Time Bomb: An Alex Delaware Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
By the time psychologist Dr. Alex Delaware reached the school the damage was done: A sniper had opened fire on a crowded playground, but was gunned down before any children were hurt.
“Virtually impossible to put aside until the final horrifying showdown.”—People
While the TV news crews feasted on the scene and Alex began his therapy sessions with the traumatized children, he couldn’t escape the image of a slight teenager clutching an oversized rifle. What was the identity behind the name and face: a would-be assassin, or just another victim beneath an indifferent California sky? Intrigued by a request from the sniper’s father to conduct a “psychological autopsy” of his child, Alex begins to uncover a strange pattern—it is a trail of blood. In the dead sniper’s past was a dark and vicious plot. And in Alex Delaware’s future is the stuff of grown-up nightmares: the face of real human evil.
was a big movement in this country, before World War II. Passed itself off as a German-American pride society, but that was just a cover for American Nazism. Bundists were big in the isolationist movement, agitated against U.S. involvement in the war, used the America First cover to press for mandatory sterilization of all refugees—that kind of thing. But they weren’t just a tiny fringe group. They held rallies at Madison Square Garden for thousands of people, complete with swastika banners,
plot; Norm and Melba and the others were martyrs. No tears—she was very tough. Just anger. This hot rage that made it seem as if she was vibrating.” He smiled. “She was a tough old lady. I could see her running a guillotine back in Bastille days.” “Where’d she send Ike to be raised?” “What makes you think she sent him anywhere?” “He’d just moved to L.A. a few months before his death, told people he’d been living back east. That makes sense. Someone as suspicious as Sophie might be nervous
fascism.” Mrs. Sindowsky said, “She talked a lot about politics, period.” “Tell the plain truth,” said Morgenstern. “She was a Red.” “So?” said Mrs. Cooper. “That’s some sort of crime in this free country, Sy? Expressing political views? Don’t make to them like she was a criminal.” “Who says it’s a crime?” Morgenstern retorted. “I’m only stating facts. The plain truth. What she was, was what she was. Red as a tomato.” “What does that make me?” said Mrs. Cooper. “You, my darling?” said
another glance in the rearview mirror. Different set of headlights, I was pretty sure. A caravan of headlights, stretching for blocks. Typical weekend jam-up on Melrose … “What is it, Alex?” “Nothing. Really.” I turned off Melrose onto Spaulding and pulled a therapist switcheroo: “How about yourself? Still thinking about the car?” “Got to admit I’m a little edgy,” she said. “Maybe we should have stuck to the boredom pledge.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I can get you bored again, really quick.” I
for me either.” She looked uncertain, but kissed me again. Deeply. I got into it. She squirmed. I backed off. She pulled me closer, held me to her. My heart was racing. Or maybe it was hers. “You want me,” she said, as if amazed at her own power. “Oh, yeah.” A moment passed. I could barely hear the gurgle of the pond. “Oh, what the heck,” she said, and put her hand back. 21 I heard her get up the next morning at six. She had dressed and was drinking coffee at the kitchen table