By James Steel
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A mother’s death want sealed with a dangerous promise. 4 males with a mystery they proposal they’d buried a long time in the past. A detective in love. a guy eager to reside regardless of the shadow of his in charge previous. After listening to her mother’s deathbed confession and following the dreary funeral, Maria Adler realizes she has no different choice yet to grab upon her mother’s valuable to do whatever.
Crafty Megan O'Shay is many stuff -- a barmaid, a attractiveness, and the infamous thief often called "Magical Megs. " She will get even more than she expects, despite the fact that, the day she separates a undeniable gentleman from his pocket watch . . . and the speeding scoundrel really hunts her down! however it isn't really his stolen timepiece that Nicol Argyle desires -- it truly is Megan.
It sort of feels like a simple case for newly promoted DCI Paul Banham and DI Alison Grainger: the murdered girls all bore an uncanny resemblance to Marilyn Monroe and labored for a look-alike employer. however the enquiry quickly reveals connections with a covert research into drug-running and people-trafficking.
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Extra info for December
Alex’s alcoholic father had died recently and he had been having sporadic conversations with lawyers—when the phones worked—about whether he could pay the death duties and keep the old hulk of Akerly, where his ancestors had been in residence for nearly a thousand years. He increased his stride, eager to get home. He scanned the tree-lined avenue ahead, with its smart Victorian houses. Nobody was visible on the pavements but there was a new Range Rover, with blacked-out windows, parked over the road from his house.
The woman listened to him with hands on her hips, mouth set firm, her gaze level and eerily calm. Sergey finished speaking and looked at her imploringly. She held his gaze for a long moment, neither assenting nor dissenting, before turning her head away. He fumbled in his suit pocket, pulled out a small jewelled box and pressed it into the palm of her hand. She glanced at it wearily, sighed, and tucked it into a little handbag hooked over one shoulder before walked away from him. As she moved past Alex, her head turned towards him and they looked at each other for a split second.
All Alex was focused on now, though, was getting his hands on the reassuring black grip of his Glock. He hurried past Wandsworth Bridge Road, casting a glance over his shoulder; the man was still following him on the opposite side of the street. He carried on into well-heeled Fulham and finally turned left into Bradbourne Road, the quiet street where the Devereux family maintained their London residence when they were not in Herefordshire. Well, that was how it was in the old days, anyway. Alex’s alcoholic father had died recently and he had been having sporadic conversations with lawyers—when the phones worked—about whether he could pay the death duties and keep the old hulk of Akerly, where his ancestors had been in residence for nearly a thousand years.