Deadly Decisions (Temperance Brennan Series #3)

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Overview

Nine-year-old Emily Anne Toussaint is shot dead on a Montreal street. A North Carolina teenager disappears from her home and parts of what may be her skeleton are found hundreds of miles away. For Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist in both Montreal and North Carolina, the deaths kindle deep emotions that propel her on a harrowing journey into the world of outlaw motorcycle gangs.

As a scientist, Tempe should remain dispassionate. As a caring individual, she yearns...

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Deadly Decisions (Temperance Brennan Series #3)

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Overview

Nine-year-old Emily Anne Toussaint is shot dead on a Montreal street. A North Carolina teenager disappears from her home and parts of what may be her skeleton are found hundreds of miles away. For Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist in both Montreal and North Carolina, the deaths kindle deep emotions that propel her on a harrowing journey into the world of outlaw motorcycle gangs.

As a scientist, Tempe should remain dispassionate. As a caring individual, she yearns to take the killers off the streets. Emily Anne was cut down in a biker crossfire. The North Carolina victim, Savannah Osprey, was last seen hitching a ride with a transient biker. Tempe's nephew, Kit, is intrigued by motorcycles. Does he understand the difference between legitimate riders and gangs, or is he too mesmerized to comprehend that outlaw bikers are big trouble?

With her boss Pierre LaManche in the hospital, and her friend Andrew Ryan disturbingly unavailable, Tempe begins a perilous investigation into a culture where evil often wears a mask. From blood-splatter patterns and ground-penetrating radar to bone-sample analysis, Deadly Decisions triumphantly combines the authenticity of a world-class forensic professional with the narrative power of a brilliant new crime-writing star. This richly nuanced thriller is sure to catapult a uniquely gifted author to even greater heights.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
Our Review
Cornwell Fans Should Hitch This Ride
Biker wars, buried secrets, and an ever-rising body count -- forensic anthropologist Dr. Tempe Brennan is back in Deadly Décisions, a bloody new thriller that's sure to keep your heart pumping. In a tale that hits Brennan close to home, Kathy Reichs, international bestselling author of Déjà Dead and Death du Jour, is nothing short of dead-on.

Rival outlaw motorcycle gangs, the Heathens and the Vipers, are embroiled in a -- quite literally -- explosive battle for control of the drug trade in the streets of Montreal, and Tempe Brennan is left to sort out the remains of les motards who are targeted in the outbreak of bombings and shootings. The pompous officers she's working with, Quickwater and Claudel, are no picnic, and her love life is in a blowout, as well -- Andrew Ryan, the homicide detective she's been seeing, has just been busted on drug charges. But when a nine-year-old girl, Emily Anne Toussant, is caught in the crossfire, Brennan puts her personal troubles aside making it her mission to find the murderers and bring an end to the killing.

The case takes a dark turn, however, when a grave on Viper turf turns up not only murdered bikers but also the partial remains of a teenage girl missing for years from North Carolina as well. And while Tempe's investigation has her face splashed across the front pages of the Montreal newspapers, she soon discovers that someone sinister is watching her even more closely; she knows that if she doesn't step carefully, her body may be next on the table.

Kathy Reichs's own expertise as a forensic anthropologist is invaluable, for as always, her latest shines with razor-sharp scientific authenticity. Whether combing the soil for bodies with a radar that detects disturbances in the earth's density, comparing bone samples for growth defects, or running DNA sequencing on skeletons that have been hidden in the earth for more than a decade, Brennan is not only an authoritative medical expert, she's downright fascinating. And while the tale outside the office is a deeply moving one, Reichs pulls no punches in the autopsy room, where death is a reality, and with bodies that are more often than not sorted out in plastic bags -- well, it ain't always pretty.

She won't be giving you nightmares, however, because you won't be able to put this one down long enough to sleep. Brennan is smart-mouthed, sarcastic, and street-savvy -- but with every step she's treading deeper and deeper into the dark underworld of the outlaw bikers, and the stakes couldn't be higher. Reichs handles the narrative magnificently, with short chapters that keep the story cruising and hairpin plot turns that keep the suspense roaring like a Harley. Taking you from Quebec to North Carolina and back again, Deadly Décisions is Kathy Reichs at her most bone-chilling, and it's a guaranteed thrill ride.

