nodded at us as we drove past him into the

underground garage. He turned his gaze back to the

perimeter as we disappeared around a line of parked cars.

“Is this the only entrance?” Seated by myself in a third

row seat, I peered out the back window of Jake Toronto’s

blacked-out Ford Expedition EL.

“Only way into the building by car.” Toronto spun

the steering wheel of the big SUV and spoke through his

headset. “But there’s a street level entrance at the front of

the building.”

“Okay,” I said into my mike.

We were a few blocks south of Dupont Circle. The

three-story glass and brick office building blended well with

its neighbors–structures in DC were restricted by law to be

no taller than 130 feet–and two levels of parking stood below

street level. This part of the city always sparked a nervous

energy in me, maybe going back to my New York days.

The intersection of power and money–Washington, DC,

took up where New York City left off.

4 ANDY STRAKA

“Eyes up.”

Nicole’s voice rang out calmly from where she’d taken

up station in the front passenger seat across from Toronto.

She had wanted to take the lead on this delivery and

I’d endorsed the idea, but something about the restrictive

entrance to the building made me uneasy. Even if I was

riding rear guard in what could have only been described as

a veritable fortress on wheels. Toronto’s rig had been tricked

out with bulletproof glass, reinforced doors, satellite Internet

and police band connections, registered heavy weapons and

surveillance gear. All of the toys any soldier-of-fortune could

want.

A ride like today, a hundred miles from home, wasn’t

exactly my idea of a fun way to pass the time, but the pay

was better than average. We were in Toronto’s orbit, an

executive protection job for one of his private security

clients. The light grew darker as he wheeled the big SUV

deeper into the bowels of the garage.

“Once we’re inside I’m going to back into a visitor

space,” Toronto announced.

“Got it.”

Between us in the second row sat one of the wealthiest

women in the Commonwealth of Virginia, although you’d

never know it from the low profile Raquel Greensmythe

kept. The founder and CEO of Greensmythe Global

comported herself, most of the time, like a schoolmarm

with a Cartier watch. Her blonde hair was pulled into a

bun and she wore oversized glasses with dark frames. A

pencil skirt and jacket framed her slender, middle-age figure.

Across from her sat a man named Ibrahim Talbot, one of

her corporate vice presidents, who seemed deep in thought.

He stared silently out the window while Greensmythe

5THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

answered e-mail on her tablet computer.

“Everything all right back there, Franco?” Toronto

made eye contact with me for a second. I could see the top

three quarters of his face and his eyes, with a toothpick

dangling from his mouth, in the mirror.

I twisted my head to make a sweep of the garage behind

us. Everything appeared normal. With a key card to raise

the gate, a grey Volkswagen was departing the garage in the

other lane. A second guard, this one younger and African

American sat behind the window of a security station

attached to the side of the building, sipping on a plastic

straw protruding from a tall foam cup.

“Roger that. All clear.”

Toronto nodded.

The meeting Greensmythe and Talbot were to attend

wasn’t due to begin for another forty-five minutes. After

several sticky days of morning heat and afternoon

thunderstorms, the weather had taken a turn for the better

and the inbound traffic had been unusually light–at least,

by Northern Virginia standards. It was approaching 10:00

a.m. and the hordes of government workers and DC power

brokers were already safely ensconced behind their computer

screens and digging into the nation’s business.

On the ride across the river from their offices in

Alexandria, I’d overheard Greensmythe and Talbot

discussing data technologies in capital markets, regulation,

and risk analytics with an enthusiasm others normally

reserved for sports, food, or celebrities. The execs were not

celebrities, thank God. Comfortable and prosperous in their

relative anonymity, the security we provided them satisfied

their insurance company’s underwriters, and that was all.

Our firearms were locked away in the back of the SUV in

6 ANDY STRAKA

keeping with the District’s restrictive gun laws and the

client’s request.

“We’re early,” Nicole said. “Are you ready to go or

would you like to stay here for a while longer and continue

working in the car?”

Greensmythe said there was no sense in delaying their

appearance at the lobbying firm’s office. She and Talbot

would use the extra time before their meeting to look over

their notes inside.

“Shouldn’t we wait a little?” Talbot asked. Apparently,

her fellow executive didn’t cotton to the idea of arriving so

far in advance of their appointment.

