Double Jeopardy by Catherine Coulter (English) Paperback Book

Description: Double Jeopardy by Catherine Coulter #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulters FBI Thrillers The Target and The Edge, together in one explosive volume. The Target—Coulter "keeps readers guessing" (Booklist) as a little girl is pursued by men who prove as relentless as their motives are baffling. And FBI agents Savich and Sherlock must unravel the clues. The Edge—In this "fast-paced thriller" (People), an FBI agents sister disappears after an attempted suicide. When Savich and Sherlock join the search, they discover a startling connection to a puzzling murder—and put their lives on the line to uncover the truth. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Catherine Coulter is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than eighty novels, including the FBI Thriller series and A Brit in the FBI international thriller series, cowritten with J.T. Ellison. She lives in Sausalito, California, with her Übermensch husband and their two noble cats, Peyton and Eli. Review Praise for Catherine Coulters FBI Thrillers "Fast-paced."—People "This terrific thriller will drag you into its chilling web of terror and not let go until the last paragraph…A ripping good read."—The San Francisco Examiner "A good storyteller...Coulter always keeps the pace brisk."—Fort Worth Star-Telegram "With possible blackmail, intra-judiciary rivalries and personal peccadilloes, theres more than enough intrigue—and suspects—for full court standing in this snappy page-turner…A zesty read."—Book Page "Twisted villains...intriguing escapism...The latest in the series featuring likable married FBI agents Lacey Sherlock and Dillon Savich."—Lansing (MI) State Journal "Coulter takes readers on a chilling and suspenseful ride...taut, fast-paced, hard to put down."—Cedar Rapids Gazette "The perfect suspense thriller, loaded with plenty of action."—The Best Reviews "The newest installment in Coulters FBI series delivers...a fast-moving investigation, a mind-bending mystery."—Publishers Weekly "Fast-paced, romantic...Coulter gets better and more cinematic with each of her suspenseful FBI adventures."—Booklist Review Quote Praise for Catherine Coulters FBI Thrillers "Fast-paced."-- People "This terrific thriller will drag you into its chilling web of terror and not let go until the last paragraph...A ripping good read."-- The San Francisco Examiner "A good storyteller...Coulter always keeps the pace brisk."-- Fort Worth Star-Telegram "With possible blackmail, intra-judiciary rivalries and personal peccadilloes, theres more than enough intrigue--and suspects--for full court standing in this snappy page-turner...A zesty read."-- Book Page "Twisted villains...intriguing escapism...The latest in the series featuring likable married FBI agents Lacey Sherlock and Dillon Savich."-- Lansing (MI) State Journal "Coulter takes readers on a chilling and suspenseful ride...taut, fast-paced, hard to put down."-- Cedar Rapids Gazette "The perfect suspense thriller, loaded with plenty of action."--The Best Reviews "The newest installment in Coulters FBI series delivers...a fast-moving investigation, a mind-bending mystery."-- Publishers Weekly "Fast-paced, romantic...Coulter gets better and more cinematic with each of her suspenseful FBI adventures."-- Booklist Excerpt from Book onE Rocky Mountains Spring He stood at the edge of the mountain that sheered down a good two hundred feet before smoothing out into tree-covered ledges and gentle wildflower-covered slopes and sharp gaping ridges. He breathed in the thin air that was so fresh it burned his lungs, but, truth be told, it burned less today than it had yesterday. Soon, the frigid clean air at nearly six thousand feet would become natural to him. It had been only yesterday that hed realized he hadnt thought all day about a telephone, a TV, a radio, a fax machine, the sound of other voices coming at him from all sides, about people grabbing at him, shouting questions six inches from his face. And those blinding explosions of white from the ever-present flashbulbs. Now, he figured, at last he was beginning to let go, to forget for stretches of time what had happened. He looked across the valley at the massive, raw mountains that stretched mile upon mile like unevenly spaced jagged teeth. Mr. Goudge, the owner of the Union 76 gas station down in Dillinger, had told him that many of the locals, lots of them Trekkies, called the whole mess of knuckle-shaped mountains the Ferengi Range. The highest peak rose to twelve thousand feet, bent slightly to the south, and looked like a misshapen phallus. He wondered if hed hurt himself if he climbed that mountain. The folks down in Dillinger joked about that peak, saying it was a sight with snow dropping off it in the summer. He was aware again as he was so often of being utterly alone. At this elevation there were thick forests of conifers, mainly birch, fir, and more ponderosa pine than anyone could begin to count. Hed seen lots of quaking aspen too. No logging companies had ever devoured this land. On the higher-elevation peaks across the valley, there were no trees, no flowers as there were here in his alpine meadow, just snow and ruggedness, so much savage beauty, untouched by humans. He looked toward the small town of Dillinger at the far end of the valley that stretched from east to west below. It claimed fifteen hundred and three souls. Silver mines had made it a boomtown in the 1880s, nearly bursting the valley open with more than thirty thousand people-miners, prostitutes, store owners, crooks, an occasional sheriff and preacher, and very few families. That was a long time ago. The descendants of those few locals who had stuck it out after the silver mines had closed down now catered to a trickle of summer tourists. There were cattle in the valley, but they were a scruffy lot. Hed seen bighorn sheep and mountain goats coming down the slopes really close to the cattle, pronghorn antelope grazing at the lower elevations, and prowling coyotes. Hed driven his four-wheel-drive Jeep down there just once since hed been here to stock up on groceries at Clements grocery. Had it been Tuesday? Two days ago? Hed bought a package of frozen peas, forgetting that he didnt have a freezer, just a small high-tech refrigerator that was run off a generator sitting just outside the cabin. Hed cooked those frozen peas on his wood-burning stove, then eaten the entire package in one sitting next to the one bright standing lamp that also worked off the generator. He stretched, caught a glimpse of two hawks flying low, looking