Bones Are Forever: A Novel (Temperance Brennan Book 15) by Kathy Reichs (MOBI)

Description

A woman calling herself Amy Roberts checks into a Montreal hospital complaining of uncontrolled bleeding. Doctors see evidence of a recent birth, but before they can act, Roberts disappears. Dispatched to the address she gave at the hospital, police discover bloody towels outside in a Dumpster. Fearing the worst, they call Temperance Brennan to investigate.

In a run-down apartment Tempe makes a ghastly discovery: the decomposing bodies of three infants. According to the landlord, a woman named Alma Rogers lives there. Then a man shows up looking for Alva Rodriguez. Are Amy Roberts, Alma Rogers, and Alva Rodriguez the same person? Did she kill her own babies? And where is she now?

Heading up the investigation is Tempe’s old flame, homicide detective Andrew Ryan. His counterpart from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police is sergeant Ollie Hasty, who happens to have a little history with Tempe himself, which she regrets. This unlikely trio follows the woman’s trail, first to Edmonton and then to Yellowknife, a remote diamond-mining city deep in the Northwest Territories. What they find in Yellowknife is more sinister than they ever could have imagined.

Crackling with sexual tension, whip-smart dialogue, and the startling plot twists Reichs delivers so well, Bones Are Forever is the fifteenth thrilling novel in Reichs’s “cleverly plotted and expertly maintained series” (The New York Times Book Review). With the FOX series Bones in its eighth season and her popularity at its broadest ever, Kathy Reichs has reached new heights in suspenseful storytelling.