Greensmythe turned her gaze on him. “What for? Just

to trumpet to them how busy and important we are? Make

sure you have all of your numbers together. I’m sure they’ll

be able to find someplace private to park us until the

meeting. And I’d like to get a feel for the place before we

begin. It always pays to know the playing field.”

“Okay, you’re the boss. I know we still have some

things to go over and I suppose we can just as easily do it

inside as here.”

Greensmythe nodded at her chief of staff and shoved

a stack of papers she’d been examining into the portfolio

briefcase between her feet. Though we’d only met a couple

of hours before, I had taken an instant liking to her. The

CEO didn’t strike me as one to posture or play games.

Toronto had gotten to know her through a mutual friend,

a falconer who worked for Greensmythe at her Fairfax

County estate where she kept a specially-built barn full of

prized falcons, not to mention horse stables stocked with

thoroughbreds and Arabians. But, for all her wealth and

idiosyncrasies, Greensmythe still acted like someone from

7THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

humble origin who had never forgotten where she came

from, who’d earned her place in the world the old-fashioned

way–through her own labors. Judging by the fortune she’d

amassed, Raquel Greensmythe could work almost anyone

into the ground. But she treated everyone around her,

including us, with respect, a fact I found refreshing.

“Okay, when we stop, the three of us will be getting

out first.”

Nicole had turned and was speaking with the

executives. Her voice carried an air of authority, taking

charge like she was supposed to.

I was proud of her. In the mirror I could see a trace of

a smile forming on Toronto’s lips. He was proud, too.

“There’s obviously no hurry,” Greensmythe said,

smoothing the skirt of her tailored suit, which probably

cost more than my monthly paycheck.

Looking at Greensmythe and Talbot, I began to

wonder if maybe I should have been pushing Nicole a little

harder to apply to that PhD program in computer science.

There were a lot more profitable, stable, saner, and safer

ways to earn a living than the private investigator business.

But try telling that to Nicole. At least there was no mystery

where she’d picked up the stubbornness gene.

Toronto eased the big Expedition toward our

designated parking slot on a sweeping arc, stopped to shift,

and began to back the vehicle in. It was a numbered, visitor

space, part of an entire row of such spaces, according to the

signs, allotted to McCarter & Iachetta. I’d never heard of

McCarter & Iachetta, although apparently the firm was one

of the largest and most influential lobbying firms in DC,

specializing in major corporate and environmental issues.

Why they wanted a meeting with our client was none of

8 ANDY STRAKA

my business. I planned to play my part and play it well–

just another hired tough guy in a suit.

The big SUV came to a halt and Toronto cut the

engine. He and Nicole wasted no time exiting the vehicle.

Nicole quickly slipped around back to let me out through

the rear hatch of the Expedition–not the most graceful way

out but one I was prepared for.

The plan called for extracting Talbot from the vehicle

first followed by his boss. Nicole, Toronto, and I would

form a classic triangle formation around them as we entered

the building with Nicole in front and Toronto and I at their

eight and four o’clock.

We got Talbot out of the car okay and moved around

to the other side to open Greensmythe’s door. Nicole held

the door open as the CEO stepped from the car onto the

pavement. I was in a different position that allowed me to

see through a gap in the cars all the way back to the garage

entrance and I noticed the security guard we’d seen on the

way in was no longer standing his post. A little unusual,

but nothing to panic about. Maybe the man was making a

routine shift in his position.

Greensmythe was completely out of the vehicle by

now. Instinctively, I swiveled my gaze around us to check

for threats and knew Nicole and Toronto were doing the

same.

A flash of movement appeared between the cars over

my right shoulder, and I started to turn to face it. That was

when I spotted the barrel of the assault rifle.

“Mayday, mayday. Gun. At our three.”

I spun the rest of the way around hoping to shield the

clients and pushing them down. Toronto saw the gun barrel

at about the same moment and made the same move I did.

9THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

But the assailant had the jump on us with the certainty

of what appeared to be a preplanned attack. In the blur of

the moment, I couldn’t have told you much more about

him, except that he was the same security guy we’d passed

at the entrance. He advanced with precision and skill and

began to lay down a line of fire with what looked like an

AK-47.

