Double Dexter (Dexter, Book 6)
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THE DEXTER PHENOMENON—IN PRINT, ON THE SCREEN, AND IN THE HEARTS OF MILLIONS OF FANS—CONTINUES WITH A DEADLY DUEL . . .
Dexter is displeased. Like any self-respecting, totally decent, soundly homicidal guy, Dexter Morgan takes great pride in his work and is careful to remain anonymous. So he is, naturally, upset to discover that someone has identified him and—worst of all—is now turning his own methods against him. The situation soon becomes more complicated when a brutal cop-killer begins targeting Miami’s police detectives—leaving behind bodies that are battered beyond recognition—and stoking the department’s worst fears. As his colleagues grow more paranoid of the psychotic killer in their midst, Dexter’s position is increasingly perilous. He is running out of time to track down this copycat and deliver his usual special justice, before his dark hobby is revealed to the world.
as if overcoming a large temptation, and looked me in the eye. For a long moment he simply stared, and I stared back. Then his face lit up with his terrible fake smile. “I would be delighted to help you,” he said. I exhaled a very large cloud of anxiety, and inhaled even more relief. “Thank you,” I said. TWENTY-EIGHT THE LAW OFFICES OF FIGUEROA, WHITLEY AND FLEISCHMAN were on the fourteenth floor of a high-rise building on Brickell Avenue, just on the edge of the area where office space
gratitude I paid for his order of shrimp lo mein. By the time I said good-bye to my new BFF and sat down at my desk with my fragrant lunch, I was beginning to feel like there might be some actual point to this patchwork quilt of humiliation and suffering we call Life. The hot-and-sour soup was very good, the dumplings were tender and juicy, and the kung pao was hot enough to make me sweat. I caught myself feeling rather contented as I finished eating, and I wondered why. Could I really be so
Benny’s.” “What were you doing at Benny’s?” I said. “Oh,” she said without looking up. “It’s almost five o’clock, and we got the match on the print, but he’s listed as transient, and we got no place to look for the guy. Kovasik,” she added, in case I had already forgotten the name. “Okay,” I said, brilliantly concealing my impatience. “So Duarte is like, ‘Five o’clock, let’s stop for a beer.’ ” She made a face. “Which is a little hard-core for me, but he’s the first partner I’ve had that I
going to be a huge and terrible crash and there is nothing you can do but wait for it. But even though this piano was entirely in my head, I still found myself bracing for the shattering din when it inevitably hit the pavement. And then one morning I arrived at work to find that my piano wasn’t imaginary after all. I had just settled into my chair with a cup of toxic sludge disguised as coffee. No one else was around yet, so I turned on my computer to check my in-box. It was all junk—a
arrived together as I finished my coffee, and then finally, with a cheerful and unconcerned wave from his father, the last boy climbed out of a new Jaguar and sauntered over to where Frank was standing. Frank waved his arm at the rest of us and we all gathered around for orientation. “All right,” Frank said. “Drivers?” He looked around at the entire group with raised eyebrows, perhaps thinking that one or two of the boys might be driving. But none of them seemed to be holding car keys; maybe