User’s Reviews

Kathy Reichs’s first novel Déjà Dead, published in 1997, won the Ellis Award for Best First Novel and was an international bestseller. Cold, Cold Bones is Kathy’s twenty-first entry in her series featuring forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan. Kathy was also a producer of Fox Television’s longest running scripted drama, Bones, which is based on her work and her novels. One of very few forensic anthropologists certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, Kathy divides her time between Charlotte, North Carolina, and Montreal, Québec. Visit her at KathyReichs.com or follow her on Twitter @KathyReichs. Review “Reichs always delivers a pulse-pounding story.” –This text refers to the hardcover edition. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Bones are Forever THE BABY’S EYES STARTLED ME. SO ROUND AND WHITE AND pulsing with movement. Like the tiny mouth and nasal openings. Ignoring the maggot masses, I inserted gloved fingers beneath the small torso and gently lifted one shoulder. The baby rose, chin and limbs tucked tight to its chest. Flies scattered in a whine of protest. My mind took in details. Delicate eyebrows, almost invisible on a face barely recognizable as human. Bloated belly. Translucent skin peeling from perfect little fingers. Green-brown liquid pooled below the head and buttocks. The baby was inside a bathroom vanity, wedged between the vanity’s back wall and a rusty drainpipe looping down from above. It lay in a fetal curl, head twisted, chin jutting skyward. It was a girl. Shiny green missiles ricocheted from her body and everything around it. For a moment I could only stare. The wiggly-white eyes stared back, as though puzzled by their owner’s hopeless predicament. My thoughts roamed to the baby’s last moments. Had she died in the darkness of the womb, victim of some heartless double-helix twist? Struggling for life, pressed to her mother’s sobbing chest? Or cold and alone, deliberately abandoned and unable to make herself heard? How long does it take for a newborn to give up life? A torrent of images rushed my brain. Gasping mouth. Flailing limbs. Trembling hands. Anger and sorrow knotted my gut. Focus, Brennan! Easing the miniature corpse back into place, I drew a deep breath. My knee popped as I straightened and yanked a spiral from my pack. Facts. Focus on facts. The vanity top held a bar of soap, a grimy plastic cup, a badly chipped ceramic toothbrush holder, and a dead roach. The medicine cabinet yielded an aspirin bottle containing two pills, cotton swabs, nasal spray, decongestant tablets, razor blades, and a package of corn-remover adhesive pads. Not a single prescription medication. Warm air moving through the open window fluttered the toilet paper hanging beside the commode. My eyes shifted that way. A box of tissue sat on the tank. A slimy brown oval rimmed the bowl. I swept my gaze left. Lank fabric draped the peeling window frame, a floral print long gone gray. The view through the dirt-crusted screen consisted of a Petro-Canada station and the backside of a dépanneur. Since I entered the apartment, my mind had been offering up the word “yellow.” The mud-spattered stucco on the building’s exterior? The dreary mustard paint on the inside stairwell? The dingy maize carpet? Whatever. The old gray cells kept harping. Yellow. I fanned my face with my notebook. Already my hair was damp. It was nine A.M., Monday, June 4. I’d been awakened at seven by a call from Pierre LaManche, chief of the medico-legal section at the Laboratoire de sciences judiciaires et de médecine légale in Montreal. LaManche had been roused by Jean-Claude Hubert, chief coroner of the province of Quebec. Hubert’s wake-up had come from an SQ cop named Louis Bédard. According to LaManche, Caporal Bédard had reported the following: At approximately two-forty A.M. Sunday, June 3, a twenty-seven-year-old female named Amy Roberts presented at the Hôpital Honoré-Mercier in Saint-Hyacinthe complaining of excessive vaginal bleeding. The ER attending, Dr. Arash Kutchemeshgi, noted that Roberts seemed disoriented. Observing the presence of placental remnants and enlargement of the uterus, he suspected she had recently given birth. When asked about pregnancy, labor, or an infant, Roberts was evasive. She carried no ID. Kutchemeshgi resolved to phone the local Sûreté du Québec post. At approximately three-twenty A.M., a five-car pileup on Autoroute 20 sent seven ambulances to the Hôpital Honoré-Mercier ER department. By the time the blood cleared, Kutchemeshgi was too exhausted to remember the patient who might have delivered a baby. In any case, by then the patient was gone. At approximately two-fifteen P.M., refreshed by four hours of sleep, Kutchemeshgi remembered Amy Roberts and phoned the SQ. At approximately five-ten P.M., Caporal Bédard visited the address Kutchemeshgi had obtained from Roberts’s intake form. Getting no response to his knock, he left. At approximately six-twenty P.M., Kutchemeshgi discussed Amy Roberts with ER nurse Rose Buchannan, who, like the doctor, was working a twenty-four-hour shift and had been present when Roberts arrived. Buchannan recalled that Roberts simply vanished without notifying staff; she also thought she remembered Roberts from a previous visit. At approximately eight P.M., Kutchemeshgi did a records search and learned that Amy Roberts had come to the Hôpital Honoré-Mercier ER eleven months