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Glory in Death

In Death Band 2

J. D. Robb

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Beschreibung

#1 New York Times bestselling author J. D. Robb presents the thrilling second novel in her In Death series. When technology can reveal the darkest of secrets, there's only one place to hide a crime of passion-in the heart…

The first victim was found lying on a sidewalk in the rain. The second was murdered in her own apartment building. Police Lieutenant Eve Dallas had no problem finding connections between the two crimes. Both victims were beautiful and highly successful women. Their glamorous lives and loves were the talk of the city. And their intimate relations with men of great power and wealth provided Eve with a long list of suspects-including her own lover, Roarke. As a woman, Eve was compelled to trust the man who shared her bed. But as a cop, it was her job to follow every lead...to investigate every scandalous rumor...to explore every secret passion, no matter how dark. Or how dangerous.

"Sexy...A perfect balance of suspense, futuristic police procedural and steamy romance."-Publishers Weekly

"Some authors break the rules very successfully; a very rare few define them. Nora Roberts, writing as J.D. Robb, is a spectacular innovator who always leaves her fans desperate for more."-RT Book Reviews

"Ms. Robb's brilliant talent for creating fresh, innovative plots...is unsurpassed."-Rendezvous

More Praise for the In Death series

"Robb is a virtuoso."-Seattle Post-Intelligencer

"It's Law & Order: SVU-in the future."-Entertainment Weekly

"J. D. Robb's In Death novels are can't-miss pleasures."-#1 New York Times bestselling author Harlan Coben

"Anchored by terrific characters, sudden twists that spin the whole narrative on a dime, and a thrills-to-chills ration that will raise the neck hairs of even the most jaded reader, the J. D. Robb books are the epitome of great popular fiction."-New York Times bestselling author Dennis Lehane

Nora Roberts, geb. 1950 in Maryland. Als sie 1979 in ihrem Landhaus eingeschneit wurde, griff sie zu Stift und Papier und begann zu schreiben. Ihren ersten Roman veröffentlichte sie 1981. Seitdem hat Nora Roberts über 100 Bücher geschrieben. Mit einer Gesamtauflage von mehr als 100 Millionen Exemplaren ist sie eine der erfolgreichsten Autorinnen weltweit. Nora Roberts hat zwei erwachsene Söhne und lebt mit ihrem Ehemann in Keedsville, Maryland.

J. D. Robb ist das Pseudonym der international höchst erfolgreichen Autorin Nora Roberts. Durch einen Blizzard entdeckte Nora Roberts ihre Leidenschaft fürs Schreiben: Tagelang fesselte 1979 ein eisiger Schneesturm sie in ihrer Heimat Maryland ans Haus. Um sich zu beschäftigen, schrieb sie ihren ersten Roman. Zum Glück, denn inzwischen zählt Nora Roberts zu den meistgelesenen Autorinnen der Welt. Unter dem Namen J.D. Robb veröffentlicht sie seit Jahren ebenso erfolgreich Kriminalromane.
Under the pseudonym J.D. Robb, Nora Roberts published her first Robb novel in 1995. With the In Death series, Robb has become one of the biggest thriller writers on earth, with each new novel reaching number one on bestseller charts the world over.

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 320
Altersempfehlung ab 18 Jahr(e)
Erscheinungsdatum 01.12.1995
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-425-15098-6
Verlag Penguin US
Maße (L/B/H) 17.4/10.8/2.5 cm
Gewicht 154 g
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  • Fame then was cheap . . .
    And they have kept it since, by being dead.

    -DRYDEN

    Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort.

    -SHAKESPEARE

    chapter one

    The dead were her business. She lived with them, worked with them, studied them. She dreamed of them. And because that didn't seem to be enough, in some deep, secret chamber of her heart, she mourned for them.

    A decade as a cop had toughened her, given her a cold, clinical, and often cynical eye toward death and its many causes. It made scenes such as the one she viewed now, on a rainy night on a dark street nasty with litter, almost too usual. But still, she felt.

    Murder no longer shocked, but it continued to repel.

    The woman had been lovely once. Long trails of her golden hair spread out like rays on the dirty sidewalk. Her eyes, wide and still with that distressed expression death often left in them, were a deep purple against cheeks bloodlessly white and wet with rain.

    She'd worn an expensive suit, the same rich color as her eyes. The jacket was neatly buttoned in contrast to the jerked-up skirt that exposed her trim thighs. Jewels glittered on her fingers, at her ears, against the sleek lapel of the jacket. A leather bag with a gold clasp lay near her outstretched fingers.

    Her throat had been viciously slashed.

    Lieutenant Eve Dallas crouched down beside death and studied it carefully. The sights and scents were familiar, but each time, every time, there was something new. Both victim and killer left their own imprint, their own style, and made murder personal.

    The scene had already been recorded. Police sensors and the more intimate touch of the privacy screen were in place to keep the curious barricaded and to preserve the murder site. Street traffic, such as it was in this area, had been diverted. Air traffic was light at this hour of the night and caused little distraction. The backbeat from the music of the sex club across the street thrummed busily in the air, punctuated by the occasional howl from the celebrants. The colored lights from its revolving sign pulsed against the screen, splashing garish colors over the victim's body.

    Eve could have ordered it shut down for the night, but it seemed an unnecessary hassle. Even in 2058 with the gun ban, even though genetic testing often weeded out the more violent hereditary traits before they could bloom, murder happened. And it happened with enough regularity that the fun seekers across the street would be miffed at the idea of being moved along for such a minor inconvenience as death.

    A uniform stood by continuing video and audio. Beside the screen a couple of forensics sweepers huddled against the driving rain and talked shop and sports. They hadn't bothered to look at the body yet, hadn't recognized her.

    Was it worse, Eve wondered, and her eyes hardened as she watched the rain wash through blood, when you knew the victim?

    She'd had only a professional relationship with Prosecuting Attorney Cicely Towers, but enough of one to have formed a strong opinion of a strong woman. A successful woman, Eve thought, a fighter, one who had pursued justice doggedly.

    Had she been pursuing it here, in this miserable neighborhood?

    With a sigh, Eve reached over and opened the elegant and expensive bag to corroborate her visual ID. "Cicely Towers," she said for the recorder. "Female, age forty-five, divorced. Resides twenty-one thirty-two East Eighty-third, number Sixty-one B. No robbery. Victim still wearing jewelry. Approximately . . ." She flipped through the wallet. "Twenty in hard bills, fifty credit tokens, six credit cards left at scene. No overt signs of struggle or sexual assault."

    She looked back at the woman sprawled on the sidewalk. What the hell were you doing out here, Towers? she wondered. Here, away from the power center, away from your classy home address?

    And dressed for business, she thought. Eve knew Cicely Towers's authoritative wardrobe well, had admired it in co