Time seemed to freeze as some kind of sixth sense

kicked in. Where did he get that thing? A part of my brain

wondered.

A bullet tore through the window of the vehicle next

to me, shattering the glass. I pushed Greensmythe down

hard to the pavement.

“Guns in back, Frank!”

I spun to my left, back behind the cover of the rear of

the vehicle and the hatch, which was still open. More bullets

rained around us. Two gun cases lay partially concealed in

the cargo compartment. I punched in the emergency

combination to pop the locks, lifted the lid, and jerked a

pair of Glock 17s with full mags from their holders.

“Coming to your feet!”

Toronto and Nicole had managed to push the clients

back into the bulletproof vehicle by now and taken cover

themselves behind adjacent vehicles. I slid the Glocks along

the pavement to each of them as the bullets kept coming.

One struck the back hatch of the SUV barely missing my

face.

A second or two later, Toronto rose, gun in hand, into

a crouch behind the vehicle in front of us and began to

return fire. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nicole, behind

me and to my left, squeeze off several shots in the direction

of our attacker as well.

10 ANDY STRAKA

I popped open the larger of the two cases in back where

I found a loaded tactical shotgun. I snatched it up and

slammed the rear hatch shut, then ducked along the line of

vehicles to our left with the guns still firing and the smell

of cordite hanging in the air. Advancing around to the front

of an oversized van, I pumped the shotgun and came out

firing from the shooter’s flank. I could clearly see him now.

It was definitely the security guard. He crouched behind a

late model sedan and was using its roof as a firing platform

for his assault rifle.

My flanking maneuver must have taken him by

surprise. That must have been enough to convince our

assailant to back off. He fired one more round of bullets at

the Expedition before slipping back down behind the row

of cars.

I stopped firing and pumped another shell into the

chamber, waiting for a moment to be sure.

“Hold your fire,” I called to the others.

Another smell met my nostrils. Blood. Two cars away,

a bright red smear ran along the running board and side of

the Expedition. I glanced toward the security window where

the younger guard had been seated, now empty.

Toward the front of the garage where I’d last seen the

shooter, I caught a brief flash of movement darting away to

my right. “He’s ghosting.”

This was no terrorist suicide mission. More like a

professional hit. The assailant must have known the terrain

better than we. He wouldn’t have gone into an operation

like this without an escape plan. Our best chance of catching

the shooter was melting away.

“I’m on him,” I hollered over my shoulder to Nicole

and Toronto and started to give chase.

11THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

“No,” Jake called out.

I held up.

“We stay with the clients and wait for the cavalry,” he

said. “There may be more guns.”

He was right, of course. Our job here was to protect.

Our first obligation was to the execs in the car. I scooted

back around to the SUV and formed a perimeter with

Toronto while Nicole got on the horn with 911.

Someone else must have already called it in. A chorus

of wailing police sirens could be heard approaching. For

the time being, there was no more movement in the garage.

I heard nothing except the sirens, backed by the continued

pulse of traffic on K Street blocks away as if nothing terrible

had just happened here.

Like a freeze-frame of the aftermath of a disaster, in

those few thin moments, the harsh reality of what had just

occurred began to close in on all of us.

“The shooter’s gone,” Nicole was still talking to 911.

“But we’ve got wounded. We’ve got people down.”

The first Metro PD patrol car screeched to a halt out

on the street in front of the garage. Toronto and I went

around and pulled open one of the side rear doors of the

Expedition.

“Everyone okay?”

“I’m all right,” Greensmythe said, her voice shaking.

“But Ibrahim’s in trouble.”

She bent over her wounded corporate vice president

performing chest compressions on his inert body.

Blood was everywhere. On the dark leather seats, all

over her expensive suit, and running down onto the carpeted

floor.

“Mr. Talbot?” Jake yelled.

12 ANDY STRAKA

No reply.

“Mr. Talbot.” Louder.

Nothing.

“Oh, no.” Raquel Greensmythe let out a sob of grief

as she kept up the compressions. “Oh, God. No.”

Toronto swore under his breath. Blood streamed from

one of his hands.

It would get worse.

“Dad.”

I turned to see Nicole with her gun still in her hand,

trying to pocket her cell phone and moving along the front

of the vehicle toward me.

