Tracy, Pat:Cade's Justice
- Taschenbuch 2001, ISBN: 9780373289929
Kevin Mayhew Ltd, 2001. Volume 2. This is an ex-library book and may have the usual library/used-book markings inside.This book has soft covers. In good all round condition. Please no… Mehr…
Kevin Mayhew Ltd, 2001. Volume 2. This is an ex-library book and may have the usual library/used-book markings inside.This book has soft covers. In good all round condition. Please note the Image in this listing is a stock photo and may not match the covers of the actual item,250grams, ISBN:9781840037319, Kevin Mayhew Ltd, 2001, New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1990. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1990. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. The sun was so brilliant nearly everyone was squinting, though it was only eleven o'clock in the morning. The tiniest of breezes ruffled the women's hair. The day was so beautiful there was a kind of agony to it, an amazing silence, and all one could hear in the silences were birds, a quiet chirping, a sudden shrieking, and the overwhelming smell of flowers ... lily of the valley, gardenias, freesia, buried in a carpet of moss. But Ward Thayer saw none of it and he seemed to hear nothing at all. His eyes had been closed for several minutes, and when he opened them, he stared for the longest time, almost like a zombie, looking colorless, so unlike the image everyone had of him ... had had for the last forty years. There was nothing dashing or exciting or even handsome about Ward Thayer this morning. He stood immobilized in the brilliant sunlight, watching nothing, his eyes closed again, almost too tightly, he pressed his eyelids tightly together, and for a moment he wanted never to open them again, as she had not, as she never would again. There was a voice, droning softly in the distance, saying something, sounding no different than the hum of insects buzzing near the flowers. And he felt nothing. Nothing. Why? Why did he feel nothing, he asked himself? Had he felt nothing for her? Had it all been a lie? He felt a wave of panic wash over him ... he couldn't remember her face .. the way she wore her hair ... the color of her eyes ... his eyes flew open brusquely, tearing the lids apart like hands that had been clasped, skin that had once upon a time been grafted. The sun blinded him in an instant, and he saw only a flash of light and smelled the flowers, as a bee hummed lazily past him, and the pastor said her name. Faye Price Thayer. There was a muffled popping sound to his left and the lightning of a camera exploded in his eyes, as the woman beside him pressed his arm. He looked down at her, his eyes adjusting to the light again, and suddenly he remembered. Everything he had forgotten was reflected in his daughter's eyes. The younger woman looked so much like her, yet how different they were. There would never be another woman like Faye Thayer. They all knew that, and he knew it best of all. He looked at the pretty blonde beside him, remembering it all, and longing silently for Faye. His daughter stood tall and sedate. She was plainer than Faye had been. Her smooth blond hair was pulled tightly into a knot, and beside her stood a serious-looking man, who touched her arm often. They were on their own now, all of them, each one different, separate, yet part of a larger whole, part of Faye ... and of him as well. Was she truly gone? It seemed impossible, as tears rolled solemnly down his cheeks and a dozen photographers leapt forward to record his pain, to put on front pages around the world. The grieving widower of Faye Price Thayer. He was hers now, in death, as he had been hers in life. They were all hers. All of them. The daughters, the son, the co-workers, the friends, and they were all there to honor the memory of the woman who would never come again. The family stood beside him in the front row. His daughter Vanessa, her bespectacled young man, and beside him, Vanessa's twin, Valerie, with hair of flame, a golden face, a perfect black silk dress which clung to her breathtakingly, her success stamped on her unmistakably, and beside her an equally dazzling man. They made such a beautiful pair one had to stare at them, and it pleased Ward to see how much Val looked like Faye. He had never noticed it quite so much before, but he saw it now . . . . And Lionel, who looked so like her too, though more Family Album 5 qui~tly. Tall and handso~e and blond, sensual, elegant, and delicate, yet at the same tune proud. He stood staring into the distance now, remembering the others he had known and loved .... Gregory and John, lost brother, treasured friend. He thought too of how well Faye had known Lionel, better than anyone perhaps. She had known him better than he knew himself ... ISBN 0-440-12434-4 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/>, Dell Pub Co, 1990, New York, New York, U.S.A.: Jove Pubns, 1991. Mass Market Paperback. