Creation in Death

In Death Band 25

J. D. Robb

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New York City, 2060: Lieutenant Eve Dallas never forgets a corpse. Her new case will resurrect the memories of women she couldn't save-and the killer who slipped out of her grasp…

When the body of a young brunette is found in East River Park, artfully positioned and marked by signs of prolonged and painful torture, Lieutenant Eve Dallas is catapulted back to a case nine years earlier. The city was on edge from a killing spree that took the lives of four women in fifteen days, courtesy of a man the media tagged "The Groom"-because he put silver rings on the fingers of his victims.

But this time, it becomes chillingly clear that the killer has made his attack personal. The young woman was employed by Eve's billionaire husband, Roarke, washed in products from a store Roarke owns, and laid out on a sheet his company manufactures. Chances are, The Groom is working up to the biggest challenge of his illustrious career-abducting a woman who will test his skills and who promises to give him days and days of pleasure before she dies: Eve.

"There's no such thing as too much Nora Roberts. Creation in Death is a complete pleasure. Wonderful!"-Robert B. Parker

"All the elements of a terrific police procedural coupled with gut-searing drama and in-your-face characters."-David Baldacci

"J.D. Robb's In Death novels are can't-miss pleasures."-Harlan Coben

"Creation in Death is an authentic page turner, with Eve Dallas-tough as nails and still sexy as hell-pitted against one of the year's creepiest villains."-Stephen King

"Anchored by terrific characters, sudden twists that spin the whole narrative on a dime, and a thrills-to-chills ration that will raise the neck hairs of even the most jaded reader, the J.D. Robb books are the epitome of great popular fiction."-Dennis Lehane

"A taut, nerve jangling thriller."-Ridley Pearson

More Praise for the In Death series

"Robb is a virtuoso."-Seattle Post-Intelligencer

"It's Law & Order: SVU-in the future."-Entertainment Weekly

J. D. Robb is the pseudonym for a #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than 200 novels, including the bestselling In Death series. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print.


Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 372
Altersempfehlung ab 18 Jahr(e)
Erscheinungsdatum 01.04.2008
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-425-22102-0
Verlag Berkley Publishing Group
Maße (L/B/H) 17,2/10,8/2,8 cm
Gewicht 192 g

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2 Bewertungen

A gripping continuation of the series
von S. Fischer am 26.10.2008
Bewertet: Einband: Taschenbuch

It should first be said that this is part of a series about New York Police Lieutenant Eve Dallas, her friends and colleagues and her husband, multibillionaire Rourke. It makes sense on its own, but regarding the characters it's a lot better to have read the other titles in the series first. And they're definitely worth it. 'C... It should first be said that this is part of a series about New York Police Lieutenant Eve Dallas, her friends and colleagues and her husband, multibillionaire Rourke. It makes sense on its own, but regarding the characters it's a lot better to have read the other titles in the series first. And they're definitely worth it. 'Creation in death' is about a serial killer who kidnaps young women with a specific look and age and then slowly tortures them to death. He then cuts the time they lasted under his torture into their chests, washes the bodies, and leaves them where they can be found. The case is particularly important to Eve Dallas because the killer was in New York when she had just become a policewoman. She and her instructor Feeney couldn't catch the killer back then. And the killer already has his next victim. So the police know that while they're desperately trying to find this killer, the next woman is already being tortured. A race against time begins. As always, Rourke helps his wife, so do her colleagues. But it soon becomes clear that the killer will come after Eve herself as his final victim. And she is more than willing to let him catch her in the hope that she can save his present victim. This was one of the most intense books in the series when it comes to the crime story because it's not 'just' about catching a killer after the crime or before he / she can commit another, but about saving women who are being tortured to death as the police are investigating. I could imagine that this story may be hard to take for some readers, but I thought it was really well-done and gripping. As I like the characters and the series, it's always a pleasure to get another Eve Dallas novel. I would definitely recommend this book and the whole series if you like intelligent crime stories with well-developed characters.

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  • Prologue
    For him, death was a vocation. Killing was not merely an act, or a means to an end. It certainly was not an impulse of the moment or a path to gain and glory.
    Death was, in and of itself, the all.
    He considered himself a late bloomer, and often bemoaned the years before he'd found his raison d'être. All that time lost, all those opportunities missed. But still, he had bloomed, and was forever grateful that he had finally looked inside himself and seen what he was. What he was meant for.
    He was a maestro in the art of death. The keeper of time. The bringer of destiny.
    It had taken time, of course, and experimentation. His mentor's time had run out long before he himself had become the master. And even in his prime, his teacher had not envisioned the full scope, the full power. He was proud that he had learned, had not only honed his skills but had expanded them while perfecting his techniques.
    He'd learned, and learned quickly, that he preferred women as his partners in the duet. In the grand opera he wrote, and rewrote, they outperformed the men.
    His requirements were few, but very specific.
    He didn't rape them. He'd experimented there, as well, but had found rape distasteful and demeaning to both parties.
    There was nothing elegant about rape.
    As with any vocation, any art that required great skill and concentration, he'd learned he required holidays-what he thought of as his dormant periods.
    During them he would entertain himself as anyone might on a holiday. He would travel, explore, eat fine meals. He might ski or scuba dive, or simply sit under an umbrella on a lovely beach and while away the time reading and drinking mai tais.
    He would plan, he would prepare, he would make arrangements.
    By the time he went back to work, he was refreshed and eager.
    As he was now, he thought as he readied his tools. More, so much more ... with his latest dormant period had come the understanding of his own destiny. So he'd gone back to his roots. And there, where he had first seriously plied his trade, he would re-form and remake connections before the curtain came down.
    It added so many interesting layers, he mused, as he tested the edge on an antique switchblade with a horn handle he'd purchased while touring Italy. He turned the steel blade to the light, admired it. Circa nineteen fifty-three, he thought.
    It was a classic for a reason.
    He enjoyed using tools from long ago, though he also employed more modern pieces. The laser, for instance-so very excellent for applying the element of heat.
    There must be a variety-sharp, dull, cold, heat-a series of elements in various forms, in various cycles. It took a great deal of skill, and patience and concentration to spin those cycles out to the absolute zenith of his partner's aptitude.
    Then, and only then, would he complete the project and know he'd done his best work.
    This one had been an excellent choice. He could congratulate himself on that. For three days and four nights, she'd survived-and there was life in her yet. It was so satisfying.
    He'd started out slowly, naturally. It was vital, absolutely vital, to build and build and build to that ultimate crescendo.
    He knew, as a master of his craft knew such things, that they were approaching that peak.
    "Music on," he ordered, then stood, eyes closed as he absorbed the opening strains of Puccini's Madame Butterfly.
    He understood the central character's choice of death for love. Hadn't it been that choice, so many years before, that had sent him on this path?
    He slipped the protective cover over his tailored white suit.
    He turned. He looked at her.
    Such a lovely thing, he thought now. He remembered, as he always did, her precursor. Her mother, he supposed.
    The Eve of all the others.
    All that pretty white skin covered with burns and bruises, with narrow slices and meticulous little punctures. They showed his restraint, his patience, his thoroughness.
    Her face was untouched-as yet. He always saved the face