By Margaret Weis
Someone,or something,is rippingthe hearts from residing males. Justinian, Lord Sterling, has lived for hundreds of years, serving an historical entity identified in simple terms because the Dragon. Immortality is Justin's gift. yet to maintain it, he needs to hold killing. Lt. Sandra McCormick is a committed cop, a loner whose task is her safe haven from a twisted prior. yet to maintain it, she needs to cease the killing.Two loners, each one stalking the opposite. every one destined to be the other's savior--and downfall. for romance, unforeseen, unstoppable, attracts them jointly. And love is the single vice the Dragon won't let . . .
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Extra info for Dark Heart: Book I of Dragon's Disciple
She saw a lot of death, but a cop was different. Part of the clan. It could have been her. A single bullet casing gleamed on the floor a few feet from Jack’s body. “It looks like Jack got a shot off. ” Sandra raised her head, looking for blood spatter patterns or anything else to indicate the killer had been hit. One of the forensics techs glanced up. “We think it was buried in the wall by the window. There’s a hole there consistent with the angle of fire from where Madrone was standing. ” He shrugged.
Something immediately struck her as familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. She was still a little groggy. It was always a pain to wake up, get dressed, and leave a warm bed to come look at a dead body at this god-awful hour. But the captain had called her personally. It looked, he told her, like her man had struck again. One glance at the corpse confirmed why he thought so. Hole in the chest, heart on the floor. That pretty much said it all. Same as her prime-time case of the moment, the campus security guard, Baxter.
Maybe he uncovered something that made somebody nervous,” Sandra said. “I don’t know, Bruce. Hell of a stretch. We’ll have to go through his entire caseload. But we already got our gold-plated, Sherlock Holmes clue, right? That mini bomb crater in his chest. ” Sandra nodded. ” McKenzie got that pained look again. “There’s no sign of forced entry on the door, but he went out that way. ” Sandra leaned over to examine the inside of the windowsill. The picture window was one of the oldfashioned kind that opened by sliding on a pivot.