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by Mary Alice Pritchard
Description: Jade sees the dead in mirrors. When a serial killer targets young homeless girls, she must enlist the aid of the police. Spider Demarcus is the detective she confides in. He has his own special talents his partner calls his spidey senses. When Jade shows up to offer information, Spider is suspicious of her motives. Jade knows the handsome detective doesn't believe her, but he's at least willing to use what she's given him. When she tells him there are four more buried near an abandoned building, Jade can tell he's worried and a bit angry with her, but she isn't sure why. Their intense and instant awareness of each other both binds them closer and drives them apart. Sparks fly with their near hatred, but love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
eBook Publisher: DCL Publications LLC, 2012 2012
eBookwise Release Date: April 2012
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [297 KB]
Reading time: 207-290 min.
It never got easier, not the kids. Spider Demarcus gazed out over the murky waters of the Mississippi River. The early light of dawn crept across the river chasing the swirls of mist rising to meet the new day. Early fall and still the days were too hot even though the nights were chilly, especially along the river. Spider drew in a deep breath and sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets. The knot in his throat didn't ease as he turned back to where the body of a ten or twelve year old little girl lay in the tall grasses as if sleeping.
Only she wasn't asleep and would never sleep again. Her bruised throat, a sharp contrast to the pale alabaster skin of her face screamed to Spider how large brutal hands squeezed the life from her. Whoever killed her had taken great pains to close her eyes, placing small pink stitches in each eyelid to hold them closed. He'd probably used the pink thread to match the pink dress. The frilly dress seemed more appropriate for church than a murder.
The child's hands lay folded across her abdomen where a delicate porcelain doll rested beneath them. She seemed to be a typical child in her pretty pink dress and matching shoes. Only there was nothing typical about the dark purple bruises at her neck.