--Elise Vogel

Elise Vogel is a freelance writer living in New York City.

Barnes & Noble Guide to New Fiction
From best-selling author Reichs comes another "detailed and knowledgeable" forensic suspense thriller focusing on "biker society." "A blatant rip-off of Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta." "Not for the fainthearted." Some readers found it "too graphic" and "uneven." Ultimately, "a good read between Scarpetta books."
Library Journal
Crime writer Reichs is amazing! Once again, readers will be eager to learn the grisly details of how her forensic anthropologist heroine, Dr. Tempe Brennan, teases information from the bones of mutilated, decomposed, often animal-gnawed human bodies. Here, Tempe is outraged at the death of a child in a war among bikers vying for the Quebec province drug trade, and she joins the investigation. Tension mounts as she becomes embroiled in the rivalries of outlaw motorcycle gangs, "the mafia of the new millennium." The case becomes more complex as another biker is killed and the death and dismemberment of a teenage girl years before in North Carolina are linked to the Quebec biker mayhem. Then Tempe's Harley-riding nephew from Houston gets involved, revving up the plot as the tale speeds across the finish line to a satisfying conclusion. The author of the best-selling D j Dead, Reichs roots her skillful storytelling in her own experience as forensic anthropologist in both Montreal and North Carolina. Highly recommended for all public library fiction collections. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 4/1/00.]--Molly Gorman, San Marino, CA Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.\
School Library Journal
Adult/High School-Tempe Brennan becomes involved when two motorcycle gangs declare war, plot revenge, and leave an innocent child caught in the crossfire. Tempe sorts out new and old murders, ties together clues in Montreal and North Carolina, and worries that her visiting nephew is becoming involved with the gangs. Competent young adult readers will enjoy the information on motorcycles and will relate to the nephew. However, there are many characters, victims, and police organizations to keep straight. Reichs explains the latter in context, but then refers to them with abbreviations. Abounding in grisly details, this novel is sure to please Reichs's fans.-Claudia Moore, W. T. Woodson High School, Fairfax, VA Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Ann Prichard
Deadly Decisions, has an ambitious plot…
USA Today
Kirkus Reviews
Beautiful, cosmopolitan Montréal has the distinction of hosting the last active biker war in North America. Consulting forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan, brought up once more from North Carolina to help separate the bodies of a pair of identical twin Heathens blown up by their own bomb, is on hand when a Viper informant leads the Sûreté to a field where two much older bodies are buried—together with the skull and leg bones of Savannah Osprey, a hydrocephalic teen who disappeared from North Carolina in 1984, and whose body has long since been laid to rest back home. What are her missing parts doing in Pointe-St-Charles, and how is she connected to the slain bikers? As Tempe (Death du Jour, 1999, etc.) applies her customary expertise to these problems, problems are piling up on the home front as well. Her main squeeze, Lt. Andrew Ryan, has been arrested for dealing drugs, and her visiting nephew, Kit Howard, is infatuated with two equally unsuitable role models: the bikers whose equipment he's fascinated by, and Lyle Crease, the smarmy newscaster who's using him to get to Tempe. By the end, the body count has risen so high that it scarcely registers—replaced by forensic examinations of body parts, blood spatters, and old photos as centers of dramatic interest—and the mystery itself (whodunit, when, how, and why?) is shapeless in all but its broadest contours. Still, fans will be hooked by those ghoulish stints in the lab, the penny-dreadful chapter endings, and the endless flow of acronyms that prove what a tough cookie Tempe is. (Author tour)
From the Publisher
"Reminiscent of Patricia Cornwell at the top of her game. . . . Moves along like a Harley-Davidson leading the pack." -- The San Francisco Examiner

"The forensic details are fascinating." -- The Orlando Sentinel (FL)

"A high-octane forensic thriller." -- People

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780792723936
  • Publisher: BBC Audiobooks America
  • Publication date: 3/1/2001
  • Series: Temperance Brennan Series , #3
  • Edition description: Unabridged

