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An ancient evil has awakened . . .
Police Chief Dexter Lowe enjoys his humdrum job in the sleepy little town of Gator Creek, Florida, until a kidnapper begins terrorizing the local women. FBI Special Agent Teddi McCoy arrives to help him hunt down the mysterious kidnapper. After failing to secure any leads, they are forced to recruit the FBI's ace-in-the-hole psychic from the Louisiana Bayou, Jackson "Swamp Jack" Lafevre.
Aided by the eccentric LaFevre's remarkable visions, they track the kidnapper to an isolated island on the eastern edge of the Florida Everglades. A key with an eerie and violent past. Demon Key. A place where the kidnapper's victims have mysteriously vanished. Forever.
After finally dispatching the kidnapper, their exhilaration soon plummets to the depths of terror as the key reveals its greatest horror . . . a sinister creature so powerful and vile that Gator Creek's only hope of survival . . . must come from the past.
master. Its food provider. She glanced down at her body. Thankfully, she was too thin for mosasaur food. Jackson glanced at her. Or was she? She planned to keep a close eye on Jackson from now on — in case he got any ideas about kidnapping her. The mosasaur wriggled backward into the river with the aid of its paddle feet and sank beneath the surface. Jackson strode toward her, and she raised her gun. “Whoa, what’s this all about?” he exclaimed, his hands raised. “You’re the mosasaur’s new
understand, sir. We’re on it.” “I trust that you are. And, you’ll contact me directly as soon as you have that evidence in hand?” “Absolutely, sir.” “Thanks.” Waring tucked his cell away and stared out over the Gulf from the bridge of the Coast Guard cutter. A sudden notion chilled him. What if that human-chomping monster was still alive? Teddi grabbed a quick nap at the motel before meeting Charlie Simmons. She thought it was odd that he had requested a late lunch meeting at a small
here over a week and haven’t seen more than an hour of sunlight – total.” Teddi took the proffered towel and hurriedly ducked inside the limo. “Where to?” the driver asked Jackson, as he slipped behind the steering wheel. “Gator Creek Police Station,” Teddi quickly replied. The driver ignored her request and stared at Jackson. Jackson shrugged. “You heard the lady.” “Yes sir,” he replied, and closed the door. “I’m quite capable of answering questions that are directed at me,” Jackson said
“Special Agent Wilkerson here. I’ve got the name of our kidnapping suspect, and out of courtesy, I’m inviting you along for the arrest,” he explained. “I see,” Stark replied vaguely, playing his cards close to the vest. No use mentioning the Crystal River High School operation to the creep. “Who’s your suspect?” “Bo Swinson. The guy lives on some small-ass Everglades island.” Stark’s mouth dropped open. “Yeah, on Demon Key.” “You know it?” “Damn right I do.” He paused. “Bo Swinson. I can
line. The minutes ticked by. Time to begin reeling. Hal locked the reel and braced himself for the inevitable tug. Wham! The dolphin nearly jerked him out of the chair. Thank God he’d buckled himself in. That was one powerful dolphin! Hal fought the dolphin for half an hour. His leg and arm muscles were softening to putty, but he held on. Experience taught him that the prize would be his inside another fifteen to twenty minutes. Ten minutes later, the hooked dolphin appeared spent, and Hal