earlier complaining of vaginal bleeding. The examining physician had noted in her chart the possibility of a recent delivery but wrote nothing further. Fearing a newborn was at risk, and feeling guilty about failing to follow through promptly on his intention to phone the authorities, Kutchemeshgi again contacted the SQ. At approximately eleven P.M., Caporal Bédard returned to Roberts’s apartment. The windows were dark, and as before, no one came to the door. This time Bédard took a walk around the exterior of the building. Upon checking a Dumpster in back, he spotted a jumble of bloody towels. Bédard requested a warrant and called the coroner. When the warrant was issued Monday morning, Hubert called LaManche. Anticipating the possibility of decomposed remains, LaManche called me. So. On a beautiful June day, I stood in the bathroom of a seedy third-floor walk-up that hadn’t seen a paintbrush since 1953. Behind me was a bedroom. A gouged and battered dresser occupied the south wall, one broken leg supported by an inverted frying pan. Its drawers were open and empty. A box spring and mattress sat on the floor, dingy linens surrounding them. A small closet held only hangers and old magazines. Beyond the bedroom, through folding double doors—the left one hanging at an angle from its track—was a living room furnished in Salvation Army chic. Moth-eaten sofa. Cigarette-scarred coffee table. Ancient TV on a wobbly metal stand. Chrome and Formica table and chairs. The room’s sole hint of architectural charm came from a shallow bay window facing the street. Below its sill, a built-in tripartite wooden bench ran to the floor. A shotgun kitchen, entered from the living room, shared a wall with the bedroom. On peeking in earlier, I’d seen round-cornered appliances resembling those from my childhood. The counters were topped with cracked ceramic tile, the grout blackened by years of neglect. The sink was deep and rectangular, the farmhouse style now back in vogue. A plastic bowl on the linoleum beside the refrigerator held a small amount of water. I wondered vaguely about a pet. The whole flat measured maybe eight hundred square feet. A cloying odor crammed every inch, fetid and sour, like rotting grapefruit. Most of the stench came from spoiled garbage in a kitchen waste pail. Some came from the bathroom. A cop was manning the apartment’s only door, open and crisscrossed with orange tape stamped with the SQ logo and the words Accès interdit—Sûreté du Québec. Info-Crime. The cop’s name tag said Tirone. Tirone was in his early thirties, a strong guy gone to fat with straw-colored hair, iron-gray eyes, and apparently, a sensitive nose. Vicks VapoRub glistened on his upper lip. LaManche stood beside the bay window talking to Gilles Pomier, an LSJML autopsy technician. Both looked grim and spoke in hushed tones. I had no need to hear the conversation. As a forensic anthropologist, I’ve worked more death scenes than I care to count. My specialty is decomposed, burned, mummified, dismembered, and skeletal human remains. I knew others were speeding our way. Service de l’identité judiciaire, Division des scènes de crime, Quebec’s version of CSI. Soon the place would be crawling with specialists intent on recording and collecting every fingerprint, skin cell, blood spatter, and eyelash present in the squalid little flat. My eyes drifted back to the vanity. Again my gut clenched. I knew what lay ahead for this baby who might have been. The assault on her person had only begun. She would become a case number, physical evidence to be scrutinized and assessed. Her delicate body would be weighed and measured. Her chest and skull would be entered, her brain and organs extracted and sliced and scoped. Her bones would be tapped for DNA. Her blood and vitreous fluids would be sampled for toxicology screening. The dead are powerless, but those whose passing is suspected to be the result of wrongdoing by others suffer further indignities. Their deaths go on display as evidence transferred from lab to lab, from desk to desk. Crime scene technicians, forensic experts, police, attorneys, judges, jurors. I know such personal violation is necessary in the pursuit of justice. Still, I hate it. Even as I participate. At least this victim would be spared the cruelties the criminal justice machine reserves for adult victims—the parading of their lives for public consumption. How much did she drink? What did she wear? Whom did she date? Wouldn’t happen here. This baby girl never had a life to put under the microscope. For her, there would be no first tooth, no junior prom, no questionable bustier. I flipped a page in my spiral with one angry finger. Rest easy, little one. I’ll watch over you. I was jotting a note when an unexpected voice caught my attention. I turned. Through the cockeyed bedroom door, I saw a familiar figure. Lean and long-legged. Strong jaw. Sandy hair. You get the picture. For me, it’s a picture with a whole lot of history. Lieutenant-détective Andrew Ryan, Section de crimes contre la personne, Sûreté du Québec. Ryan is a homicide cop. Over the years, we’ve spent a lot of time together. In and out of the lab. The out part was over. Didn’t mean the guy wasn’t still smoking hot. Ryan had joined LaManche and Pomier. Jamming my pen into the wire binding, I closed my spiral and walked to the living room. Pomier greeted me. LaManche raised his hound-dog eyes but said nothing. “Dr. Brennan.” Ryan was all