Meet the Author

Kathy Reichs, like her character Dr. 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. A professor in the department of anthropology at the University of North Carolina in Charlotte, she is one of only ninety-nine forensic anthropologists ever certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology. Reichs’s first book, Déjà Dead, catapulted her to fame when it became a New York Times bestseller and won the 1997 Arthur Ellis Award for Best First Novel. Her latest Temperance Brennan novel, Bones of the Lost, was an instant New York Times bestseller. Her website is KathyReichs.com.
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    1. Also Known As:
      Kathleen J. Reichs (full name)
    2. Hometown:
      Charlotte, North Carolina and Montreal, Québec
    1. Education:
      B.A., American University, 1971; M.A., Ph.D., Northwestern University
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Her name was Emily Anne. She was nine years old, with black ringlets, long lashes, and caramel-colored skin. Her ears were pierced with tiny gold loops. Her forehead was pierced by two slugs from a Cobra 9-mm semiautomatic.


It was a Saturday, and I was working by special request of my boss, Pierre LaManche. I'd been at the lab for four hours, sorting badly mangled tissue, when the door to the large autopsy room opened and Sergeant-Detective Luc Claudel came striding in.

Claudel and I had worked together in the past, and though he'd come to tolerate, perhaps even appreciate me, one would not infer that from his brusque manner.

"Where's LaManche?" he demanded, glancing at the gurney in front of me, then quickly away.

I said nothing. When Claudel was in one of his moods, I ignored him.

"Has Dr. LaManche arrived?" The detective avoided looking at my greasy gloves.

"It's Saturday, Monsieur Claudel. He doesn't wo — "

At that moment Michel Charbonneau stuck his head into the room. Through the opening I could hear the whir and clank of the electric door at the back of the building.

"Le cadavre est arrivé," Charbonneau told his partner.

What cadaver? Why were two homicide detectives at the morgue on a Saturday afternoon?

Charbonneau greeted me in English. He was a large man, with spiky hair that resembled a hedgehog's.

"Hey, Doc."

"What's going on?" I asked, pulling off my gloves and lowering my mask.

Claudel answered, his face tense, his eyes cheerless in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Dr. LaManche will be here shortly. He can explain."

Already sweat glistened on his forehead, and his mouth was compressed into athin, tight line. Claudel detested autopsies and avoided the morgue as much as possible. Without another word he pulled the door wide and brushed past his partner. Charbonneau watched him walk down the corridor, then turned back to me.

"This is hard for him. He has kids."

"Kids?" I felt something cold in my chest.

"The Heathens struck this morning. Ever hear of Richard Marcotte?"

The name was vaguely familiar.

"Maybe you know him as Araignée. Spider." He curled his fingers like a child doing the waterspout rhyme. "Great guy. And an elected official in the outlaw biker set. Spider is the Vipers sergeant at arms, but he had a real bad day today. When he set out for the gym around eight this morning the Heathens blasted him in a drive-by while his ole lady dove for cover in a lilac bush."

Charbonneau ran a hand backward through his hair, swallowed.

I waited.

"In the process they also killed a child."

"Oh, God." My fingers tightened around the gloves.

"A little girl. They took her to the Montréal Children's Hospital, but she didn't make it. They're bringing her here now. Marcotte was DOA. He's out back."

"LaManche is coming in?"

Charbonneau nodded.

The five pathologists at the lab take turns being on call. Rarely does it happen, but if an off-hours autopsy or visit to a death scene is deemed necessary, someone is always available. Today that was LaManche.

A child. I could feel the familiar surge of emotions and needed to get away.

My watch said twelve-forty. I tore off my plastic apron, balled it together with the mask and latex gloves, and threw everything into a biological waste container. Then I washed my hands and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.

I don't know how long I sat in my office, staring at the St. Lawrence and ignoring my carton of yogurt. At one point I thought I heard LaManche's door, then the swish of the glass security doors that separate portions of our wing.

Being a forensic anthropologist, I've developed some immunity to violent death. Since the medical examiner turns to me to derive information from the bones of the mutilated, burned, or decomposed, I've seen the worst. My workplaces are the morgue and autopsy room, so I know how a corpse looks and smells, how it feels when handled or cut with a scalpel. I'm accustomed to bloody clothing drying on racks, to the sound of a Stryker saw cutting through bone, to the sight of organs floating in numbered specimen jars.

