Publisher: St. Martin's Paperbacks
Source: the publisher in exchange for an honest review
Release Date: October 30th, 2018
Buying Links: Amazon* | Barnes & Noble | Book Depository | iBooks* |
* affiliate links; the blog receives a small commission from purchases made through these links.
Blurb from goodreads:
The next intense installment in Allison Brennan's New York Times bestselling Lucy Kincaid series.
Things finally seem to be going well for FBI Agent Lucy Kincaid. She's just finished training for Hostage Rescue, her husband's relationship with his son is back on track, and her tense relationship with her boss, Rachel Vaughn, has become much more bearable. That is, until her first hostage case throws everything off track.
When a man who appears under the influence and mentally unstable holds a group of people hostage and dies in a shootout with the FBI, Lucy is assigned to investigate what happened. His descent doesn't make any sense - he was an upstanding citizen a year ago and only started declining after a series of blackouts and strange occurrences. Even his autopsy seems suspicious, and the body has been cremated without the proper approval. As Lucy investigates, she realizes that this story may be more complicated than she thinks, and that her own life might be in danger.
My Thoughts:
The blurb didn't lie; this book was intense. There was a lot going on with two concurrent but unrelated mysteries. First, we have an unemployed scientist who takes a coffee shop hostage. That investigation was fascinating, involving medicine, a potential treatment for some Alzheimer's patients and intertwined themes of loyalty and treachery. The other mystery revolves around FBI agent Lucy Kincaid's family.
This is book #14 and I haven't read any of the previous books so I was confused at times, trying to keep characters straight. Overall, it worked pretty well as a stand alone; I was able to appreciate the character development and growth even though I came late to the party.
The mysteries kept me engrossed and just as important, the characters mattered to me. I especially felt for Lucy's husband Sean and his son Jesse. Their pain and their challenges jumped off the page and into my heart. So did the pain and sadness of Dr. Charlie McMahon, the scientist turned shooter. His story was heartbreaking and I was glad to see him get some justice.
Engrossing mysteries, heartbreaking stories, and unforgettable characters added up to an intense, engaging story that kept me up way past my bedtime.
FBI Special Agent Lucy Kincaid geared up in the back of the SWAT van and followed team leader Leo Proc- tor to the staging area kitty-corner to the coffeehouse that was currently under control of a gunman. Lucy wasn’t part of the SWAT team. She was the newest trained hostage negotiator, though she would be second to Proctor for a minimum of six months. She wouldn’t be talking to the suspect today; she was tagging along on her first official outing after completing Hostage and Crisis Response Training at Quantico.
As soon as she stepped out of the air-conditioned van and into the hot Texas humidity, she began to sweat. Fortunately, she wasn’t decked out with an extra twenty- five pounds of SWAT gear; she was only required to wear her Kevlar vest and sidearm.
The FBI was here to back up the SAPD, who were taking lead in the hostage situation at Java Antonio, a small but popular independent coffee shop in downtown San Antonio.
Lucy followed Leo from the van while the rest of the team checked their weapons and gear.
“Lieutenant, sit-rep?” Leo said to the man clearly in charge who was directing personnel from the back of a police communications van. There were a dozen city and county vehicles filling all four streets that led to the intersection, which now held a tactical truck. Each street had been blocked off, and all businesses in a two-block radius evacuated or locked down.
“Proctor. Glad you’re here.” He glanced at Lucy. “Agent Kincaid, hostage negotiator. Kincaid, Lieutenant Jordan Young.”
They shook hands. Young was forty and had the aura of former military officer, and it was clear by how his officers spoke to him that he garnered respect from his men and women.
“I need you to negotiate, Leo—I’ve already set up a command, I’m the highest-ranking officer here.”
“My people are your people,” Proctor said. “Kincaid’s my second.”
Being second essentially meant backing up the primary negotiator. Listening to all communication, taking notes, passing along information between the negotiator and command and vice versa.
Generally the individual in charge of the scene was not the same person negotiating with the suspect. That SAPD and the SA-FBI worked well together was a tes- tament to the men and women who led each department and the teams who cross-trained together.