for a snack, and took his ax back to the stump beside the cabin where he was splitting logs. It didnt take him long to pull off his down jacket, then his flannel shirt, then his undershirt. And still he worked up a sweat. His rhythm sped up. The sun felt hot and good on his skin, seeping in to warm his muscles. He felt strong and healthy. He was in business. He knew he had more logs than he could use for the next week, but he just kept to that hard, smooth rhythm, feeling his muscles flex and loosen, grow tight with power, and release. He stopped a moment to wipe the sweat off his face with a sleeve of his shirt. Even his sweat smelled fresh, as if his innards were clean. He heard something. A very faint sound. It had to be an animal. But hed gotten used to the owls and the sparrow hawks, to the chipmunks and the skunks, and to the wolves. This sound wasnt one of them. He hoped it wasnt another person invading his mountain. His was the only cabin in the high meadow. There were other cabins, but they were lower, at least a half mile away. No one came up here except maybe in the summer to hike. It was mid-April. No hikers yet. He hefted his ax again. He froze in midswing when the sound came again. It was like the desperate cry of something-a kitten? No, that was crazy. Still, he pulled on his flannel shirt, and the down jacket. He leaned down and picked up his ax. The weight felt good. Had another man come onto his mountain? He paused, holding perfectly still, letting the silence invade him until he was part of it. He felt the cool afternoon breeze stir the hair on his head. At last it came again, a soft mewling sound that was fainter this time, broken off into two distinct parts, as if suddenly split apart. As if a creature was nearly dead. He ran fast over the flat meadow where his cabin stood. He ran into the pine forest that surrounded the high meadow, slowing because of the undergrowth, praying he was going in the right direction, but uncertain even as he ran. He heard his own hard breathing and stopped. Little sun could cut through the dense trees. Now that it was late afternoon, it was nearly dark here deep in the forest, where there were suddenly no sounds at all. Nothing. He calmed his breathing and listened. Still nothing. He heard a slithering sound. He whipped around to see a small prairie rattlesnake winding its way under a moss-covered rock. The snake was higher up than it should be. He waited silent as the trees on all sides of him. He felt a cramp in his right bicep. Slowly he lowered the ax to the ground. Suddenly he heard it again, off to his left, not too far away, muffled and faint, a sound that was almost like an echo of itself, a memory of what it had been. He moved slowly now, eyes straight ahead, his stride long. He came to a small clearing. The afternoon sun was still bright overhead. There was rich high grass waving in the breeze. Blue columbine, the Colorado state flower, was blooming wildly, soft and delicate, already welcoming spring. It was a beautiful spot, one he hadnt yet found on his daily treks. He waited now, his face upturned to the slanting sun, listening. There was a squirrel running up a tree, a distinct sound, one hed learned very quickly to identify. The squirrel scampered out on a narrow branch, making it wave up and down, its leaves rustling with the weight and movement. Then there wasnt anything at all, just silence. He knew the sun wouldnt be shining on him much longer; shadows were already lengthening, swallowing the light. Soon it would be as dark as Susans hair in the forest. No, he wouldnt think about Susan. Actually it had been a very long time since hed thought about Susan. It was time to go home, back to his cabin where hed laid wood for a fire that morning, still waiting for a single match. Hed gotten good at building fires both in the fireplace and in the woodstove. Hed slice up some fresh tomatoes and shred some iceberg lettuce hed bought two days before at Clements. Hed heat up some vegetable soup. He stepped back into the thick pine forest. But what had he heard? It was darker now than it had been just two minutes before. He had to walk carefully. His sleeve caught on a pine branch. He stopped to untangle himself. He had to lay down the ax. It was then he saw the flash of light yellow off to his right. For a moment, he just stared at that light yellow. It didnt move and neither did he. He quickly picked up his ax. He walked toward that light yellow patch, pausing every few seconds, his eyes straining to make out what it was. It was a lump of something. He saw from three feet away that it was a child, unmoving, lying on her stomach, her dark brown hair in tangles down her back, hiding her face. He fell on his knees beside her, afraid for an instant to touch her. Then he lightly put his hand to her shoulder. He shook her lightly. She didnt move. The pulse in her throat was slow but steady. Thank God she was unconscious, not dead. He felt each of her arms, then her legs. Nothing was broken. But she could be injured internally. If she was, there was nothing he could do about it. He carefully turned her over. There were two long scratches on her cheek, the blood dried and smeared. Again, he placed his finger against the pulse in her neck. Still slow, still steady. He picked her up as carefully as he could, and grabbed his ax. He curved her in against him to protect her from the low pine branches and underbrush. She was small, probably not older than five or six. He realized then she wasnt wearing a jacket, only the thin yellow T-shirt and dirty yellow jeans. There were white sneakers on her feet, one of the laces unfastened and dangling. No socks, no gloves, no jacket, no cap. What was she doing out here alone? What had happened to her? He stopped. He could have sworn that he heard the sound of a heavy foot snapping through leaves and small branches. No, he was imagining things. He pulled her closer and quickened his step, the sound of that crunching step hovering just behind him. It was heavy dusk by the time he walked through the Details ISBN0593546512 Author Catherine Coulter Pages 544 Series An FBI Thriller Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0593546512 ISBN-13 9780593546512 Format Paperback Publication Date 2022-09-06 Series Number 2 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S. Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2022-09-06 NZ Release Date 2022-09-06 US Release Date 2022-09-06 UK Release Date 2022-09-06 Audience General DEWEY 813.54 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:141715031;

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