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    The Last Sinner: Sneak Peek
    The Last Sinner: Sneak Peek
    The Last Sinner: Sneak Peek
    Ebook67 pages55 minutes

    The Last Sinner: Sneak Peek

    By Lisa Jackson

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    Detectives Rick Bentz and Ruben Montoya return in the long-awaited installment in the New Orleans-set series from the #1 New York Times bestselling author—paired against a fan-favorite villain in a deeply satisfying and thrilling novel of suspense.

    There are killers so savage, so twisted, that they leave a mark not just on their victims, but on everyone who crosses their path. For Detectives Bentz and Montoya, Father John, a fake priest who used the sharpened beads of a rosary to strangle prostitutes, is one such monster.
     
    Bentz thought he’d ended that horror years ago when he killed Father John deep in the swamp. But now there are chilling signs he may have been wrong. A new victim has surfaced, her ruined body staged in deliberate, unmistakable detail. Either it’s a terrifying copycat, or Father John, the detective’s own recurring nightmare, has come back to haunt New Orleans.

    Another death, and another. Bentz is growing convinced that Father John isn’t just back. He’s circling closer, targeting those Bentz loves most.

    And this time, he won’t be stopped until the last sinner has paid the ultimate price . . .
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZebra Books
    Release dateFeb 21, 2023
    ISBN9781420156768
    The Last Sinner: Sneak Peek
    Author

    Lisa Jackson

    When asked what has inspired her to write more than 50 novels brimming with adventure, intrigue, hot passion, and high emotion, bestselling Oregon author, Lisa Jackson gets a mischievous smile on her face. Then the words flow as fast as her fingers fly on her computer keyboard when she writes. Her eyes sparkling with memories, she tells stories of her youth, stories of a Huckleberry Finn childhood in the small lumber town of Molalla and on her grandparents' nearby farm in the hilly region of western Oregon. There in the old growth timber, Lisa rode bareback and raced along the ages-old sheep, cattle and deer trails. In the nearby river, she skinnydipped and caught crawdads in her bare hands. An inventive child, she sneaked out of the house and rode her bicycle or horse in the moonlight and dreamed up childish pranks that would have done Tom Sawyer proud. "Nobody could have had a better childhood," Lisa remarks, her twinkling eyes and got-away-with-something-grin giving her a youthful appearance that defies the fact that she is in her mid-40s and the mother of two college-age sons. "My childhood was enchanted. We were a small, tightly knit family. My mum and dad were and still are my greatest supporters." Why then does Lisa write lousy dads and conniving relatives into the plots of books that regularly earn berths on such national bestseller lists as USA Today's and Waldenbooks'? "I think the deepest angst people can experience is what can develop among family members, because our emotions run so deep there," Lisa replied. "Deep down, we care about these people, but being related doesn't mean we think alike or want the same things. I also think manipulative people are fascinating. Characters like those help me to keep the readers' interest. I love it when readers write me to complain that they didn't get any sleep the night before because they had to finish my book." Lisa studied English Literature at Oregon State University for two years before she married. In 1981, when her younger son was a year old, she began writing novels. But she decided she needed a steady income and landed a nine-dollar-per-hour bank job. Before she could begin work, however, her supervisor was arrested for embezzling. "About then I sold my first book, A Twist of Fate, which — guess what! — was about a woman suspected of bank embezzling. It was purely coincidental. The story came out of my background in banking," Lisa provided. "But I guess you could say, if not for a bank embezzler, I might not have made it as an author." In addition to suspenseful contemporary page-turners, Lisa also delivers medieval romances set in eleventh and twelfth century Wales. "I enjoy doing these medieval period pieces, because women were so trod upon then. By nature of their lot in life, I can generate empathy or sympathy for the medieval heroines. They're underdogs from the get-go. Tell me what woman doesn't root for the underdog!" Britannia Roads, a creative Lansing, Michigan tour packager, read the first in Lisa's medieval trilogy and loved her writing so much that she designed a tour of Wales, with Lisa as the featured guest. Tour members will visit some of Princess Diana's favourite places to stay in Ruthin Castle. They'll be in for a treat when Lisa regales them with author stories during the tour, for she is as talented at public speaking as she is at writing novels. When not writing, Lisa enjoys spectator sports, reading, watching The X-Files and socialising now that she's a single mum. Her favourite authors include Pat Conroy, Nelson DeMille, Stephen King, Patricia Cornwell, Dick Francis, and other authors who also write compelling page-turners.