“I have two snipers, one on each corner building,” Young said, gesturing. “Two men in the back. If you can spare a pair I’d like to have them tag up with my team in the alley, and if you have a sniper we can use one back there. The rear is the only exit other than the front door.” Proctor said in his radio, “Dunning, take your team and secure the back with SAPD; Ramirez, find a roost with clear line of sight to the emergency exit. From here on out, Lieutenant Young is in command of this operation and you’ll take direction from him, primary emergency channel.”
“Roger,” the team leader said over the radio. “Suspect?” Proctor asked.
Young shook his head. “Working on an ID. No cameras inside, but we have a description from one of the hostages who escaped during the initial confusion. In fact, a dozen people got out before the shooter locked down. From preliminary statements, the guy was talk- ing to himself and acting ‘off’—weird was the word most used. He was wearing a thick windbreaker and it’s over ninety degrees and humid as hell. When the man- ager confronted him, he snapped—per a witness. An- other witness said he acted like he was quote, ‘off his meds.’”
Unfortunately, Lucy knew that mental illness was one of the leading causes of spontaneous hostage situations. But generally, if the individual was mentally ill, they took people they knew hostage—family or friends—in a residence. This situation was distinctly different.
Young continued. “He fired two shots. Per witnesses, they both went into the ceiling. No one saw anyone in- jured inside. There are conflicting statements as to how many guns he has and what kind, though I’m going with one of the witnesses who stated he’s a gun owner and identified a nine-millimeter in the shooter’s hand, standard-capacity magazine, and a second handgun in his waistband, also a semi-auto—either a nine-mil or a forty-five.”
“Number of hostages?”
“Best guess is fourteen. Do you have thermal imaging in your truck? Fire can set up as well, but they’re still en route.”
“We got it,” Proctor said. “My tech just needs a minute.”
“Good. We need to know where he is, get some sense as to what’s going on in there.”
“Is this personal?” Proctor asked. “Target an employee? Customer?”
“Don’t know. We asked the witnesses for the basics, everyone said that he was alone and didn’t appear to know anyone. They are all sequestered down the street, my people are working to get more information. He hasn’t called out or made demands, but this whole thing started less than an hour ago. I need you to make con- tact, develop a rapport as we gather additional informa- tion. We need to de-escalate this as fast as possible.”
Proctor listened to his com then said, “Roger, hold positions.” He said to Young, “My team is in place, Ramirez has one hundred percent visual of the rear door.”
“Excellent.” Young handed him the bullhorn. “Work your magic, Leo. Godspeed.”
Proctor took a breath, visibly relaxed, then turned on the bullhorn.
“This is Leo Proctor of the FBI. I will be calling into the coffee shop. I’d like you to answer, just to talk. Just see how you’re doing, how the other people are doing.”
He then nodded to Young’s assistant, a uniform by the name of Jones, who handed him a phone already set to dial into the Java Antonio main number and record the conversation.
They let the phone ring more than thirty times. There was no answer and Proctor ended the call.
The mysteries kept me engrossed and just as important, the characters mattered to me. I especially felt for Lucy's husband Sean and his son Jesse. Their pain and their challenges jumped off the page and into my heart. So did the pain and sadness of Dr. Charlie McMahon, the scientist turned shooter. His story was heartbreaking and I was glad to see him get some justice.
Engrossing mysteries, heartbreaking stories, and unforgettable characters added up to an intense, engaging story that kept me up way past my bedtime.
FBI Special Agent Lucy Kincaid geared up in the back of the SWAT van and followed team leader Leo Proc- tor to the staging area kitty-corner to the coffeehouse that was currently under control of a gunman. Lucy wasn’t part of the SWAT team. She was the newest trained hostage negotiator, though she would be second to Proctor for a minimum of six months. She wouldn’t be talking to the suspect today; she was tagging along on her first official outing after completing Hostage and Crisis Response Training at Quantico.
As soon as she stepped out of the air-conditioned van and into the hot Texas humidity, she began to sweat. Fortunately, she wasn’t decked out with an extra twenty- five pounds of SWAT gear; she was only required to wear her Kevlar vest and sidearm.
The FBI was here to back up the SAPD, who were taking lead in the hostage situation at Java Antonio, a small but popular independent coffee shop in downtown San Antonio.
Lucy followed Leo from the van while the rest of the team checked their weapons and gear.
