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The police can't help you
Former Marine helicopter pilot Jack Morgan runs Private, a renowned investigation company with branches around the globe. It is where you go when you need maximum force and maximum discretion. The secrets of the most influential men and women on the planet come to Jack daily--and his staff of investigators uses the world's most advanced forensic tools to make and break their cases.
The press will destroy you
Jack is already deep into the investigation of a multi-million dollar NFL gambling scandal and the unsolved slayings of 18 schoolgirls when he learns of a horrific murder close to home: his best friend's wife, Jack's former lover, has been killed. It nearly pushes him over the edge. Instead, Jack pushes back and devotes all of Private's resources to tracking down her killer.
Only one place to turn: Private
But Jack doesn't have to play by the rules. As he closes in on the killer and chooses between revenge and justice, Morgan has to navigate a workplace love affair that threatens to blow the roof off his plans. With a plot that moves at death-defying speeds, Private is James Patterson sleekest, most exciting thriller ever.
work. By the time Crocker got home, it was half past nine. The rest of the night was his, and this was going to be great. He dressed for his run, and ten minutes later he was jogging around the Marina del Rey, his mind on the recent outing when his group had taken Connie Yu down for the count. Sweating and panting, Crocker slowed outside one of the slips in the marina. He put his hands on his knees and caught his breath. When he was sure he was alone, he took a pint-sized ziplock bag out of
my girl. Get in, Justine. I’ll drive you to your office.” “I was just calling a Town Car. What timing. Thanks.” She went around to the passenger side of his Beemer and got inside. She leaned over for Bobby’s kiss. “How did it go with the kids?” he asked, pulling the car into the stream of traffic. “Pretty good, I think. If they ever listen to anyone over thirty.” “You don’t look over thirty, sweetie. Not a day, not a minute.” “What do you want, Bobby? What else do you want?” “Yeah. There
zapped with a stun gun,” Justine said. “That was the fit you saw. And your mom didn’t see anything?” Christine shook her head. “I wasn’t sure what I’d seen myself. It could’ve been a commercial between my thoughts—that’s how fast it was. I froze, and when my mom turned to see what I was looking at, the van was gone. She didn’t believe me—or didn’t want to. “But when it was all over the TV, she finally called the police. My mother believed the TV but not me.” Kids were passing the table,
said. “I mean now.” Lance Richter’s sunburned complexion paled, but he and Kenny Owen went through the door, and Fred closed it behind them. We five formed a huddle a dozen yards away from the refs’ locker room. Fred said, “There’s no easy way. We can do this hard or we can do it harder.” “What are you talking about, Fred?” Owen asked, playing dumb and doing it rather well. “We’ve got the whole revolting fix on tape, you pathetic assholes. Jack, show them the pictures you took at the Beverly
his hair, kicked him everywhere: legs, kidneys, ribs. I poured a three-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch over his head. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, nothing else I could do without actually killing him. Andy Cushman, my former client, my former friend, was still crying when I left his suite. Chapter 105 DR. SCI CAME spinning around the corner to Justine’s office, grabbed the doorjamb, and leaned straight out as if he were a flag in a gale. It was ten after ten in the