business. Our MO, even in the good times. Especially in the good times. “Detective.” I stripped off my gloves. “So. Temperance.” LaManche is the only person on the planet who uses the formal version of my name. In his starched, proper French, it comes out rhyming with “France.” “How long has this little person been dead?” LaManche has been a forensic pathologist for over forty years and has no need to query my opinion on postmortem interval. It’s a tactic he employs to make colleagues feel they are his equals. Few are. “The first wave of flies probably arrived and oviposited within one to three hours of death. Hatching could have begun as early as twelve hours after the eggs were laid.” “It’s pretty warm in that bathroom,” Pomier said. “Twenty-nine Celsius. At night it would have been cooler.” “So the maggots in the eyes, nose, and mouth suggest a minimum PMI of thirteen to fifteen hours.” “Yes,” I said. “Though some fly species are inactive after dark. An entomologist should determine what types are present and their stage of development.” Through the open window, I heard a siren wail in the distance. “Rigor mortis is maximal,” I added, mostly for Ryan’s benefit. The other two knew that. “So that’s consistent.” Rigor mortis refers to stiffening due to chemical changes in the musculature of a corpse. The condition is transient, beginning at approximately three hours, peaking at approximately twelve hours, and dissipating at approximately seventy-two hours after death. LaManche nodded glumly, arms folded over his chest. “Placing possible time of death somewhere between six and nine o’clock last night.” “The mother arrived at the hospital around two-forty yesterday morning,” Ryan said. For a long moment no one spoke. The implication was too sad. The baby might have lived over fifteen hours after her birth. Discarded in the cabinet? Without so much as a blanket or towel? Once more I pushed the anger aside. “I’m finished,” I said to Pomier. “You can bag the body.” He nodded but didn’t move away. “Where’s the mother?” I asked Ryan. “Appears she may have split. Bédard is running down the landlord and canvassing the neighbors.” Outside, the siren grew louder. “The closet and dresser are empty,” I said. “There are few personal items in the bathroom. No toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant.” “You’re assuming the heartless bitch bothered with the niceties of hygiene.” I glanced at Pomier, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. Then I remembered. Pomier and his wife had been trying to start a family. Four months earlier she’d miscarried for the second time. The siren screamed its arrival up the street and cut off. Doors slammed. Voices called out in French. Others answered. Boots clanged on the iron stairs leading to the first floor from the sidewalk. Shortly, two men slipped under the crime scene tape. Uniform jumpsuits. I recognized both: Alex Gioretti and Jacques Demers. Trailing Gioretti and Demers was an SQ corporal I assumed to be Bédard. His eyes were small and dark behind wire-rimmed glasses. His face was blotchy with excitement. Or exertion. I guessed his age to be mid-forties. LaManche, Pomier, and I watched Ryan cross to the newcomers. Words were exchanged, then Gioretti and Demers began opening their kits and camera cases. Face tense, LaManche shot a cuff and checked his watch. “Busy day?” I asked. “Five autopsies. Dr. Ayers is away.” “If you prefer to get back to the lab, I’m happy to stay.” “Perhaps that is best.” In case more bodies are found. It didn’t need saying. Experience told me it would be a long morning. When LaManche was gone, I glanced around for a place to settle. Two days earlier I’d read an article on the diversity of fauna inhabiting couches. Head lice. Bedbugs. Fleas. Mites. The ratty sofa and its vermin held no appeal. I opted for the window bench. Twenty minutes later, I’d finished jotting my observations. When I looked up, Demers was brushing black powder onto the kitchen stove. An intermittent flash told me Gioretti was shooting photos in the bathroom. Ryan and Bédard were nowhere to be seen. I glanced out the window. Pomier was leaning against a tree, smoking. Ryan’s Jeep had joined my Mazda and the crime scene truck at the curb. So had two sedans. One had a CTV logo on its driver’s-side door. The other said Le Courrier de Saint-Hyacinthe. The media were sniffing blood. As I swiveled back, the plank under my bum wobbled slightly. Leaning close, I spotted a crack paralleling the window wall. Did the middle section of the bench function as a storage cabinet? I pushed off and squatted to check underneath. The front of the horizontal plank overhung the frame of the structure. Using my pen, I pushed up from below. The plank lifted and flopped back against the windowsill. The smell of dust and mold floated from the dark interior. I peered into the shadows. And saw what I’d been dreading. –This text refers to the hardcover edition. From the Author Kathy Reichs, like her character Temperance Brennan, is a forensic anthropologist, formerly for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in North Carolina and currently for the Laboratoire de sciences judiciaires et de médecine légale for the province of Quebec. Reichs’s first book, Déja Dead, catapulted her to fame when it became a New York Times bestseller and won the 1997 Ellis Award for Best First Novel. –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Read more

