Bloodstream. Tess Gerritsen

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       Bloodstream

      Tess Gerritsen

      

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       Copyright

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      

      HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

      The HarperCollins website address is: www.harpercollins.co.uk

      

      First published in the USA by Pocket Books

      

      Copyright © Tess Gerritsen 1998

      

      Tess Gerritsen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      

      Ebook Edition © MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780007370788

      Version: 2018-04-30

       Dedication

       To Tim and Elyse

      Contents

       Title Page

       6

       7

       8

       9

       10

       11

       12

       13

       14

       15

       16

       17

       18

       19

       20

       21

       22

       23

       24

       25

       Acknowledgments

       TESS GERRITSEN

       BY THE SAME AUTHOR

       ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

       Prologue

      Tranquility, Maine, 1946

      If she was still enough, quiet enough, he would not find her. He might think he knew all her hiding places, but he had never discovered her secret niche, this small hollow in the cellar wall, concealed by the shelves of her mother’s canning jars. As a young child she had easily slipped into this space, and every game of hide and seek had found her curled up in her lair, giggling at his frustration as he thumped from room to room, searching for her. Sometimes the game would go on so long she’d fall asleep, and would awaken hours later to the sound of her mother’s voice worriedly calling her name.

      Now here she was again, in her cellar hiding place, but she was no longer a child. She was fourteen and

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