“Lieutenant, sit-rep?” Leo said to the man clearly in charge who was directing personnel from the back of a police communications van. There were a dozen city and county vehicles filling all four streets that led to the intersection, which now held a tactical truck. Each street had been blocked off, and all businesses in a two-block radius evacuated or locked down.
“Proctor. Glad you’re here.” He glanced at Lucy. “Agent Kincaid, hostage negotiator. Kincaid, Lieutenant Jordan Young.”
They shook hands. Young was forty and had the aura of former military officer, and it was clear by how his officers spoke to him that he garnered respect from his men and women.
“I need you to negotiate, Leo—I’ve already set up a command, I’m the highest-ranking officer here.”
“My people are your people,” Proctor said. “Kincaid’s my second.”
Being second essentially meant backing up the primary negotiator. Listening to all communication, taking notes, passing along information between the negotiator and command and vice versa.
Generally the individual in charge of the scene was not the same person negotiating with the suspect. That SAPD and the SA-FBI worked well together was a tes- tament to the men and women who led each department and the teams who cross-trained together.
“I have two snipers, one on each corner building,” Young said, gesturing. “Two men in the back. If you can spare a pair I’d like to have them tag up with my team in the alley, and if you have a sniper we can use one back there. The rear is the only exit other than the front door.” Proctor said in his radio, “Dunning, take your team and secure the back with SAPD; Ramirez, find a roost with clear line of sight to the emergency exit. From here on out, Lieutenant Young is in command of this operation and you’ll take direction from him, primary emergency channel.”
“Roger,” the team leader said over the radio. “Suspect?” Proctor asked.
Young shook his head. “Working on an ID. No cameras inside, but we have a description from one of the hostages who escaped during the initial confusion. In fact, a dozen people got out before the shooter locked down. From preliminary statements, the guy was talk- ing to himself and acting ‘off’—weird was the word most used. He was wearing a thick windbreaker and it’s over ninety degrees and humid as hell. When the man- ager confronted him, he snapped—per a witness. An- other witness said he acted like he was quote, ‘off his meds.’”
Unfortunately, Lucy knew that mental illness was one of the leading causes of spontaneous hostage situations. But generally, if the individual was mentally ill, they took people they knew hostage—family or friends—in a residence. This situation was distinctly different.
Young continued. “He fired two shots. Per witnesses, they both went into the ceiling. No one saw anyone in- jured inside. There are conflicting statements as to how many guns he has and what kind, though I’m going with one of the witnesses who stated he’s a gun owner and identified a nine-millimeter in the shooter’s hand, standard-capacity magazine, and a second handgun in his waistband, also a semi-auto—either a nine-mil or a forty-five.”
“Number of hostages?”
“Best guess is fourteen. Do you have thermal imaging in your truck? Fire can set up as well, but they’re still en route.”
“We got it,” Proctor said. “My tech just needs a minute.”
“Good. We need to know where he is, get some sense as to what’s going on in there.”
“Is this personal?” Proctor asked. “Target an employee? Customer?”
“Don’t know. We asked the witnesses for the basics, everyone said that he was alone and didn’t appear to know anyone. They are all sequestered down the street, my people are working to get more information. He hasn’t called out or made demands, but this whole thing started less than an hour ago. I need you to make con- tact, develop a rapport as we gather additional informa- tion. We need to de-escalate this as fast as possible.”
Proctor listened to his com then said, “Roger, hold positions.” He said to Young, “My team is in place, Ramirez has one hundred percent visual of the rear door.”
“Excellent.” Young handed him the bullhorn. “Work your magic, Leo. Godspeed.”
Proctor took a breath, visibly relaxed, then turned on the bullhorn.
“This is Leo Proctor of the FBI. I will be calling into the coffee shop. I’d like you to answer, just to talk. Just see how you’re doing, how the other people are doing.”
He then nodded to Young’s assistant, a uniform by the name of Jones, who handed him a phone already set to dial into the Java Antonio main number and record the conversation.
They let the phone ring more than thirty times. There was no answer and Proctor ended the call.
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This book sounds enthralling and unique. The characters and the story are captivating and intriguing. Thanks for this wonderful feature and giveaway.
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