But I have always been unsettled by the sight of dead children. The shaken baby, the battered toddler, the emaciated child of religious zealots, the preteen victim of a violent pedophile. The violation of young innocents has never failed to agitate and distress me.

Not long ago I had worked a case involving infants, twin boys killed and mutilated. It had been one of the most difficult encounters of my career, and I didn't want to reboard that emotional merry-go-round.

Then again that case had been a source of satisfaction. When the fanatic responsible was locked up and could order no more executions, I felt a genuine sense of having accomplished something good.

I peeled back the cover and stirred the yogurt.

Images of those babies hovered in my mind. I remembered my feelings in the morgue that day, the flashbacks to my infant daughter.

Dear God, why such insanity? The mutilated men I had left downstairs had also died as a result of the current biker war.

Don't get despondent, Brennan. Get angry. Get coldly, resolutely angry. Then apply your science to help nail the bastards.

"Yep," I agreed with myself aloud.

I finished the yogurt, drained my drink, and headed downstairs.


Charbonneau was in the anteroom of one of the small autopsy suites, flipping pages in a spiral notebook. His large frame overflowed a vinyl chair opposite the desk. Claudel was nowhere to be seen.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Emily Anne Toussaint. She was on her way to dance class."

"Where?"

"Verdun." He tipped his head toward the adjoining room. "LaManche has begun the post."

I slipped past the detective into the autopsy room.

A photographer was taking pictures while the pathologist made notes and shot Polaroid backups.

I watched LaManche grasp a camera by its side handles, then raise and lower it above the body. As the lens moved in and out of focus a small dot blurred then condensed over one of the wounds in the child's forehead. When the perimeter of the dot grew sharp, LaManche depressed the shutter release. A white square slid out and he pulled it free and added it to a collection on the side counter.

Emily Anne's body bore evidence of the intensive effort to save her life. Her head was partly bandaged, but I could see a clear tube protruding from her scalp, inserted to monitor intracranial pressure. An endotracheal tube ran down her throat and into her trachea and esophagus, placed in order to oxygenate the lungs and to block regurgitation from the stomach. Catheters for IV infusion remained in her subclavian, inguinal, and femoral vessels, and the circular white patches for EKG electrodes were still pasted to her chest.

Such a frantic intervention, almost like an assault. I closed my eyes and felt tears burn the backs of my lids.

I dragged my eyes back to the small body. Emily Anne wore nothing but a plastic hospital bracelet. Next to her lay a pale green hospital gown, bundled clothing, a pink backpack, and a pair of high-top red sneakers.

The harsh fluorescent light. The shining steel and tile. The cold, sterile surgical instruments. A little girl did not belong here.

When I looked up, LaManche's sad eyes met mine. Though neither of us made reference to what lay on the stainless steel, I knew his thoughts. Another child. Another autopsy in this same room.

Putting a choke hold on my emotions, I described the progress I was making with my own cases, reassembling the corpses of two bikers who'd been blown apart by their own folly, and asked when antemortem medical records would be available. LaManche told me that the files had been requested and should arrive on Monday.

I thanked him and went to resume my own grim task. As I sorted tissue, I remembered my previous day's conversation with LaManche, and wished I were still in the Virginia woods. Was it only yesterday LaManche had called me there? Emily Anne was alive then.

So much can change in twenty-four hours.

Copyright © 2000 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.

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Table of Contents

Read More Show Less

First Chapter

Chapter One

Her name was Emily Anne. She was nine years old, with black ringlets, long lashes, and caramel-colored skin. Her ears were pierced with tiny gold loops. Her forehead was pierced by two slugs from a Cobra 9-mm semiautomatic.


It was a Saturday, and I was working by special request of my boss, Pierre LaManche. I'd been at the lab for four hours, sorting badly mangled tissue, when the door to the large autopsy room opened and Sergeant-Detective Luc Claudel came striding in.

Claudel and I had worked together in the past, and though he'd come to tolerate, perhaps even appreciate me, one would not infer that from his brusque manner.

"Where's LaManche?" he demanded, glancing at the gurney in front of me, then quickly away.

I said nothing. When Claudel was in one of his moods, I ignored him.

