The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [456]
She headed out, then walked back and gave him a hard, short kiss. “Later, Civilian Baby.”
She heard him laugh as she walked out, skirted around other cops. And when she was alone, riding down alone, she tapped her finger—the one that wore her wedding ring—against the image of the badge on her heart.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product 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.
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VISIONS IN DEATH
J. D. Robb
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product 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.
Visions in Death
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2004 by Nora Roberts
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
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ISBN: 978-1-1012-0497-9
A BERKLEY BOOK®
Berkley Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
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Electronic edition: February, 2005
Friendship cannot live with ceremony, nor without civility.
—LORD HALIFAX
Is this a vision?
is this a dream?
do I sleep?
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Chapter 1
She’d gotten through the entire evening without killing anyone. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, cop to the bone, figured the restraint showed enormous strength of character.
Her day had gone smoothly enough. A morning court appearance that had been as routine as it was tedious, paperwork both extensive and mind-numbing. The single case she’d caught had involved pals and their dispute over who had dibs on the last of the illegals—a party mix of Buzz, Exotica, and Zoom—they’d been toking on while lazing around on the roof of an apartment building on the West Side.
The dispute had been resolved when one of the afternoon partyers had taken a header off the roof, clutching the last of the illegals in his greedy fist.
He probably hadn’t felt much, even when he’d splatted onto Tenth Avenue, but it sure as hell had broken the party mood.
Witnesses, including an uninvolved Good Samaritan from a neighboring building who’d called in the nine-one-one, all stated that the individual who’d been scooped off the sidewalk and into a bag had leaped of his own volition onto the roof ledge, danced an energetic keep-away boogie, lost his precarious balance, and taken flight with a giggling wee-haw.
Much to the surprise—and possible entertainment—of the afternoon passengers on an airtram who’d also witnessed the last dance of one Jasper K. McKinney.
One inappropriately delighted tourist had managed to capture the entire incident on his pocket vid.
It all jibed, and the books would close on Jasper as death by misadventure. Unofficially, Eve labeled it death by stupidity, but there wasn’t a place on the sheet for that particular observation.
As a result of Jasper and his eight-story dive, she’d clocked out of