Blood Runs Cold
Kindap and murder collide in Alex Barclay’s heart-stopping new thriller featuring FBI Agent Ren Bryce.The only way to reach the end is to turn back…When the body of FBI agent Jean Transom is found on the frozen slopes of Quandary Peak, the nearby town of Breckenridge, Colorado, becomes the focus of a major investigation.A quiet, dedicated agent on the surface, it soon becomes clear that there was another side to Jean Transom. And who better to uncover it than Special Agent Ren Bryce, an expert in violent crime and a woman with secrets of her own; secrets that could compromise the entire investigation and put an end to her distinguished career.Her boss, her informant, her colleagues, her ex – Ren needs to know who she can trust … because the last person she can trust is herself.
Читать Blood Runs Cold онлайн беплатно
ALEX BARCLAY
Blood Runs Cold
This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008
Copyright © Alex Barclay 2008
Cover design layout © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
Lyrics to ‘Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced’ Used by permission from Dropkick Murphys/Boston Scally Punk © Dropkick Murphys 2003.
Lyrics to ‘Hello in There’ by John Prine © Walden Music Inc. and Sour Grapes Music Inc. Used by permission from Alfred Publishing Inc.
Lyrics to ‘She Is My Everything’ by John Prine © 2005 TommyJack Music. Used by permission from TommyJack Music.
The Author and Publishers are committed to respecting the intellectual property rights of others and have made all reasonable efforts to trace the copyright owners of the poems reproduced in the Prologue and Chapter 64, and to provide an appropriate acknowledgement in the book.
In the event that any of the untraceable copyright owners come forward after publication of this book, the Author and Publishers will use all reasonable endeavours to rectify the position accordingly.
Alex Barclay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Source ISBN: 9780008180867
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007287260
Version: 2016-05-13
‘The rising star of the hard-boiled crime fiction world, combining wild characters, surprising plots and massive backdrops with a touch of dry humour’ Mirror
‘Tense, no-punches-pulled thriller that will have you on the edge of your deckchair’ Woman and Home
‘Explosive’ Company
‘Darkhouse is a terrific debut by an exciting new writer’ Independent on Sunday
‘Compelling’ Glamour
‘Excellent summer reading … Barclay has the confidence to move her story along slowly, and deftly explores the relationships between her characters’ Sunday Telegraph
‘The thriller of the summer’ Irish Independent
‘If you haven’t discovered Alex Barclay, it’s time to jump on the bandwagon’ Image Magazine
For Sue Booth-Forbes
Table of Contents
In the lights of the police cruisers, her face was a strobing image of pain and fear. But she was still, to the child in her arms, a haven. She ran as fast as her violated body would allow, pressing his head to her cheek, his hair soaking up their sweat, blood, spit, tears. A terrible, ruined stench rose from them in the damp heat.
She staggered on, flinching at the stones and branches underfoot, her shoes long lost, too beautiful for the night. The trees swayed toward them and away, and when they gave enough shelter, she stopped. She prised the tiny hands from around her neck, breaking the dead-man’s grip of a seven-year-old boy. She tried to smile as she lowered him to the ground. Black pinpricks of gravel shone from her lips.
‘Do not make a sound,’ she said. ‘Not a sound.’ Her voice was edged in nicotine.
The boy quickly clamped his arms around her legs. She shoved him sharply backward, away from her wounds. He fell hard. She watched without feeling. He got up and moved toward her again, tears streaming down his face.
‘No,’ she hissed, shaking her head. ‘No.’
She crouched down. ‘You have to hide, OK?’ She pointed to the scrub close by. ‘Go. I’ll be right here.’ She squeezed his hand as she released it.
He did as she said. She moved a few steps forward into a clearing, cracking the forest floor. Her face was in darkness. But in the faint glow of a flashlight, relief swept over her features; a picture, flashing like a warning.
