📚excellent condition with a few signs of ware, see photos. exclusive poster on inside of dust jacket📚 In her office, she took the bag, removed the disc. "Coffee," she ordered, and plugged the micro disc into her unit. "Full audio." It started with a click-the recorder engaging. "Yes. Jorge Tween." "You'll call me Blade. A mutual acquaintance tells me you're in need of a contractor." Now she knew his voice, Eve thought. His accent was thicker than Roarke's, the tone of it rougher. "I might be. I need to know more about your qualifications." "Oh, I've more than plenty of those, and I may be inclined to tell you a bit about meself, but first, you'll be telling me about your wife. Draw me a picture." When he attempted to, Eve realized Tween didn't really know or care to understand the woman hed married, had a child with, had murdered. He spoke of her background, her family business. Interspersed with those details came the repeated accusations of cheating, ruining him, whining, nagging, sulking. "Well now, that's all very interesting for certain. But I'm after asking you one more thing. Why is it, Mister Tween, you don't just kill her yourself?" “I’m not a killer!” -from Shadows in Death