Two Nights

Two Nights

By  Kathy Reichs

From world-class forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs, the international no. 1 bestselling crime thriller writer and the inspiration behind the hit TV series Bones, comes a new blood-pumping thriller.

Meet Sunday Night, a woman with physical and psychological scars, and a killer instinct ...

Sunnie has spent years running from her past, burying secrets and building a life in which she needs no one and feels nothing.

But a girl has gone missing, lost in the chaos of a bomb explosion, and the family needs Sunnie’s help.

Is the girl dead?

Did someone take her?

If she is out there, why doesn't she want to be found?

It's time for Sunnie to face her own demons - because they might just lead her to the truth about what really happened all those years ago.

With Kathy Reichs, the reader knows that they are in the hands of an expert. As a forensic anthropologist, 1 of only 82 forensic anthropologists ever certified by the American Board, Reichs’ real-life expertise has given her novels an authenticity that most other crime novelists would kill for. From teaching FBI agents how to detect and recover human remains, to separating and identifying commingled body parts in her lab, no one is better qualified to write about what it’s really like to catch the killer and solve the crime.

Format & Editions

Trade Paperback

9780434021123

July 17, 2017

William Heinemann

RRP $37.00

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Hardback

9780434021116

July 15, 2017

William Heinemann

RRP $55.00

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EBook

9781448185009

July 13, 2017

Cornerstone Digital

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Extract

My right-hand neighbor thinks I’m crazy, so she brings me cheese.

I heard the one-two crunch of her boots on the path. A pause, then the oyster shells crunched again.

I lifted a corner of the towel covering my kitchen window. She was already five yards off, a shadow- laced smudge among the live oaks.

Six years, and I still didn’t know her name. Didn’t want to. Had no desire to exchange recipes or comments on the tides.

I cracked the door, snagged the plastic- wrapped package, and shoved it into the fridge.

Truth is, I don’t mind the cheese. What I hate are the sharp little eyes plumbing my soul. That and the pity.

And the goats. When the wind is right, the bleating bullies into my dreams and I’m back in Helmand with the blood and the dust.

Or maybe I’m reading the old gal wrong. Maybe the cheese is a bribe so I don’t murder Billie or Nanny.

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