Legacies: A Repairman Jack Novel
F. Paul Wilson
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Repairman Jack isn't your average appliance repairman--he fixes situations for people, often risking his own life. Jack has no last name, no social security number, works only for cash, and has no qualms when it comes to seeing that the job gets done.
Dr. Alicia Clayton, a pediatrician who treats children with AIDS, is full of secrets, and she has just inherited a house that holds another. Haunted by painful memories, Alicia wants the house destroyed--but somehow everyone she enlists to help ends up violently killed. The house holds a powerful secret, and Alicia's charmless brother Thomas seems willing to do anything to get his hands on that secret himself.
But not if Repairman Jack can find it first!
She meant it. "Am I the only one in this room who detects just a tiny bit of inconsistency here?" "Nope," she said. "I'm a hypocrite and I freely admit it. The only time I want you to be Repairman Jack is for me." Jack was speechless. What did he say to that? During the silence, a low, guttural laugh filtered in from the front room. Jack felt the gooseflesh rise on Gia's arm. "My, God, Jack. Did you hear that?" "Just the TV. That's our old friend Dwight." Dracula was running in the ongoing
the Clayton house and its cozy neighbors. Nope. A fire here would definitely not be a good thing. 8 Kemel Muhallal rose from his evening prayers, carefully rolled up his prayer rug, and returned it to the closet. As he moved toward the front of the living room, his gaze was drawn to the catalog lying facedown on the coffee table. He averted his eyes. Not now. Not so soon after prayer. Kemel stepped to the front window and stretched as he looked down on West Seventy-seventh Street, five
Prophet—Nazer's was neatly edged and clipped to a uniform length. Nazer's excuse was that an unkempt beard was a hindrance to his work here as a trade envoy attached to the U.N. Kemel suspected that Nazer simply wanted to appear more attractive to the infidel women he consorted with in the weeks and months he spent away from his wife. Kemel did not like this man. His antipathy began with the man's lax attitude toward the faith, but from there his reasons were strictly personal. He would dislike
in a fourth-floor walk-up had its drawbacks—moving in had been utterly exhausting, and it was a pain when she had packages, but she wouldn't trade the studio area and its skylights for anything. The detective stopped at her threshold. "May I?" "Of course," she said, stepping back. As he passed, Alicia saw how his blond hair was receding above the temples on both sides. She hadn't noticed that yesterday. Probably because he kept it cut so short. Even so, he still had a boyish look, especially
"So good, in fact, that nothing you can tell me can ruin it." He sighed. "Okay. Here's what I learned: Seems this isn't the first time Pretty Boy Floyd has been caught with his hands on a child. They weren't easy to find, but I dug up three past complaints about him." Alicia's spirits jumped. "Then, he's got a record—a history of pedophilia. How the hell did we ever allow him in?" "Hang on here. No record. The complaints were all dropped." "Dropped? All of them?" He nodded, chewing slowly.