"Has Dr. LaManche arrived?" The detective avoided looking at my greasy gloves.

"It's Saturday, Monsieur Claudel. He doesn't wo -- "

At that moment Michel Charbonneau stuck his head into the room. Through the opening I could hear the whir and clank of the electric door at the back of the building.

"Le cadavre est arrivé," Charbonneau told his partner.

What cadaver? Why were two homicide detectives at the morgue on a Saturday afternoon?

Charbonneau greeted me in English. He was a large man, with spiky hair that resembled a hedgehog's.

"Hey, Doc."

"What's going on?" I asked, pulling off my gloves and lowering my mask.

Claudel answered, his face tense, his eyes cheerless in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Dr. LaManche will be here shortly. He can explain."

Already sweat glistened on his forehead, and his mouth was compressed into a thin, tight line. Claudel detested autopsies and avoided the morgue as much as possible. Without another word he pulled the door wide and brushed past his partner. Charbonneau watched him walk down the corridor, then turned back to me.

"This is hard for him. He has kids."

"Kids?" I felt something cold in my chest.

"The Heathens struck this morning. Ever hear of Richard Marcotte?"

The name was vaguely familiar.

"Maybe you know him as Araignée. Spider." He curled his fingers like a child doing the waterspout rhyme. "Great guy. And an elected official in the outlaw biker set. Spider is the Vipers sergeant at arms, but he had a real bad day today. When he set out for the gym around eight this morning the Heathens blasted him in a drive-by while his ole lady dove for cover in a lilac bush."

Charbonneau ran a hand backward through his hair, swallowed.

I waited.

"In the process they also killed a child."

"Oh, God." My fingers tightened around the gloves.

"A little girl. They took her to the Montréal Children's Hospital, but she didn't make it. They're bringing her here now. Marcotte was DOA. He's out back."

"LaManche is coming in?"

Charbonneau nodded.

The five pathologists at the lab take turns being on call. Rarely does it happen, but if an off-hours autopsy or visit to a death scene is deemed necessary, someone is always available. Today that was LaManche.

A child. I could feel the familiar surge of emotions and needed to get away.

My watch said twelve-forty. I tore off my plastic apron, balled it together with the mask and latex gloves, and threw everything into a biological waste container. Then I washed my hands and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.

I don't know how long I sat in my office, staring at the St. Lawrence and ignoring my carton of yogurt. At one point I thought I heard LaManche's door, then the swish of the glass security doors that separate portions of our wing.

Being a forensic anthropologist, I've developed some immunity to violent death. Since the medical examiner turns to me to derive information from the bones of the mutilated, burned, or decomposed, I've seen the worst. My workplaces are the morgue and autopsy room, so I know how a corpse looks and smells, how it feels when handled or cut with a scalpel. I'm accustomed to bloody clothing drying on racks, to the sound of a Stryker saw cutting through bone, to the sight of organs floating in numbered specimen jars.

But I have always been unsettled by the sight of dead children. The shaken baby, the battered toddler, the emaciated child of religious zealots, the preteen victim of a violent pedophile. The violation of young innocents has never failed to agitate and distress me.

Not long ago I had worked a case involving infants, twin boys killed and mutilated. It had been one of the most difficult encounters of my career, and I didn't want to reboard that emotional merry-go-round.

Then again that case had been a source of satisfaction. When the fanatic responsible was locked up and could order no more executions, I felt a genuine sense of having accomplished something good.

I peeled back the cover and stirred the yogurt.

Images of those babies hovered in my mind. I remembered my feelings in the morgue that day, the flashbacks to my infant daughter.

Dear God, why such insanity? The mutilated men I had left downstairs had also died as a result of the current biker war.

Don't get despondent, Brennan. Get angry. Get coldly, resolutely angry. Then apply your science to help nail the bastards.

"Yep," I agreed with myself aloud.

I finished the yogurt, drained my drink, and headed downstairs.


Charbonneau was in the anteroom of one of the small autopsy suites, flipping pages in a spiral notebook. His large frame overflowed a vinyl chair opposite the desk. Claudel was nowhere to be seen.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Emily Anne Toussaint. She was on her way to dance class."

"Where?"

"Verdun." He tipped his head toward the adjoining room. "LaManche has begun the post."

