More Twisted: Collected Stories, Volume 2

More Twisted: Collected Stories, Volume 2

Jeffery Deaver

Language: English

Pages: 298

ISBN: 2:00195258

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

New York Times bestselling author Jeffery Deaver has famously thrilled and chilled fans with tales of masterful villains and the brilliant minds who bring them to justice. Now the author of the Lincoln Rhyme series (The Cold Moon and The Bone Collector, among others) has compiled a second volume of his award-winning, spine-tingling short stories of suspense.

While best known for his twenty-four novels, Jeffery Deaver is also a short story master -- he is a three-time recipient of the Ellery Queen Reader's Award for Best Short Story, and he won the Short Story Dagger from the Crime Writers Association for a piece that appeared in his first short story collection, Twisted. The New York Times said of that book: "A mystery hit for those who like their intrigue short and sweet . . . [The stories] feature tight, bare-bones plotting and the sneaky tricks that Mr. Deaver's title promises." The sneaky tricks are here in spades, and Deaver even gives his fans a new Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs story.

Deaver is back with sixteen stories in the tradition of O. Henry and Edgar Allan Poe. His subjects range from a Westchester commuter to a brilliant Victorian England caper. With these intricately plotted, bone-chilling stories, Jeffery Deaver is at the top of his crime-writing game.

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the Great Northfield Train Robbery. Okay, I lied. I knocked over a casino in Vegas.” William Carnegie sighed and momentarily lowered his lids, which ended with perfect, delicate lashes. The businessman asked, “What about that other suspect? The highway worker? You were going to check him out.” Around the time of the heist a man in a public works jumpsuit was seen pulling a suitcase from some bushes near the Anco main gate. A passing driver thought this looked suspicious and noted the license

Detroit. I was sitting at the table. I must’ve been three. My mother was singing to me.” “Singing? Just like a real mother.” Beth Anne mused, “I don’t know what song it was. I just remember her singing to keep me distracted. So I wouldn’t play with what she was working on at the table.” “What was she doing, sewing?” Heath nodded toward the room containing a sewing machine and racks of stolen dresses. “Nope,” the woman answered. “She was reloading ammunition.” “You serious?” A nod. “I

in the emergency room.” The captain shrugged. “Well, you can check it out—provided you don’t ignore the grunt work. We can’t afford to screw this one up. We lose Pease and it’s our ass.” The pronouns in those sentences may have been first person plural but all Silverman heard was a very singular “you” and “your.” “Fair enough.” In the hallway on their way back to his office Silverman asked his partner, “Who do we have on call for medical attention at the safe house?” “I don’t know, a team

state.” “That’s right, counselor. Maybe Jerry’d go to prison for life but that wasn’t good enough for us.” And the only way Cabot and his father-in-law could get to Jerry was to make sure he was acquitted. So they hired the best criminal attorney in the country. Lescroix laughed in disgust. Why, Cabot was the one playing him in the trial. Acting guilty, never explaining what he might’ve explained, cringing at Lescroix’s far-fetched innuendos. Suddenly the lawyer remembered Cabot’s words:

isn’t happy.” “Which means you must be one sad puppy.” “They want you and Amelia, Linc. Come on, it’s an interesting case. You like challenges.” After the accident at the subway crime scene that left him disabled, Rhyme’s life became very different from his life before. Back then he would prowl through the playground that is New York City, observing people and where they lived and what they did, collecting samples of soil, building materials, plants, insects, trash, rocks . . . anything that

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