This can definitely be classified as a police procedural. As time goes on,
I’m not sure I enjoy police procedural novels as much as I used too. Initially,
I had a hard time getting into it because there were a lot of police shop talk
and so many characters to familiarize myself with. I was a bit confused especially
since there were multiple police forces and counties involved and I am not
familiar with American police forces, and how their legal/police system works.
However, as the story developed, and I got familiar with all the
different characters and police forces, I really go into it and found it to be
quite a real mind nerving page-turner.
The premise is very creative; a
serial killer that kills in threes, in the third month of the year, on the third
day, every third day, three times, every three years…if that makes sense!
I’m so glad I powered through because
this will now be another series I can’t get enough of; it was so gripping, and I
absolutely loved the main character Kara Quinn. She was such a badass
protagonist. I also really love the other main character agent Mathias Costa. Looking forward to refind more on their dynamic!
Perfect debut book for the Mobile
Response Team series.
Thank you to HarperCollins Canada for providing me with an electronic ARC of this book via NetGalley. As usual, my reviews are my honest and unbiased opinions.
Allison Brennan
On Sale Date: February 4, 2020
9780778309444, 0778309444
Hardcover
$26.99 USD, $33.50 CAD
Fiction / Thrillers / Suspense
464 pages
About the Book:
New York Times
bestselling author and gifted storyteller Allison Brennan's new standalone
thriller features a troubled female police detective and an ambitious FBI
special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock investigation into a
diabolical serial killer.
Brennan's
novel will launch a book-a-year series featuring a fabulous cast of recurring
characters. It’s the story of a troubled female police detective and an
ambitious FBI special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock
investigation into a diabolical serial killer; and the bond they forge in this
crucible sets the stage for the future books in the series.
Detective Kara
Quinn is visiting her hometown of Liberty Lake, Washington, after being placed
on administrative leave by the LAPD, when she comes upon the mutilated body of
a young nurse during an early morning jog. The manner of death is clearly
ritualistic; she calls it in. Meanwhile back in DC, special agent in charge
Mattias Costa is meticulously staffing his newly-minted Mobile Response Team.
One of his first recruits is the brilliant FBI forensic psychologist Catherine
Jones. When word reaches Matt that the Washington state murder appears to be
the work of the Triple Killer--it will be the first case for the MRT. Jones has
done the only profile on this serial killer, but she is reluctant to join the
unit, still shaken by the death of her sister a year ago under circumstances
for which she holds herself responsible. But only she holds the key to
understanding the killer's obsessive pattern--three murder victims, three deep
slashes a piece, each three days apart, each series beginning on a March
3rd--3/3, then a three-year hiatus before he strikes again.
This time they
have a chance to stop him before he claims another victim strikes, but only if
they can figure out who he is and where he's hiding.
About the Author:
Allison
Brennan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning
author of three dozen thrillers and numerous short stories. She was nominated
for Best Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers, has had
multiple nominations and two Daphne du Maurier Awards, and is a five-time RITA
finalist for Best Romantic Suspense. Allison believes life is too short to be
bored, so she had five kids. Allison and her family live in Arizona. Visit her
at allisonbrennan.com
Social Links:
Author website: Allison Brennan
Facebook: @AllisonBrennan
Twitter: @Allison_Brennan
Instagram: @abwrites
Goodreads: Allison Brennan
Buy
Links:
Excerpt
Wednesday,
March 3
Liberty
Lake, Washington
12:09
a.m.
Warm blood
covered him.
His arms, up to his elbows, were
slick with it. His clothing splattered with it. The knife—the blade that had
taken his retribution—hung in his gloved hand by his side.
It was good. Very good.
He was almost done.
The killer stared at the blackness
in front of him, his mind as silent and dark as the night. The water lapped
gently at the banks of the lake. A faint swish swish swish as it rolled up and
back, up and back, in the lightest of breezes.
He breathed in cold air; he exhaled
steam.
