By Jeffery Deaver
8 weak women and their helpless academics are compelled off a faculty bus and held hostage. The madman who has them at gunpoint has an easy plan: one hostage an hour will die until the calls for are met. referred to as to the scene is Arthur Potter, the FBI's most sensible hostage negotiator. He has a plan. yet so does one of many hostages-a attractive instructor who is prepared to do whatever to save lots of the lives of her scholars. Now, the clock is ticking as a chilling video game of cat and mouse starts.
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Additional resources for A Maiden's Grave
Maybe it was a sign that she shouldn't go, shouldn't have made those plans. It was an omen. All she wanted to do now was go home. Back to her rented house, where she could lock the door and have a cup of tea. Okay, a hit of blackberry brandy. Fax her brother in the hospital in St. Louis, tell him and her parents the story. Melanie fell into a nervous habit, twining her blond hair around her bent middle finger, the other digits extended. " Then there was a sudden jolt. Bear had turned off the asphalt and was following the gray car down a dirt road.
Arthur Potter had been around the world many times and had a huge stockpile of ideas for travel articles he would never write. Genealogy notes and memos for his job, from which he was soon to retire, would probably be the only Potter literary legacy. Turn here, turn there. He drove automatically and somewhat carelessly. He was by nature impatient but had long ago overcome that vice, if a vice it was, and he never strayed above the posted limit. Turning the rented Ford onto Austin Avenue, he glanced in his rear-view mirror and noticed the car.
His strategy was to decide that he was mistaken, that the car contained two businessmen on their way to sell computers or printing services and that it would turn off on its own route soon. And leave me in peace. But the car didn't do any such thing. The men maintained an innocuous distance, traveling at the identical, irritatingly slow speed of Potter's Ford. He pulled into the familiar driveway and continued a lengthy distance, then rolled to a stop. Potter climbed out of his car quickly, cradling the flowers to his chest and waddling up the walk—defiantly, he hoped, daring the agents to stop him here.