Authors: Rick Mofina
Mofina is writing a fine series of thrillers: Swiftly paced, entertaining, with
authentic details of police procedure."
Koontz, #1 New York Times Bestselling author of The Face and Fear Nothing
BLOOD OF OTHERS
realistic, and scary in all the right places."
James Patterson, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
riveting read from one of the leading thriller writers of the day."
powerful gut wrenching thriller."
Midwest Book Review
with suspense. The action is so intense, the writing so realistic, it's as if
we are there during the search. This is a book to cause icy shivers."
RT BookReviews Magazine
IF ANGELS FALL
you buy it for the flight, you'll be reading it on the escalator."
to keep readers flipping the pages."
Mofina's tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an
Tess Gerritsen New
York Times bestselling Author
THE BURNING EDGE
and excruciating suspense...a winner."
Ayers, RT BookReviews
blisteringly paced story that cuts to the bone."
James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author
THE PANIC ZONE
Panic Zone is a headlong rush toward Armageddon. It's brisk pace and tight
focus remind me of early Michael Crichton." -
Dean Koontz #1 New York Times bestselling author
"Vengeance Road is a thriller with no speed limit! It's a great read!"
Michael Connelly, #1 New York Times bestselling author
Seconds moves like a tornado."
Patterson, #1 New York Times bestselling author
THREE TO THE HEART
DANGEROUS WOMEN & DESPERATE MEN
For Inspector Eddie J. Erdelatz,
San Francisco Homicide Detail (Ret.),
who has been a friend since the day
I walked into room 450 at
The Hall of Justice
Edition December 2012
2012 Rick Mofina
2004 Rick Mofina
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
either are the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments,
events or locales is entirely coincidental.
And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I
perceived this is also vexation of spirit.
For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge,
Waiting alone at Jake’s Bar & Grill
in North Beach, Molly Wilson finished her second diet cola, then pressed redial
on her cell phone. Four rings. She got his machine again. Damn.
“It’s me. I’m at Jake’s. Where are you? Call me.” Nearly an hour
late and not a word. This was not like Cliff. Maybe he’d left her a message at
work. She tried her line there.
“You’ve reached Molly Wilson of the
San Francisco Star
either on the phone or--”
She keyed in her password. No new messages since she’d left the
newsroom. Just two hang-up calls. She’d been getting a lot of those lately but
nothing from Cliff. She ordered another soda and brooded.
In the time they’d been together Cliff had never been late. Except
tonight. Maybe he’d sensed that she’d reached a decision. Cliff was a great
guy. She’d never set out to hurt him. She’d set out to have fun and they were
having fun. But she didn’t want to move in with him. Wasn’t ready for it. She
wanted to do cool things. See other people. She was going to tell him tonight.
She was going to thank him for his offer and return his key.
If only she could reach him, she thought on an exhale.
She didn’t like this. She tried his cell phone, wanting this night
to be over so she could retreat to her apartment, soak in her tub, listen to
some Phil Collins, then eat a gallon of butterscotch ripple. No answer. She
drummed her glossed nails on the table. Then stopped.
Someone was watching her.
She pushed back her auburn hair and inventoried the after-work
office crowd. Nothing unusual until she noticed two men nearby warming stools
at the bar, ties loosened, stealing glimpses of her, then the big TV overhead.
Of course. She was on Eyewitness 24-Hour Action News. It was her
weekly eight-minute spot with Vince Vincent, host of Crime Scene, when they
talked about crime trends in San Francisco.
The show was taped at noon. Molly was still wearing the same sweater
and matching blazer, which complemented her eyes. There she was with Vincent at
a studio desk against San Francisco’s skyline at night discussing the latest
justice department figures.
“... but what about violent crime, like murder?” Vincent asked.
“The odds of your being murdered, or a victim of a violent crime,
are very remote,” she said.
Watching the set over the bar, Molly shook her head. Vince was
worried. No sensational crimes in weeks.