By Lee Goldberg, William Rabkin, Anthony Neil Smith
At the street to Fargo, North Dakota, Matt Cahill is trapped in a hellacious snow fall on a frozen, traffic-choked interstate. He's stalked by means of an escaped assassin and the guards who have been transporting him--all of them possible possessed via a mutant virus that spreads speedy one of the others trapped of their automobiles, turning everybody into crazed zombies. Matt struggles with a small band of survivors to discover the resource of the awful plague earlier than it claims all of them. the chances are opposed to any of them surviving the night....and that incorporates Mr. Dark.
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Additional resources for Colder Than Hell (The Dead Man, Book 16)
Example text
I asked. "Funny, I don't remember hearing your name when you came in," she said, her eyes narrowed. "My name is Spencer Finch," I answered, remembering to smile. I offered my hand. "I'm a reporter, and I'm working on a story I thought Mr. " Warily, she took my hand, her long nails grazing the back of my wrist. "Talitha Cummings," she said. "I worked for Stiles these past couple of years. " "I see," I answered, but didn't really. " Talitha yanked her hand back like it had been burned, and glared at me.
He was a shitty detective. " "Well, there you go. Why would someone like Pierce, a) hire a detective, and b) hire a shitty one? " "Honey," she said, with more warmth now, "you are asking the wrong woman. I asked David that when he came back with the case, and he looked at me like I'd just shit in his yard. " "Shit yeah. " I sat quietly for a moment, rolling a bad thought around in my head for a while before letting it out. Finally, I had no choice. "Talitha, do you think there's any chance that Stiles didn't just fall out of that window?
I left her on the curb, and pulled away into the night. It was too late to head back to Austin, much less go anywhere else, so I found a cheap motel on the interstate and checked in for the night. I pulled the box of Stiles's notes out of the trunk, and in a moment of drunken curiosity pulled the top stack of papers and magazines out of my grandfather's box as well. My bag over my shoulder and a pack of cigarettes in each of my pockets, I staggered up to my room and inside. In the room, decorated in early denim, I lay on the vibrating bed and gave the photographs Stiles had taken of the Pierce home a cursory inspection.
