By Alayna Williams
TARA SHERIDAN HAS a present . . . AND IT nearly KILLED HER. As a legal profiler, Tara used technological know-how and her intuitive ability at Tarot card divination to trace down the harmful and wicked, together with the serial killer who left her scarred from head to toe. for the reason that that savage assault, Tara has been a recluse. yet now an old mystery society often called Delphi’s Daughters has requested for her assist in finding lacking scientist Lowell Magnusson. And Tara, armed along with her Tarot deck, her .38, and a stack of misgivings, has the same opinion to aim. Tara instantly senses there's way more at stake than one man’s existence. At his executive lab within the New Mexico wasteland, Magnusson had constructed groundbreaking know-how with terrifying strength. operating along the brusque yet charismatic agent Harry Li, Tara discovers that Magnusson’s daughter, Cassie, has wisdom that makes her a goal too. The extra Tara sees into the long run, the extra there's to worry. She is aware she has to guard Cassie. yet there is no solution to shield herself—from the enemies circling round her, or from the long-buried powers stirring to existence inside. . . .
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Additional info for Dark Oracle
Ms. 舡 He flipped his gaze, bright as cornflowers, to Li and back to her. His weathered skin looked sunburned beneath the plastic shield. He wasn舗t assigned here; he was too much brass. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to bring him in from somewhere distant, some latitude that had enough sun this time of year to burn flesh. 舡 She nodded at him as she spoke (yes-yes-yes), giving him the impression of agreement. 舡 She kept her posture low, looked up at him with an expression she hoped he took as submission.
She always took a camera to every crime scene: the lens of a camera could capture details that were easily missed but could be detected and dissected later. She paused to catch her breath under the guise of snapping a few photos. Breathe. As she trudged behind Li into the caldera, the black grasses whipped snow in their wake. Snow spat from the sky, dusting the ground. Glass particles strewed the snow, like sequins on a wedding gown, crunching underfoot. The footprints they made were uneven, the plastic booties shifting in shape with each step.
They reminded her of pipes, and her feet rang hollow against the surface as she clambered over. Based on what little she knew about the technology, she supposed these were the conduits through which the particles were accelerated, to be crushed together at the nexus where their paths crossed in the now-destroyed building. Seeing the other suits milling about, she realized they were all entirely indistinguishable from one another. Anyone could be here; she had no way of measuring rank or looking anyone in the eye, a true handicap to her work.