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      Book preview

      The Last Sinner - Lisa Jackson

      CHAPTER 1

      October 2015

      New Orleans, Louisiana

      Faster!

      I run, moving quickly.

      Through the sheeting rain.

      Crossing city streets.

      Hidden by the shadows of the night.

      Faster!

      My heart’s pounding, blood pumping through my veins as I splash through puddles and blink against the slashing rain.

      I smell the earthy, ever-present odor of the Mississippi River.

      Familiar and dank.

      With my poncho flapping, my boots slapping through puddles, I run along the alleys and streets of the French Quarter.

      Faster!

      Streetlights are glowing, their illumination fuzzy in the rainfall, soft light reflecting off the hoods of a few scattered cars parked near Jackson Square, rainwater gurgling in the gutters, washing onto the street, and pooling in the potholes.

      This city is, and always has been, my home.

      And I loved it.

      Until I didn’t.

      Because of her.

      My stomach clenches at the thought of what I’ve gone through, what I’ve had to endure. But now, after all this time, it’s about to be over.

      Faster!

      With St. Louis Cathedral as my beacon, down the nearly deserted streets I fly. The cathedral rises high into the night, whitewashed walls bathed in light, its three familiar spires knifing upward to the dark, roiling heavens. From habit, I cross myself as I hazard a glance to the highest spire with its cross aloft, but all the while, I keep moving, the wrought iron pickets of the fence surrounding Jackson Square in my peripheral vision.

      On the far side of the cathedral, I slip into narrow Pirate’s Alley where a few lights in the windows of the shops are glowing, but the street itself is deserted, all pedestrians indoors, waiting out the storm.

      It’s fine, I tell myself. No, no, it’s good, because in spite of the inclement weather, she will be coming.

      I know her routine by heart. And I’ve double-checked to make certain that tonight she didn’t vary from it, that her car is parked where it normally is three nights a week, so, tonight is the night. With the rain concealing so much, a wet shroud, I’ll have more time and less chance of being observed, or worse yet, interrupted.

      My heart is pounding, my chest tight in anticipation as I reach the end of the alley, near the Place de Henriette Delille. Here I wait, crouching low, catching my breath near the park. Swiping drops of rain from my forehead, I squint and stare across Royal Street, usually so busy with pedestrians, but tonight, thankfully, only spotted with a few brave souls dashing through the storm, all seeming too intent to get out of the downpour to notice me or even glance in my direction. It’s too wet for most, a deluge, the wind-blown rain sheeting in the vaporous glow of the streetlamps, the pavement shimmering eerily, the night thick.

      I check my watch, making certain I’m on time while water runs down my poncho to stream onto the cobblestones. My ski mask is tight over my nose and chin, but my hood is cinched tight around my face and no one should notice in the rain, though shaded glasses during the night might be considered odd. But this is New Orleans. Nothing here is really out of the ordinary. Anything goes.

      Again I make the sign of the cross and let out my breath to count my slowing heartbeats.

      And beneath my poncho, my right hand finds the hilt of my hunting knife, a sharp weapon with a thin blade that could whisk off the hide of an alligator and easily slice through muscle and sinew.

      I’ve waited for this night for so damned long.

      Now that the time has come, I’ll savor it, that sweet, sweet taste of revenge. Licking my lips, my eyes trained on the building with the red door cut into a dimly lit alcove, a striped awning flapping with the stiff breeze, I wait. Then, I’m forced to move quickly, stepping deeper into the shadows as a man with a briefcase, head ducked against the wind, passes nearby. He’s in a hurry to get out of the storm and doesn’t so much as throw a glance in my direction.

      I hear a siren in the distance and freeze, but the shrieks fade as the emergency vehicle speeds even further away, unimpeded by much traffic on this stormy night.

      Anxiously I stare at the red door.

      Come on, come on, I whisper.

      But she doesn’t appear.

      Nervous now, I check my watch again.

      She’s late.

      Five minutes late.

      Damn!

      Come on. Come on.

      Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I begin to sweat.

      I’m breathing too fast.

      Calm down!

      Be

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