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, New York, U.S.A.: Jove Pubns, 1991. Good/No Jacket as Issued. PROLOGUE 1990 The crowd below the building looked up with one face. Traffic had been diverted around the intersection to a slim trickle north and south. The sidewalks and part of the streets were filling with people behind yellow ties. A fire truck stood down the block like a shiny red lump surrounded by men who alternately looked at the sky, then at the ground. Police were coming together in knots, looking at the crowd and at each other. "Fucking jumpers," a police sergeant grumbled. "Can't make up their minds. Get us out here on the double an' look at 'em up there, going to have coffee and bagels next." He glanced crossly at his officers on the roof, and on the street, hurriedly shutting off traffic. "Jump, you poor son of a bitch." "The nets, Jim?" a younger officer asked his sergeant nervously. "Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on." An air' of multitudinous expectation was forming in the crowd, ascending the building, reaching up to where two figures stood on a top-floor balcony of the oldest high rise in Hollywood. One figure rocked against the balcony railing, hands propped flat against the warm iron, elbows out. The other stood stiffly nearby, angled toward the first with a posture at once afraid and sympathetic. The noon sun was high and hot. Only when one of the figures moved was it possible to distinguish them from the statues affixed to the building. The crowd below was both near and far to them, for sound travels oddly at such heights, flooding up and spreading out like birds lofting, tacking in a draft, gliding. The crowd stirred and the sergeant looked up sharply. One figure, angled tensely toward the other, was beating a hand against the railing, demanding, threatening. "Oh, Christ, get ready'" the sergeant said. The younger officer, panicked, started off down the street toward a second fire truck that was just pulling into place. But on the balcony, the figures stopped moving. They were staring at each other, their postures defiant. The wind blew at their clothes, lifting a jacket in the bright light. The sergeant waved angrily toward the fire truck, shouting. But the an wer was lost in the sudden intake of breath from the crowd, a sound of shock and suction. One figure had lunged, trying to pull the other figure toward the fragile railing. For an instant they rocked in an anerotic embrace which was, even so, swollen with expectations. Then one broke free. From the ground it was impossible to tell if the leap was willfulsuicidal---or forced. The image was that one of them flew out, arms akimbo, feet apart, head up, an arabesque of death. A groan rolled out of five hundred throats below, mounting into a scream to meet the figure as it plunged down, clothes pressing against bone and muscle, the body turning slightly, swimming in air, dropping with amazing speed. It slapped onto the emptied avenue with an opening and closing sound, a flattening sound, the unforgettable sound of flesh hitting stone. Police rushed to hold back the horrified and gratified crowd, who were now silent. Some turned away, sickened; others stared at the still body. The woman rayon her side, knees drawn up, one arm flung over her head, the other broken beneath her, half her face pancaked against the pavement. " Ah, fer crissakes, get a sheet." A thick blunt stream of blood was oozing out somewhere beneath her body, seeping slowly, eating asphalt. "She was pushed," a man with binoculars in the crowd whispered to the sergeant. "Mister," the sergeant said, "will you please step back. No one pushed anyone." On top of the building at Hollywood and Vine the remaining figure hugged the railing, head bowed, jacket and hair lifting in the wind. ISBN 0-515-10704-2 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/>, Jove Pubns, 1991, Old Tappan, New Jersey, U.S.A.: Harlequin Books, 1997. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. Old Tappan, New Jersey, U.S.A.: Harlequin Books, 1997. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. Gideon Cade Was Consumed By One Desire, until the night the angelic Emma Step, all fire and fury, demanded entry to his home and transformed his life. But could she give the gift of her love to a man who harbored murder in his heart? Emma January Step had faced the challenges of a hard life head~on, but none had ever been as overwhelming as Gideon Cade, a wealthy, enigmatic man who seethed with an anger he seemed barely able to keep in check. Why then did she feel the temptation to rouse him to passionate action? "What possible motive did lOll think I had?" Cade's darkly challenging stare made the fine hairs at the nape of Emma's neck rise. "Let's see ... " His gaze performed a leisurely inspection of her bedraggled person. "Well, there's always the possibility you might want to trade the use of your delectable body for a new wardrobe, some hard cash and plush living conditions." Emma's corset seemed to have instantly shrunk. She couldn't get a decent gulp of air. And, from the heat flaming across her cheeks, she knew her face must be scarlet. "It's not very flattering that the thought never entered your mind." He sounded disgruntled. "But why should I have thought that you'd ... ?" She swallowed. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of what he'd been thinking she was capable o(doing. Kissing him. Letting him kiss her. And surely much more, though she wasn't precisely sure what the "much more" entailed. She had some strong suspicions disrobing would be involved .... ISBN 0-373-289928 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/> 03-29-16, Harlequin Books, 1997<
