The Night Before
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Blood Will Be Spilled. . .
In the dark shadows of a sultry southern town, a serial killer strikes. It's an act of sinister precision that has happened many times before. . .every victim an offering to a hunger that can never be sated. . .
Night After Night. . .
The next morning, Caitlyn Montgomery Bandeaux wakes covered in blood. But Caitlyn has no memory of the night before, when her estranged husband was brutally murdered like so many others she has known. . .
After Night. . .
Wanted by the police and haunted by horrifying, fragmented memories, Caitlyn turns to Adam Hunt, the town's new psychologist. But how far can she really trust him? For as a twisted killer strikes again and again, Caitlyn's about to discover that those who appear the most innocent are usually the most evil. . .
several basements that . . . And then she knew. Of course she knew. She’d played there as a child. Adam drove like a madman. His cell phone battery was shot, and he couldn’t call, had barely been able to hear the message that Caitlyn was on her way to Oak Hill. His fingers curled over the steering wheel in a death grip, and he tried to shove aside the worry that had been with him since he’d put the CD he’d found in the backpack into his laptop computer. While parked in the gravel pit,
nose had become a fever, the virus attacking so swiftly it had been frightening. Friday night. By Saturday morning, Jamie had been listless. Caitlyn called the pediatrician’s office, but it had been closed. By afternoon, Jamie was worse and Caitlyn had taken her to the hospital where, despite the efforts of an emergency room team, her only child had died from a high fever and an unexplained virus. Caitlyn had never forgiven God. “. . . so leave a message.” Kelly’s recorded message jolted her out
she loved the feeling. She also experienced a twinge of superiority when she was with him, as if she was pulling a fast one on the bluebloods of Savannah. Supposedly the city had a reputation for being the stepsister to Atlanta, a Southern lady with a dirty hem on her antebellum gown, but if that was true, Sugar Biscayne never wanted to set foot in the state capital. There was plenty of snobbery here in Savannah to suit her style. Now finally, she was getting a little of her own back. She
single cop on the force offering me up advice on my kids. I’ve got it waxed.” “If you say so.” “They’re great kids,” she repeated. “No argument here,” he said, hoping her motherly feathers would soon be unruffled. They were going to be spending a lot of time cooped up in the car together today, so it would be best not to start out irritating each other. Reed wanted to double-check a few alibis and witness reports for the night of Josh Bandeaux’s death. First on the agenda was Stanley Hubert,
Lucille were estranged, but I’m checking everything out on this end. I’ve called Marta’s mother myself, but Lucille Vasquez is the proverbial brick wall. Won’t give me any information.” Reed had heard as much from the detectives who had interviewed the staff at Oak Hill. He leaned back in his chair again and glanced to his computer monitor where a list of all of Josh Bandeaux’s known acquaintances flickered. “You said you were with Homicide. You think Marta is dead?” There was a weighty pause