By Peter James
Carly Chase continues to be traumatized ten days after being in a deadly site visitors twist of fate that kills a teenage American scholar from Brighton University. Then she gets information that turns her complete international right into a residing nightmare. The drivers of the opposite automobiles concerned were stumbled on tortured and murdered. Now Detective Superintendent Roy Grace of the Sussex Police strength concerns a stark and pressing caution to Carly: She will be next. the scholar had lethal connections. Connections that reach around the Atlantic to the US and an equipped crime crew. a person has sworn revenge and won’t leisure till the ultimate individual eager about that fateful twist of fate is lifeless. The police suggest Carly her merely choice is to enter hiding and alter her id. The terrified lady disagrees. She understands those humans have methods of searching you down anywhere. If the police are not able to prevent them, she has to discover how to do it herself. But already the killer is one step prior to her, observing, ready, and prepared.
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Extra info for Dead Man's Grip (Detective Superintendent Roy Grace)
There were to be many times, in the days and weeks ahead, when she bitterly regretted reading and deleting that text. If she hadn’t waited at that junction for those precious seconds, fiddling with her phone, if she had made that left turn just thirty seconds earlier, everything might have been very different. 5 ‘Black,’ Glenn Branson said, holding the large golf umbrella over their heads. Detective Superintendent Roy Grace looked up at him. ’ At five foot, ten inches, Roy Grace was a good four inches shorter than his junior colleague and friend, and considerably less sharply dressed.
He took a step towards a sleek silver two-door Alfa Brera and stared at it covetously. ‘Don’t go there,’ Branson said, stepping along with him, keeping him covered with the umbrella. ’ ‘Two doors. ’ He shook his head sadly. ’ Grace stared at the Brera. It was one of the most beautiful cars he’d ever seen. The price tag was £9,999. Within his range – although with rather high mileage. As he took a further step towards it, his mobile phone rang. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a salesman in a sharp suit, holding up an umbrella, scurrying towards them.
He indicated and changed down a gear, braking well in advance, careful to get the weighting of the heavy lorry stabilized before making the sharp turn on the wet road. In the distance he saw flashing headlights. A white van, tailgating a car. Tosser, he thought. 7 ‘Tosser,’ Carly said, watching the white van that filled her rear-view mirror. She kept carefully to the 30mph speed limit as she drove along the wide street, heading towards Station Road. She passed dozens of small shops, then a post office, a curry house, a halal butcher, a large red-brick church to the right, a used-car showroom.