Calm.
Focused.
As
the sounds and chill penetrated his subconscious, he moved into action. Staying
here with the body would be foolish, even in the middle of the night.
He
placed the knife carefully on a waist-high boulder, then removed his clothes.
Jacket. Sweater. Undershirt. He stuffed them into a plastic bag. Took off his
shoes. Socks. Pants. Boxers. Added them to the bag. He stood naked except for
his gloves.
He
tied the top of the plastic, then picked up the knife again and stabbed the bag
multiple times. With strength that belied his lean frame, he threw the knife
into the water. He couldn’t see where it fell; he barely heard the plunk.
Then
he placed the bag in the lake and pushed it under, holding it beneath the
surface to let the frigid water seep in. When the bag was saturated, he pulled
it out and spun himself around as if he were throwing a shot put. He let go and
the bag flew, hitting the water with a loud splash.
Even
if the police found it—which he doubted they would— the water would destroy any
evidence. He’d bought the clothes and shoes, even his underwear, at a discount
store in another city, at another time. He’d never worn them before tonight.
Though
he didn’t want DNA evidence in the system, it didn’t scare him if the police
found something. He didn’t have a record. He’d killed before, many times, and
not one person had spoken to him. He was smart—smarter than the cops, and
certainly smarter than the victims he’d carefully selected.
Still,
he must be cautious. Meticulous. Being smart meant that he couldn’t assume
anything. What did his old man use to say?
Assume makes an ass out of you and me…
The
killer scowled. He wasn’t doing any of this for his old man, though his father
would get the retribution he deserved. He was doing this for himself. His own retribution. He was this
close to finishing the elaborate plan he’d conceived years ago.
He
could scarcely wait until six days from now, March 9, when his revenge would be
complete.
He
was saving the guiltiest of them for last.
Still,
he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too
weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times
had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father
told him these people were fools?
Still,
he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too
weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times
had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father
told him these people were fools?
Yet
his father just let it happen and did nothing about it! Nothing! Because he was weak. He was weak and pathetic and cruel.
Breathe. Focus. All in good time.
All
in good time.
The
killer took another, smaller plastic bag from his backpack. He removed his wet
gloves, put them inside, added a good-sized rock, tied the bag, then threw it
into the lake.
Still
naked, he shivered in the cold, still air. He wasn’t done.
Do it quick.
He
walked into the lake, the water colder than ice. Still, he took several steps
forward, his feet sinking into the rough muck at the bottom. When his knees
were submersed, he did a shallow dive. His chest scraped a rock, but he was too
numb to feel pain. He broke through the surface with a loud scream. He couldn’t
breathe; he couldn’t think. His heart pounded in his chest, aching from the icy
water.
But
he was alive. He was fucking alive!
He
went under once more, rubbed his hands briskly over his arms and face in case
any blood remained. He would take a hot shower when he returned home, use soap
and a towel to remove anything the lake left behind. But for now, this would
do.
Twenty
seconds in the water was almost too long. He bolted out, coughed, his body
shaking so hard he could scarcely think. But he had planned everything well and
operated on autopilot.
He
pulled a towel from his backpack and dried off as best he could. Stepped into
new sweatpants, sweatshirt, and shoes. Pulled on a new pair of gloves. There
might be blood on the ATV, but it wasn’t his blood, so he wasn’t concerned.
He
took a moment to stare back at the dark, still lake. Then he took one final
look at the body splayed faceup. He felt nothing, because she was nothing.
Unimportant. Simply a small pawn in a much bigger game. A pawn easily
sacrificed.
He
hoped his old man would be proud of his work, but he would probably just
criticize his son’s process. He’d complain about how he did the job, then open
another bottle of booze.
He
hoped his father was burning in hell.
He
jumped on the ATV and rode into the night.
Excerpted
from The Third to Die by Allison
Brennan, Copyright ©
2020 by Allison Brennan. Published by MIRA Books.
No comments
Post a Comment