When
a high-society call girl is murdered in her Georgetown home,
investigators find two cameras hidden in the walls of her bedroom. One
has its memory erased, presumably by the murderer. The second is
connected to the Internet through an encrypted connection…and no-one
knows who’s on the other end.
Description:
Published: January 10th, 2016
When
a high-society call girl is murdered in her Georgetown home,
investigators find two cameras hidden in the walls of her bedroom. One
has its memory erased, presumably by the murderer. The second is
connected to the Internet through an encrypted connection…and no-one
knows who’s on the other end.
Special
Agent Allison McNeil is asked by beleaguered FBI Director Clarence
Mason to run an off-the-record investigation of the murder. The most
direct path to apprehending the killer is to find the videos, but with
rumors that the victim’s client list may have included Mason’s political
enemies, Allison worries about the director’s motives.
As she
starts her investigation, she quickly discovers that she’s not the only
one pursuing the videos. In fact, the most aggressive person racing
against her might be the murderer himself.
"A
thriller with a sweet-as-pie ending!This story was nothing like I
expected it to be at all. It was so much more. There was a great plot.
Fantastic and well thought out characters, playing out these scenes of
murder and intrigue. Hair-raising moments, that took twists and turns." - Goodreads, Freda Labianca
"I
loved the way the story is built. It creates a high intensity of
engagement and you start feeling things happening around you. You become
part of the story as if witnessing every sequence. That is the beauty
of Gunhus’ writing. " - Goodreads, Jaideep Khanduja
EXCERPT
Marshall
“Libby” Ashworth had not been nervous for a meeting in years. Although
just turned fifty, he had seen too damn much to bother with nerves.
Heads of state, U.S. presidents, celebrities, all had been part of his
everyday routine for the last two decades and the novelty had long worn
off. Just like anyone else, famous people used the john, got stupid when
they drank too much, smelled bad when they sweat and were generally
more flawed than John Q Public could ever guess.
As
a staffer, he’d watched George W. Bush waddle through security
briefings asking questions that proved one child had been left behind
and he was sitting in the White House. Libby Ashworth was there when
that sycophant Clinton said goodnight to the donors who’d ponied up the
cash to spend the night in the Lincoln bedroom. He’d cried as the first
African-American President was sworn in, only to see him fumble through a
presidency high on promise and miserably low on results. And it wasn’t
just the executive branch. He’d seen Senate leaders hold up funding for
needy families for no other reason than because a bill’s author had
bad-talked someone during a poker game. And he’d seen Supreme Court
Justices so drunk they couldn’t walk straight, talking trash about the
sacred court on which they sat.
He’d
seen enough of Washington to know better than to hold the people who
worked there in enough regard to ever be nervous to meet them.
Except the meeting today was different.
This meeting had him very nervous.
And that scared him.
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