“They’re coming, Dad. Everybody’s coming.”

She sounded out of breath, her voice growing weak.

Her eyes took on a glassy look as I rushed toward her,

catching sight of her stained jeans and the ragged outline

of torn fabric around a large, crimson-colored wound.

She collapsed into my arms.

13

;2

Nicole was being wheeled into the operating room at

George Washington University Hospital.

At this same facility, updated substantially of course

since then, President Ronald Reagan fought for his life after

an attempted assassination by John Hinckley, Jr. a generation

before. Reagan was said to have quipped to the surgeons

and the OR staff, “I hope you’re all Republicans.” To which

his surgeon had famously replied: “Mr. President. We’re all

Republicans today.”

I didn’t care about the history. All I wanted was for

Nicole to be okay. The Emergency Room doctor who

ordered her to be rushed into surgery looked worried.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he said.

I worried more about what the doctor wasn’t telling

me. “Guarded,” was the official prognosis. The illegal hollow

point bullet, built to kill, had shattered a substantial portion

of the bone. They were concerned about the femoral artery,

he told me, along with shock and her blood pressure and

potential sepsis.

Half an hour later word came down that Nicole was

on the surgical table and they were beginning the procedure

to repair her hip. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but replay

images of the shooting over and over again in my mind.

14 ANDY STRAKA

Could I have done anything differently? Been more vigilant?

Were there clues I had missed?

To add insult to injury, being back in a hospital

brought back a flood of memories from the year before–

the sickness, tests, and interminable days of waiting before

the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer that brought a premature

closure to Marcia’s life. Marcia and I had been together for

barely eight years, married less than three. The downward

spiral that began with the verdict from the hospital ended

with her death in my arms only a few weeks later, and by

then she’d felt as light as air.

I was still keeping vigil when Toronto burst in through

the waiting room doors. In his dark suit he cut an imposing

figure and in his present condition people seemed to

automatically shrink away from him. A stone-cold look of

determination, fear, and anger filled his eyes. Like mine,

his trousers still had grease and blood on them, not to

mention the large gauze bandage covering most of his left

hand.

As I rose to meet him, two or three mothers with

children in tow averted their gaze, while an overweight man

nearby appeared to hug his oxygen tank a little tighter.

Across the room, two teens, boyfriend and girlfriend

apparently, held on to one another.

“How is she?” Toronto asked.

“Don’t know yet.” I ushered him toward a quiet corner.

“They rushed her into surgery. Said they’re worried about

bleeding.”

He nodded grimly. “Did they say how long it would

be?”

“They said they weren’t sure. It depends on how much

damage they find.”

15THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

Toronto sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.

He balled his good fist and in slow motion banged it on a

small end table. “What can I do?”

“Nothing at the moment. We need to find whoever

did this.”

“Amen to that. They just called to tell me Talbot died

before they could get him into surgery at Washington

Hospital Center.”

We stared at one another. There was no way around it

now. We had failed at our primary mission. One of our

clients was dead.

“The garage is a murder scene now,” he continued.

“The Ford’s been impounded. Metro Police are all over this.

I’d have been here sooner, but they had a lot of questions.”

“How’s Greensmythe?”

“Pretty shook up, but otherwise okay. Someone

brought her a change of clothes and they’re bringing her

over here, too, just to check her out. Should be right behind

me.”

“You make this as an assassination attempt?”

“That’s what everyone seems to think.”

“On Greensmythe?”

“Most likely. Talbot just got caught in the cross fire.”

“She’ll need beefed up protection.”

“Already on it. She’s got a police escort for now and

I’ve already lined up an associate to help cover her estate

and I talked to the Virginia State Police.”

“How’s your hand?”

“I’ll survive,” he said. “Throbs though. I wouldn’t let

them give me anything. They wrapped it up and said I

needed to be seen down here, too. Wanted me to ride in an

ambulance, but I got one of the Metro PD squad cars to

16 ANDY STRAKA

bring me instead.”

“So you’re going to have them take a look at your

hand?”

“Nah, I don’t–”

“Hey. I need you.”

“But it’s not that bad.”

“Let’s just get it fixed up and move on.”

Toronto winced but nodded.

“I’m sorry, Frank.”

