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In the quaint tourist town of Loon Lake, a killer is taking his vengeance. One by one police officers are found brutally executed. Detective Louis Kincaid has landed in the middle of an investigation that is more than a mystery, it's a terrifying journey into the nightmare mind of a madman.
Some Fears Are Never Laid to Rest. In the quaint tourist town of Loon Lake, Michigan, a killer is taking his vengeance. One by one, the bodies of Loon Lakes police officers are found, brutally executed, with mysteriously coded death cards placed beside each corpse the gruesome signature of a psychopath. And the only sound louder than doors and windows being locked against evil is the sound of hearts beating in terror.
Detective Louis Kincaid had returned to Michigan to forget the horrors of what happened to him in Mississippi. But now, he has landed in the middle of an investigation that is more than a mystery. It is a warning of bad things to come...of a terrifying journey through a towns fiercely protected heart of darkness
and into the nightmare mind of a madman.
It was just a dull thud, a sound that drifted down to him as he lay in the deepest fathoms of his sleep. He struggled up to the surface and opened his eyes with a start. Darkness, and then, emerging from the shadows, a bulky form and a glint of light. He let out a breath. Just the oak bureau, and his badge laying on top.
The sound had probably come from his dream, and the thought made him relax back into the pillows. But his ears remained alert for foreign sounds amid all the familiar groans and squeaks of the house.
He glanced over at Stephanie, snoring softly by his side. She always kidded him about his excellent hearing. "Tommy, baby, you can hear the snow falling," she laughed. Hell, sometimes he thought so, too. He pulled the quilt up over his wifes shoulder and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He rose, shivering in the cold air, and went to the window. He pulled back the drape. Sure enough, it was snowing. Already covered the yard, leaving pillows of ...
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He has only half learned the art of reading who has not added to it the more refined art of skipping and skimming
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