By Matt Hilton
Dead man's revenge
Martin Maxwell used to be an agent of the key provider. He used to be additionally a guy fed on by way of a fury he quenched via brutal acts of violence that earned him the moniker the Harvestman. Joe Hunter made him pay the fee for his crimes and the govt coated up his real identification, burying him less than the identify Tubal Cain.
But Maxwell survived his close to demise at Hunter's arms. Incarcerated via the army, he was once held below the flawed trust he will be rehabilitated to serve his state once again. Now, he has escaped and started a brand new killing spree, concentrating on these answerable for his defeat and imprisonment.
And he is saving Joe Hunter for final . . .
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Extra resources for Dead Men's Harvest
She looked fragile and vulnerable and in need of reassurance. I hoped that actions were more profound than words. All I did was put down my coffee, take her cocoa from her hand and place it next to mine. Then I pulled her into a kiss, one that I meant dearly. That was all it took for us to wrestle our way through the house, undressing each other as we went. Imogen’s original bedroom had been violated when she’d been attacked by a misogynistic killer named Luke Rickard. Rickard had wanted to kill me and had targeted me through Imogen.
Joe,’ she said in a whisper. ’ ‘I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I want you to stay up here until I find out. ’ This was Imogen’s home. She shouldn’t have to live in fear within its walls, but she did. Once already it had been invaded by a killer, and a cop had died on the threshold, trying to help her. Luke Rickard wasn’t the one she feared now. I’d killed that piece of shit. But there were others who might still want to harm her. I met Kate after Imogen had gone missing, running for her life to avoid the wrath of a Texan mobster and his sadistic enforcers, the Bolan twins.
I never did get to drink the coffee. In the next few seconds we were in each other’s arms as we navigated the stairs to her bedroom. Survivors’ guilt syndrome is a powerful thing, but I couldn’t blame that for the surge of passion that rose up in the two of us. She just looked so damn ravishing, her cheeks pink with a flush of warmth, her hair slightly in disarray from having pulled off her hat. She looked fragile and vulnerable and in need of reassurance. I hoped that actions were more profound than words.
Dead Men's Harvest by Matt Hilton