“For what?”

“I thought this was easy money, that these execs were

low profile, not on anybody’s target list.”

“Not your fault the clients wouldn’t let us carry guns.”

“Yeah, but I wish I’d never–”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t try to tell me you regret

bringing us in on this job. You and I both know the odds of

something like this happening, and they’re beyond long.

Nicky knew the risks and so did I. I don’t blame you and

she won’t either.”

“Still, I…I mean, if anything happens…” He started

to look away.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.

We’ve got to hang on and believe that. Come what may.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.”

“Let’s focus on what we can at the moment.”

“We’re going to have to go after the guy who did this

with all we’ve got.”

“Agreed.”

“He caught us flat-footed. If it hadn’t been for those

guns in the back of the Expedition, we’d probably all be

there lying on the pavement.”

“It won’t happen again.”

17THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

“I know.”

I blew out a long breath of air. “But it won’t be easy.

We’ve got to get Nicky squared away and your hand looked

at first.”

He made a fist beneath the bandage with his injured

hand and grimaced. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll still be able to

use this mitt if I’m lucky.”

“Maybe.”

We shared a look and he nodded. “Have you talked

to David about what happened?”

“Yeah.” David Raines was another Charlottesville area

falconer who sometimes helped out with our birds when

we were out of town working. “He said not to worry. He’s

got things covered.”

“Good.”

“First question will be how a guy like that gets a job

working as a guard.”

Toronto shrugged. “Not impossible to penetrate

unarmed security. They have to pass background checks

and all, but they aren’t that regulated compared to special

police guards with guns.”

“But if all he wanted to do was take out Greensmythe,

why the assault weapon?”

“Shock and awe?”

“I don’t know. He sure turned tail in a hurry once we

started shooting back at him.”

“Might not have been expecting us to respond.”

An older, authoritative-looking nurse with a clipboard

appeared and interrupted our conversation. “Are you Mr.

Toronto?” She looked at his imposing figure and the

bandage on his hand.

“I am.”

18 ANDY STRAKA

“We talked to the paramedics. I’m afraid we’re really

going to have to take a look at that hand. Still having trouble

moving it?”

“A little,” Toronto admitted. When it came to anything

physical, if Jake Toronto said it was only bothering him a

little, for anyone else that meant a lot.

The obviously experienced nurse sized him up. “You

need to come with me now,” she said.

“Just hang on a minute. My friend and I are having

an important discussion.”

“Go on with her, Jake. There’ll be time for us to talk

later,” I said. I turned to the nurse. “Just give us one quick

second, will you?”

The nurse said okay but stood her ground.

All around us in the waiting room people still slumped

in chairs, avoiding eye contact with one another, busy with

their own thoughts, problems and traumas. And right there

in the midst of them, buried in the mind-numbing

atmosphere and antiseptic buzz of phones ringing, the

clickety-clack of keyboards, and the unnerving specter of

nurses and other medical personnel coming and going, two

big middle-aged guys in sweat and bloodstained suits took

a knee to call on a higher grace.

It was all we could do at the moment-everything we

were supposed to do.

Come what may.

19

;3

Raquel Greensmythe arrived on a gurney a few minutes

later, accompanied by a couple of uniformed police

officers and a trailing entourage. I stepped out into the hall

hoping to talk with her, but the cops were having none of

it. They brushed past me and whisked her through another

set of doors into a private examination area.

A man and a woman peeled off from the group

following and approached me.

“We understand you were with Raquel and Ibrahim

when they were attacked.”

“I was.”

“I’m Dan McCarter.”

The man who stuck out a well-tanned hand for me to

shake had a broad chest that might have come from lifting

weights or rowing. His dark hair harbored a touch of grey

and he still managed to look distinguished though he’d

apparently shed his suit coat, wearing dark blue banker’s

braces over a bright white dress shirt with French cuffs.

“Of McCarter & Iachetta,” I said.

“Yes. You’re the one whose daughter was wounded.”

“That’s right.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She was shot in the hip. They’re worried about blood

loss among other things. She’s in surgery.”

20 ANDY STRAKA

“I’m terribly sorry. This has been an unspeakable

tragedy for all of us. The police wanted us to stay put, but I

insisted on coming down here with Raquel to check on

you all.”

