AT FOUR O’CLOCK on a Friday afternoon, a tall stacked blonde checked into a plush Miami hotel-alone. Her name was Ellen Harris. Her voice was low and husky. Her walk-an invitation. Forty-eight hours later a man claiming to be Ellen Harris’s husband registered at the same hotel-only to find that his wife’s double bed was empty, and that Ellen Harris hadn’t been seen since driving away with another man.
A new tense, explosive case for Michael Shayne, private detective.
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