Reviews from Amazon users, collected at the time the book is getting published on UniedVRG. It can be related to shiping or paper quality instead of the book content:

⭐ I’ve been a long-time fan of “Bones” on TV. I’ve seen Kathy Reichs mentioned as the author of the books on which the series was based. I hadn’t realized she also writes some of the scripts.The Temperance of the TV series is as different from the original as night and day. In the books she’s also a forensic anthropologist, but she works in Canada and North Carolina. She also has several ex-boyfriends. One of them, Detective Ryan, is a major player in BONES ARE FOREVER. The TV Temperance would never let a man know she cares about him, unless he’s Booth. The original can’t seem to help herself. She’s also not as vain and conceited. Some might say Temperance, the TV character, is only stating a fact, but she is somewhat off-putting.Unforgivably there are no “Squints” in BONES ARE FOREVER. Love them. The original character is also more willing to get out into the field on her own. I don’t remember her being in the field without Booth, the FBI agent, in the TV series.This book is about dead babies. A woman turns up at a hospital, bleeding from her nether regions. She’s obviously just had a baby, but when Temperance has been called in to offer her expertise on a dead baby, and she and the detective identify the woman, who has several aliases, as the mother. A forensic test reveals she may be Native America. During the investigation they find two more dead babies traced to the same woman. She has a record as a prostitute.The story then moves to Edmonton, where Ryan and Temperance team up with a sergeant in the RCMP; there’s sexual tension between Temperance and Ollie, too. And they find another dead baby.The plot then takes a twist. Adults are turning up dead, including relatives of the prostitute. And the whole thing involves diamond mining. I didn’t even know there were diamonds in Canada, the Northwest Territory, specifically.There’s no doubt there’s more characterization in the TV series, and minor characters “The Squints” and other lab technicians play a much larger role. The Reichs series is much more traditional mystery series, except for the main character’s occupation, which Reichs also claims.

⭐ I read Deja Death and Dead Du Jour by Kathy Reichs in April of this year. In May I read Bones are Forever, written a couple decades after the other two books. i am disappointed to discover that Kathy R. has kept her main character from growing up. Twenty years later Temperance is still the same impetuous dweezle and the plots, and sub plots, are as unrealistic as an action movie. If you are into buying Kathy R novels because…that’s what you do, then by all means keep buying the same old drivel.

⭐ I am normally a died-in-the-wool Kathy Reichs fan. Loved all of her books, until this one, and love “Bones.” THIS BOOK, however is beyond terrible! I don’t know what she was thinking or doing…fulfilling a contractual obligation perhaps? I read the terrible reviews before I bought this book and probably should have paid more attention before donating my eleven bucks to her. Page after page, paragraph after paragraph of useless filler. Hell, I think I could be a certified CAT scan tech by the time she finished describing one. The problem with Ryan and Ollie? Does it have to be described and re-described over and over. We get it, Kathy. They don’t like each other. Yes, this is a terrible subject but Lordy, does she have to make it even worse by describing, again in damn near microscopic detail, the remains? I won’t finish this book and my money is gone. For this I, as a fan, am terribly sorry I wasted my hard earned cash and completely angry with Ms. Reichs for even allowing this piece of (insert your favorite noun here) to be published. Please, don’t waste your money on this effort.

⭐ This book began as a search for a victim. Dr. Brennan is in Canada in this version along with Detective Ryan and Sgt. Ollie Hasty. A woman is missing. The search for her increases tempo when the woman appears to leave a trail of bodies behind her.Temperance travels to the Northwest Territories and finds there are many victims, along with many killers. Is the woman a victim or a cold-blooded killer or can the two be mixed?This was a hard book to read in that your emotions definitely gets tugged. Ms. Reichs’ abilities as a story teller were at their usual quality which kept me turning the pages.A murder mystery to read indeed. Don’t forget the Diamonds….

⭐ What starts out as an investigation to a crime which is grisly evolves into a complex scheme.Dr. Temperance Brennan is called in to evaluate the bones of a just born child who is left to die. There is a woman who had gone to the hospital complaining of vaginal bleeding and, according to the doctor, appeared to have recently given birth. It appears that this woman had a child and after its birth, wrapped it up and left it to die. Slowly, the identity of the woman is revealed, and, at the crime scene, Dr. Brennan discovers more child bodies.A hunt is on to locate this woman who is found to have left 4 babies to die.The trail leads to western Canada, and the Dr. is asked to continue with the investigation and is joined by Detective Ryan as well as a Sergeant in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. As they delve deeper, other characters surface. What appears to have started as a homicide investigation, morphs first into a drug turf battle and continues its evolution into so much more.Using her forensic knowledge, as well as bringing together other scientific facts, Dr. Brennan uncovers a plot that was years in the making, and through her investigation, it starts unraveling, putting her in danger for her life.Very good and involved plot with the pieces coming together in the end.

