Death by Request (Caribbean Murder, Book 11) by Jaden Syke

By Jaden Syke

Loss of life by means of Request is publication #11 within the number one bestselling Caribbean homicide sequence, which starts off with demise through Honeymoon (Book #1). it's also a standalone novel.

In loss of life by means of Request, Cindy and Mattheus are given a surprising case they've got by no means confronted earlier than: a straight forward case of euthanasia may well turn into anything extra ominous.

Tara and Owen Danden, celebrating their twenty fifth marriage ceremony anniversary in Jamaica, are at the water, in a ship he rented, whilst the elements shifts and Tara falls overboard. As Owen attempts desperately to avoid wasting his spouse, the boat spins and hits her head—sending her right into a coma.

Pulled out of the water, slightly alive, Tara is airlifted to a chic medical institution at the island, and continues to be in a coma for 2 months. while she eventually dies, in spite of the fact that, there turns into a question of no matter if she actually died of normal causes.

Based on scanty proof, Owen is taken into custody and speedy hires Cindy and Mattheus to transparent his identify and discover who wanted...

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Additional info for Death by Request (Caribbean Murder, Book 11)

Sample text

Sam was already on the back of our truck, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves from the trauma pack. ’ He laid his hand on the boy’s head.  . ’ I went to his other side. The kid’s clothes were in shreds and it was easy to see the huge slit down his left thigh. It looked like a sausage that had split in a frying-pan. Most of his flesh was peppered with fragments of broken stone. His hair and face were caked with blood, sweat and sand. We didn’t have any fluids to get into him. There was nothing we could do but plug up the holes and try to stop him losing any more blood.

I followed him. I wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or the rebels were recruiting pygmies, but he didn’t cast much of a shadow. My foresight slowly passed his feet from behind, and as it got about three body widths ahead, I fired a longer, six-round burst. Rounds plucked at the sand around him, and he went down. More shouting. I looked down into the compound again. Frankenstein was getting Davy and some others to relieve the government troops of their RPG launchers and rounds. Standish exited the building, followed closely by the youngest of the women I’d seen by the crates.

The noise of eight weapons opening simultaneously was deafening. I was buffeted by shockwaves from the RPGs, then the hot back-blast washed over me. Gravel splattered me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged. I put another double-tap into the lead vehicle as one of the grenades hit home about three back. Its headlights swerved and the dustcloud it threw up obscured the set I was aiming for. Next thing I saw, my vehicle, too, was swerving. It went into a complete roll not more than twenty metres from the wall.

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