6lib.ru - Электронная Библиотека
Название книги: Holiday In Death
Автор(ы): J. Robb
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Holiday-In-Death-149830.html
Eve Dallas and husband Roarke
CHAPTER ONE
She dreamed of death.The dirty red light from the neon sign pulsed against the grimy window like an angry heart. Its flash turned the pools of blood glistening on the floor from dark to bright, dark to bright, slicing the filthy little room into sharp relief, then damning it to shadows.She huddled in the corner, a bony girl with a tangle of brown hair and huge eyes the color of the whiskey he drank when he had the money for it. Pain and shock had turned those eyes glassy and blind and her skin the waxy gray of corpses. She stared, hypnotized by the blinking light, the way it blipped over the walls, over the floor. Over him.Him, sprawled on the scarred floor, swimming in his own blood.Small, feral sounds rumbled in her throat.And in her hand the knife was gored to the hilt.He was dead. She knew he was dead. She could smell the ripe, hot stink of it pouring out of him to foul the air. She was a child, only a child, but the animal inside her recognized the scent – both feared
Название книги: Holiday In Death
Автор(ы): J. Robb
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Holiday-In-Death-149830.html
Eve Dallas and husband Roarke
CHAPTER ONE
She dreamed of death.The dirty red light from the neon sign pulsed against the grimy window like an angry heart. Its flash turned the pools of blood glistening on the floor from dark to bright, dark to bright, slicing the filthy little room into sharp relief, then damning it to shadows.She huddled in the corner, a bony girl with a tangle of brown hair and huge eyes the color of the whiskey he drank when he had the money for it. Pain and shock had turned those eyes glassy and blind and her skin the waxy gray of corpses. She stared, hypnotized by the blinking light, the way it blipped over the walls, over the floor. Over him.Him, sprawled on the scarred floor, swimming in his own blood.Small, feral sounds rumbled in her throat.And in her hand the knife was gored to the hilt.He was dead. She knew he was dead. She could smell the ripe, hot stink of it pouring out of him to foul the air. She was a child, only a child, but the animal inside her recognized the scent – both feared
Навигация с клавиатуры: следующая страница - или ,
предыдущая -
