By John Ramsey Miller
Within the rain-slick streets of latest Orleans, a twelve-year-old woman is operating out of time. Hours ahead of, religion Ann Porter concealed less than a table whereas her lawyer mom was once murdered for photos that can rock town. Now religion Ann is being hunted by means of a couple of killers with an important boss. simply because she has the negatives of the pictures her mom died for, religion Ann has in basic terms hours to live–and just one one that can retailer her.... iciness Massey is an ex—U.S. marshal whose profession pitted him opposed to a few of the world’s such a lot ruthless criminals. Now Massey is drawn via a scary cycle of murder–and the plea of 1 terrified younger lady. yet anticipating Massey is a chilling surprise...and an murderer with a mystery venture, a mystery purpose, and the ideal plan....
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Extra resources for Upside Down
She said in a low voice. ” Faith Ann asked accusatorily. ” “No, it isn't. Today is Friday. ” “They're coming in tonight. They're staying at a guesthouse and having dinner with some old friend of Hank's. ” She knew asking was a waste of breath. Her mother had already commented on how horrific they were. Faith Ann had heard tales of mayhem and murder since she was old enough to understand the adult conversations going on around her. Every capital case her mother took on came with lots of boxes, most of them containing crime scene pictures taken by the cops.
Few people could muster the kind of rage required to use their bare hands like claws and literally rip people into pieces like Cecil could. The three men didn't see Marta as a physical threat. How could such a small woman harm them—kick them in the shins, bite and scratch? They had seen that she was unarmed when she stepped out of the car and put on a nylon jacket so lightweight that any one of them could have wadded up the garment, stuffed it into his mouth, and swallowed it like a tissue. They turned a corner, moved deeper into the yard.
Balanced on her haunches, she looked like a jockey on the home stretch—her elbows out like wings, her hands in front of her face level with her chin like she was pulling back hard on reins. Instead of leather leads, the wetly lacquered blades radiated out from her fists. Knowing the men were no longer a threat, she focused straight ahead, her eyes following Cecil as he ran through the valley of wrecks. The nameless third man pulled his hands up to his neck, perhaps to see what the sudden blast of cold against his throat meant.