Heat Rises (Nikki Heat). Home · Heat Rises Naked Heat (Nikki Heat). Read more · Naked Heat (Nikki Heat) · Read more · Heat Wave (Nikki Heat). Read more. ALSO BY NANCY THAYER Beachcombers Summer House Moon Shell Beach The Hot Flash Club Chills Out Hot Flash Holidays The H. Heat Wave (Nikki Heat, #1), Naked Heat (Nikki Heat, #2), Heat Rises (Nikki Heat, #3), Frozen Heat (Nikki Heat, #4), Deadly Heat (Nikki Heat, #5), Raging.
|Language:||English, Spanish, German|
|Genre:||Business & Career|
|ePub File Size:||17.71 MB|
|PDF File Size:||14.32 MB|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Regsitration Required]|
The Nikki Heat novels by “Richard Castle”. Heat Wave . A New York real estate tycoon plunges to his death on a Manhattan sidewalk. A trophy wife with a . Aug 20, As a promotion for the show, "Richard Castle's" (ghost-written) book Heat Wave was released in hardcover by Hyperion on 29 September and debuted at #26 on the New York Times bestseller list. Mystery sensation Richard Castle, blockbuster author of the wildly best-selling. Heat Wave. Nikki Heat (Series). Book 1. Richard Castle Author Johnny Heller Narrator (). cover image of Heat Wave.
Severe blunt force trauma to head, neck, and chest. The detective glanced and quickly looked away. Is this where he landed? It had caved in from the top so hard it was split in half. The violent splash of ice and blood had already baked into the sidewalk in the minutes since the fall. She got as close to the wreckage as she dared without contaminating the scene and looked straight up. She just sighed his name.
The job was hard enough if you were doing it right. Add a reporter with a mouth playing make-believe cop and your day just got a little longer.
Rook moved with her. You get to observe on all my homicides just like real-life detectives who work for a living.
I accept your apology. At least not from me. You radiate subtext. God, you make me feel cheap. Go check him out, see if he knows our Doe.
And while I try to do my job, would it be too much to ask that you maintain a little decorum? No problem. Jameson Rook?! Then she ducked under the yellow tape. Literate fans are the worst.
She nodded to the uniforms and they waited. The cover shot was Rook and Bono at a relief center in Africa. I have a Sharpie. Rook smiled. He left the shade of the canopy, did a limbo under the tape, and crossed to her. Sixth floor. When she caught Rook staring at her from across the room, he turned away and studied the Jackson Pollock on the wall in front of him.
Heat wondered if Starr was a jumper. The economy, or, more accurately, the lack of it, had triggered scores of collateral tragedies. Was ego an antidote? A perennial also-ran in the race to slap his name on the outside of everything with a roof, you had to credit Starr with at least staying in the chase.
And by the looks of his digs, he had been weathering the storm lavishly on two luxury floors of a landmark building just off Central Park West. Every furnishing was either antique or designer; the living room was a grand salon two stories high, and its walls were covered up to the cathedral ceiling by collectible art. Safe bet nobody left take-out menus or locksmith brochures at this front door. Heat excused herself and crossed the room, gliding in and out of ponds of light beaming down from the upper windows, casting an aura on her.
She sidestepped the forensics tech dusting the French doors and went out onto the balcony, flipping her notebook to a blank page. He winced and the sweat bead clinging to the tip of his nose fell onto her page. I know to you this is just another crime scene, right?
Are you hearing me? And when we get out of here? I want to hear that joke. I could use it.
But not out front. Do you hear me? Not out front. Agda stopped in the archway. A comparison that made Heat ponder the age disparity between Kimberly Starr, who she ballparked at twenty-eight, and her dead husband, a man in his mid- sixties. Can you say Trophy Wife, boys and girls? Nikki made a note to take her niece to it on the weekend. That little girl loved animated movies. Almost as much as Nikki.
Nothing like a niece to provide the perfect excuse to spend two hours enjoying pure innocence. Matty Starr left with an unsure wave, sensing something amiss but so far spared the news that would descend upon the little boy soon enough. She sat primly, smoothing the pleats of her sundress and then waited, immobile except for the tissue she absently twisted on her lap. Heat wondered. Yes, proper. Heat uncapped her pen. We were out.
Kimberly waited, rolling a chunk of black onyx from her David Yurman necklace, then filled the silence. We had frozen tar pit soup. Matty loves the tar pit soup. You look familiar.
Rook is a journalist. A magazine writer working with us in an unofficial capacity.
Very unofficial. Which is just what she had done not so long ago. It had almost cost them everything. Now, Rook is given the honor to be a visiting professor at his alma mater, and he can't pass up the opportunity to mentor burgeoning writers at his former award-winning college newspaper. Shortly after his arrival on campus, a female reporter for the paper is found dead - naked - in Rook's bed.
Dealing with betrayal from any man is not Nikki's style. She and Jameson have had plenty of conflicts during their complicated relationship, but none like this. Is her husband keeping secrets of his own, or can she really trust him? In order to find out, Nikki gives Jameson the benefit of the doubt and digs into Jameson's theory of a secret society within a secret society. What she finds puts her investigative skills, and her marriage, to the test.
Crashing Heat Nikki Heat Author s: Kingswell Availability: