Hiding in the Shadows: A Bishop/Special Crimes Unit Novel
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Terror waits just out of sight
Hiding In The Shadows
Accident victim Faith Parker has done what her doctors feared she never would: awakened from the coma that held her prisoner for weeks. But she has no memory of the crash that nearly killed her—or the life that led up to it. Nor does she remember journalist Dinah Leighton, the steadfast friend who visited her in the hospital...until she disappeared without a trace. Now as Faith begins to regain her strength, she's shocked by intimate dreams of a man she doesn't recognize and tortured by visions of violence that feel painfully real. Something inexplicable ties her lost memories to Dinah's chilling fate. But even as Faith tries to understand the connection and reach out to save Dinah, death is stalking both women. And one of them will not escape its lethal grasp.
FBI agent Noah Bishop has a rare gift for seeing what others do not, a gift that helps him solve the most puzzling cases. Now, read more of his electrifying adventures in two stand-alone tales of psychic suspense.
and put the car into gear. “The emergency room where you were first brought after the crash.” That made sense; he was still looking for something to connect her accident with what had happened to Dinah weeks afterward. “You said Dinah visited me the day she disappeared?” “She did. And since the police traced her movements of that day very carefully, we know she spent little more than half an hour with you in the morning.” “And then?” “She went to her office and was in and out several times
puzzlement and then shock twist her features. Her right hand touched the upper part of her left arm just below the shoulder, and Kane saw scarlet bloom around her fingers. “Faith—” “Will you look at that?” She was staring at a mirror directly across the room from where she stood. A cobweb of jagged cracks radiated from a small hole in the center of the mirror. With more haste than gentleness, Kane grabbed her and pulled her away from the windows. “Goddammit, somebody’s shooting.” “At me?” She
conscious of her heart pounding and the sound of her quick, shallow breathing in the otherwise silent room. She couldn’t remember the dream, but her shaking body and runaway pulse told her it had been a bad one. She closed her eyes and for several minutes concentrated only on calming down. Gradually, her heart slowed and her breathing steadied. Okay. Okay. That was better. Much better. She didn’t like being scared. She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. Gradually a niggling awareness
half an ear, her attention fixed on the background of the shot, where Dinah, notebook in hand, was cradling a sleeping infant. She had been a beautiful woman, Faith realized. And her lovely face wore compassion and empathy so openly and naturally. It was a face to which even strangers would be drawn to tell their secrets, even their shames, and Faith wondered how many confidences Dinah had carried with her to her death. Before Faith could do more than ponder that question, her attention was
taste and without any leaning toward violence, she saw nothing of a Robin Hood–type myth clinging to this one: No one had ever implied that Quinn shared his spoils with the poor. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I rather thought that was obvious.” Morgan drew a deep breath. “Dammit, I meant—Stop staring at my chest!” Quinn cleared his throat with an odd little sound, and in a suspiciously pensive and humble tone said, “I have held in my hands some of the finest artworks the world has