“I appreciate that. I’m sorry for what happened to Mr.

Talbot.”

“He was a business associate and a friend. A good

man.” He turned to the woman next to him. “Forgive me.

This is one of my partners, Therese Iachetta.”

Iachetta, who seemed to move in staccato rhythms in

her heels, was a dark-haired woman with flashing eyes and

dark nail polish to match. She looked to be in her forties,

but she might have been older.

“We’re glad to see you’re okay though,” she said. “From

what we heard upstairs, that must have been quite the

barrage of bullets.”

“I’m lucky to be standing here,” I said.

“Is there anything we can get for you, Mr. Pavlicek?”

McCarter asked. “Anyone we can call?”

“No, thank you.”

“What about the other fellow you were with?”

“Jake Toronto.”

“Yes. We met him briefly at the building when he was

talking to the police.”

“He’s here, but they’ve trucked him off to tend to him,

too. He was hit in the hand.”

McCarter nodded. He glanced around the waiting

room. “Do you mind if we step into another room to talk?”

“Of course not.”

I followed them down a short hallway, veering off into

a quiet alcove next to an exit sign, and through a doorway

that led into another foyer, apparently unused at the

21THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY

moment. The much smaller lobby was ringed by closed

doors.

McCarter turned to look at me. “Can you tell us what

happened?”

“Pretty straightforward,” I said. “Your guard was out

to kill. As soon as we set foot on the pavement, he came at

us firing a military assault rifle.”

“It’s just like one of those mass shootings that have

been happening the last few years,” Iachetta said. “These

guns are out of control.” Her tone seemed to brook no

disagreement.

“Well, it’s a good thing we were able to gain quick

access to our own guns,” I said. “Otherwise there would

have been a lot more dead bodies taking up space in your

garage.”

McCarter held up his hand. “We don’t have all the

facts yet, Therese. Let’s not go jumping to any grandiose

conclusions.”

His partner bit her lip.

“We just can’t believe it was one of our own building

people,” McCarter said. “I talked to the security company

with whom we contract for all of our guard services. The

man who attacked you had only just started working the

day before yesterday. It looks like under false pretenses.”

“So he must have had a plan. He must have known

we were coming in today.”

“Perhaps.”

“Is there any kind of daily log provided to security of

people scheduled to visit?”

“Yes, of course. We’ve already given all of this

information to the police.”

“Can you provide me with a copy and with the name

of the security company? I’d like to talk with them, too.”

22 ANDY STRAKA

“Whatever you need. I can put you in touch with the

owner. His name is Gordon Bittner.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else we can do for you? I feel so bad

for what happened to your daughter.”

“She was just doing her job. Like we all were.

Hopefully, she’s going to be okay.”

“Lord willing.”

“Yes, Lord willing.”

“Again, we’re really sorry for what happened, that you

and your daughter and partner had to get caught up in all

this.”

“Me, too.”

“Mr. Pavlicek?” We all turned to look as another nurse

appeared through the doorway from which we’d just entered.

“Yes.” Thinking it was about Nicole, I moved away

from the executives and started towards her. “That’s me.”

The nurse looked relieved. “I’m glad I finally found

you.”

“How’s my daughter?”

“Your daughter’s still in surgery,” she said, “but there

are a couple of detectives from the Metropolitan Police out

at the reception desk. They said they would like to speak

with you right away.”

;END

OTHER BOOKS BY ANDY STRAKA

FRANK PAVLICEK MYSTERIESA Witness Above A Killing Sky

Cold Quarry The Night Falconer Flightfall

DRAGONFLIES SERIESDragonflies: Shadow of Drones

Dragonflies: Visible Means

SUSPENSERecord Of Wrongs

The Blue Hallelujah

FOR MORE INFORMATION, VISIT:www.andystraka.com

Also join Andy at:Facebook.com/andystraka Twitter.com/andystraka

Praise for the novels ofShamus Award-winning author

ANDY STRAKA

“A talented author.”– Publishers Weekly

“Highly recommended. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”– Michael Connelly

“A first-rate thriller.”– Mystery Scene

“A book this good, and this original, helps remind mewhy I started reading mysteries in the first place.”

– Steve Hamilton

fff