Аннотация
James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
Blood Brothers
Summer, present daySan Francisco, CaliforniaArthur Crane woke to the smell of gardenias. Panic set in even before he opened his eyes. He lay still, frozen by fear, testing the heavy fragrance, picking out the underlying notes of frangipani and honeysuckle.
It can’t be…
Throughout his childhood, he had spent countless hours reading in the greenhouse of his family’s estate in Cheshire, England. Even now, he remembered the hard cement bench in a shaded corner, the ache in his lower back as he hunched over a novel by Dickens or Doyle. It was so easy to lose himself in the worlds within those pages, to shut out his mother’s rampages and threatening silences. Still, no matter how lost he was in a story, that scent always surrounded him.
It had been his childhood, his security, his peace of mind.
No longer.
Now it meant only one thing.
Death.
He opened his eyes and turned his nose...
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