Bernie Gunther Books In Order Novels & Stories

He held it low, finger resting on the trigger guard, and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. The house was dark. Silent. Bernard stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He moved slowly, carefully, listening for any sound that didn't belong. The living room was to his left. Kitchen straight ahead. Hallway to the bedrooms on his right. He moved toward the living room first, his back against the wall. Then he saw a shadow, moving fast across the room. Bernard spun around, his gun coming up– But before he could see anything clearly, a hand shot out from behind him and grabbed his neck.

That would be emotional suicide. I moved away from the romance section quickly, like it might contaminate me somehow. Crime thriller. I'd read a crime thriller. Something with murder and investigations and absolutely zero sexual tension. That was safer. Much safer. I browsed the mystery section and pulled out a book I'd heard good things about. A detective novel set in London. Dark, gritty, complex. Perfect. I carried it to one of the comfortable chairs by the window and settled in. The chair was incredibly comfortable—soft leather that seemed to mold around me. There was a small side table with a reading lamp. A footstool I could put my feet up on.

Damon’s low curse was unusual, and my head popped up as I turned back and looked toward the door. I barely had time to even comprehend who was standing there and why. Time stopped. The only thing I registered was the gun in a man’s hand and each snap as it fired off. Precise shots from its silenced barrel that ended emerging screams. In my peripheral, three of my lab mates fell to the ground. Five shots in all, but I was still standing, staring straight down the dark, life-ending barrel. I shifted my eyes to focus behind the gun to the man, to see my killer before I died, and my heart stopped.