Free Silent Stalker by C. E. Lawrence

uniformed officers standing around in groups chatting, coming and going with suspects in tow, or drinking coffee as they studied their paperwork. There was always something going on in a New York City police station.
    â€œMaybe that’s what I want.”
    â€œWhat are you talkin’ about? You’re starting to scare me.”
    â€œThere are some things in my life I don’t want to deal with right now,” Lee said as they entered the office Butts shared with two other detectives.
    Butts closed the door to his office and plopped down in his desk chair. “Like what?”
    Lee told him about the letter and phone call from Chloe. When he finished, Butts laced his hands behind his head and put his feet up on the desk.
    â€œIf I was you, I’d let the bastard stew. He made his bed, now he can lie in it.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple.”
    Butts sighed. “It never is, is it? Still”—he began digging around in his desk drawer—“getting run through with a sword doesn’t seem like a good solution.”
    Lee smiled. “When you put it like that, you have a point.”
    Butts groaned at the pun. “You’re killin’ me, Doc.”
    â€œNot on purpose, I swear.”
    Butts pulled out an envelope from the drawer. “Ah, this is what I was lookin’ for.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œTwo tickets to a show. I was going to surprise the wife with it tonight, but she’s not feeling very well. You wanna go?”
    â€œWhat’s the show?”
    â€œ The Boys from Syracuse.”
    â€œIsn’t that—”
    â€œThe musical version of Comedy of Errors.”
    Lee had to laugh.
    â€œSure,” he said. “What have we got to lose?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    Once again, thanks first and foremost to my editor, Michaela Hamilton, a true polymath—musician, cheerleader, athlete and role model. Thanks to my friend and colleague Marvin Kaye for introducing me to her, and for his continued support in all my literary endeavors. Special thanks to my dear friend Gisela Rose, for her superb editing skills and invaluable perspective. Thanks also to my agent, Paige Wheeler, for her professional advice, good cheer and support, and to Liza Dawson for always being there when I need a friendly ear. Thanks to Andrea Simmons, my Web sensei, promotional maven, and all-around supporter, and to Gary Aumiller for all his advice and help. Thanks too to my good friend Ahmad Ali, whose support and good energy always lift my spirits. Special thanks once again to Robert (“Beaubear”) Murphy and the folks at the Long Eddy Hotel, Sullivan County’s best kept secret. Thanks to Anthony Moore for helping me with computer health and safety, and to my sisters, Katie and Suzie, and cousin Carey for being in my life. Thanks to my mother, Margaret Simmons, for her continued support and editorial advice, and to all the brave men and women who risk their lives every day to catch the bad guys. I just write about this stuff—you are the real thing.

Don’t miss C. E. Lawrence’s stunning thriller
    Silent Slaughter
    Featuring NYPD profiler Lee Campbell
Now available!
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    Turn the page for an exciting excerpt. . . .
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    Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth,
but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere,
like that of sculpture.
    â€”BERTRAND RUSSELL
    P ROLOGUE
    Edmund watched the young couple stroll arm in arm up First Avenue, slinging each leg forward in perfect symmetry: left, right, left, right. The girl was tall, blond, slim, the boy a few inches shorter, serious and scholarly looking in his wire-rimmed glasses and Eastern European dissident haircut. His left hand was draped at an oblique angle over the handlebars of a bicycle, which he wheeled along effortlessly without disturbing the smooth rhythm of their stride. They had such an ease about them that Edmund couldn’t help staring. It was the grace of