⭐ Kathy Reichs continues her run of successful Temperance Brennan novels. This book has many little subplots that do resolve in the end. Sadly though I was disappointed at the final resolution to the original crimes that actually draw you into the novel…..their resolution appears to be an afterthought. Many, many characters emerge throughout this book which, at times, can be a bit confusing trying to remember who goes with what crime especially if you’ve put the book down for any length of time. Overall still loved the book although these are the reasons I had to rate it only 4 stars. I have to say that I still remain drawn to this series and that Ms. Reichs continues writing very interesting novels – nice to see since a few other authors of the same genre have gone downhill. I really enjoy her writing and am also really enjoying the “Virals” series….Recommend.

⭐ “Bones Are Forever” is another marvelous forensic anthropology thriller by Kathy Reich. As in all her books, this one is filled with fascinating medical, forensic, criminal, historical, and scientific details. The characters and dialogue are skillfully realized, the story authentic and believable…and each chapter irresistibly propels you into the next with clever (and often annoying) cliffhangers. In fact, it’s quite hard to put the book down! Best of all, it’s easy to get lost in the story and forget you’re reading at all. At times, it seemed like events were playing themselves out in my mind’s eye like a movie or TV drama. The book starts with the discovery of the remains of three newborns in a small squalid apartment of a young prostitute living in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. It appears the woman has been killing her full term babies as soon as they are born and stuffing them in various hiding places in her home. Temperance Brennen, a forensic anthropologist, and the star of Reich’s series of “Bones” thrillers, is called to examine the decayed body, mummy, and bones of the three tiny victims and to help with apprehending the killer. The case takes Temperance–along with two male criminal investigators–to Edmonton and later to the far northern frontier settlement of Yellowknife. Temperance has past and current romantic relationships with both of her colleagues on this case, and this adds complications and interest. As the evidence mounts, the case becomes a jumble of conflicting and confusing leads. There are more questions than answers and, as usual, Temperance seems constantly to be getting herself into dangerous circumstances in order to uncover the truth. When I was seventy percent of the way through the novel, I figured out the why, but it wasn’t until the end of the novel that I knew the who. I was satisfied with the ending and felt it was well supported by all that had come before without any overt literary obfuscations or tricks. I learned a great deal about the First Nation people of Canada and about some of their existing social, economic, and cultural problems. It was a good strong story and a very good book.If you enjoy this genre, Kathy Reich is one of the best, and this novel is a very good example of her skill.

⭐ I started reading Kathy Reichs a few years ago because I loved the television series, Bones. While the show is connected to the series, the resemblances between the two are minimal. The only similarities Reich’s character shares with the T.V. series is the name and the job. The rest is totally different. Personally, I like the book character better.The last two books in the series disappointed me, it kind of felt like Riechs was writing because she felt she had to, not because she was interested in the story telling, but Bones are Forever reads like Reichs older novels. I quite enjoyed it.I found this to be a very quick book to read. I finished it one the first half of the a road trip to Kansas and promptly passed it to my sister who hasn’t read any of the books in the series. I found the cases to be interesting, though they involved dead babies which is always sad. The relationships were back to being interesting and woven nicely into the main plot, and the tension was fantastic.Bones are Forever led to a great deal of research and discussing of some Canadian serial killers which kept us entertained for the last half of the drive home.

⭐ I occasionally succumb to reading Kathy’s books though I am not a fan of the TV series Bones. Having just finished `Bones Are Forever’, I am reminded of why that is the case. The storyline got buried under tons of techno babble that for some may be the point but for me marred an otherwise good plot. I am not averse to understanding how conclusions are reached by forensic science but it needs to be part of the plot and not subtext I felt I had to wade through before continuing.My other concern was descriptive. Kathy writes as though her readership is familiar with the places and institutions she writes about. Her visits to laboratories and public institutions are written as though to the initiated and throwing in a bunch of gratuitous French phrases every other page just highlights that I should have paid more attention to French in my youth – not!There is just an undercurrent in her narrative that grates at me as is the case with the TV series. Cannot point a specific bone but never-the-less the irritation remains.Not my favourite read but as she has a legion of fans what do I know.Peter Eerden

⭐ having read all of Reichs books I must say she has fallen into the trap of formula writing. You know early on she is going to have a dream that leaves her wondering how everything fits together, you also know near the end she will get caught by the bad guys and that one of her male “partners/lovers” will rescue her. This one also had too many characters in and out of the story so by the time you find out who is the villain you have to stop and think now who was this guy.

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