I slipped past the detective into the autopsy room.

A photographer was taking pictures while the pathologist made notes and shot Polaroid backups.

I watched LaManche grasp a camera by its side handles, then raise and lower it above the body. As the lens moved in and out of focus a small dot blurred then condensed over one of the wounds in the child's forehead. When the perimeter of the dot grew sharp, LaManche depressed the shutter release. A white square slid out and he pulled it free and added it to a collection on the side counter.

Emily Anne's body bore evidence of the intensive effort to save her life. Her head was partly bandaged, but I could see a clear tube protruding from her scalp, inserted to monitor intracranial pressure. An endotracheal tube ran down her throat and into her trachea and esophagus, placed in order to oxygenate the lungs and to block regurgitation from the stomach. Catheters for IV infusion remained in her subclavian, inguinal, and femoral vessels, and the circular white patches for EKG electrodes were still pasted to her chest.

Such a frantic intervention, almost like an assault. I closed my eyes and felt tears burn the backs of my lids.

I dragged my eyes back to the small body. Emily Anne wore nothing but a plastic hospital bracelet. Next to her lay a pale green hospital gown, bundled clothing, a pink backpack, and a pair of high-top red sneakers.

The harsh fluorescent light. The shining steel and tile. The cold, sterile surgical instruments. A little girl did not belong here.

When I looked up, LaManche's sad eyes met mine. Though neither of us made reference to what lay on the stainless steel, I knew his thoughts. Another child. Another autopsy in this same room.

Putting a choke hold on my emotions, I described the progress I was making with my own cases, reassembling the corpses of two bikers who'd been blown apart by their own folly, and asked when antemortem medical records would be available. LaManche told me that the files had been requested and should arrive on Monday.

I thanked him and went to resume my own grim task. As I sorted tissue, I remembered my previous day's conversation with LaManche, and wished I were still in the Virginia woods. Was it only yesterday LaManche had called me there? Emily Anne was alive then.

So much can change in twenty-four hours.

Copyright © 2000 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 229 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 233 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 27, 2008

    A Excellent Book For Murder Mystery Fans!!!!

    Kathy Reichs is an amazing author! First she stunned us all with Deja Dead, then made us all do double takes with Death Du Jour, and now has amazed us all with Deadly Decisions. You learn an extreme amount about Biker Gang Warfare and again one of Tempe's relatives is involved. So if I were you I'd read this series because it is EXCELLENT!!! Happy Reading!

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 29, 2002

    Perfect Décision

    Her book is an amazing book that gets you hooked and you never want to put it down... EVER! Its a great thriller and things that you never suspected to hapen actually happen. I only have one word: WOW! It was a perfect story.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 12, 2013

    Disappointing

    This is the third Tempe book I have read, and the first two of the series were well done. Now it seems that we are getting to the level where the author, Kathy Reichs is "churning them out". This is more of a travel guide to Montreal and Quebec than a mystery novel. This is more than descriptive background to bring the locale in focus. This is filler.pages and pages of filler. Based on this book of the series, I will not read anymore even though I love the TV series on which they are based. My money would be more well spent on a street map of Montreal.

    3 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 10, 2013

    Read it -- great mind boggling

    This was a very intense book and kept you spell bound till the very end. Great reading.l Enjoy all of Kathy Reichs books.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 2, 2013

    Good read, but didn't move as quickly as some of her other stories

    Good storyteller, but a little too long winded at times on details. I have read many of her books and this one was just okay.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 21, 2011

    If you like Fox's 'Bones', you'll love the original Temperance Brennan!

    I recommend starting with Deja Dead (#1) and reading right on through all 14! You won't regret it!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 22, 2003

    Very intreging

    This book was great it had tons of suspense and keeps you on your toes, wants to make you read up on gangs and other events.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 31, 2002

    A real page turner!!

    Ms. Reichs does it again, I couldn't put it down. IN short this book is just a great read and if you liked any of her other books you won't be dissapointed!!! I can't wait for the next book to see what Tempe will run into next!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 9, 2014

    Motorcycles galore

    Very good and loved the fact that it was motorcycle gangs.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2014

    Sooo good

    I love how we get to meet Kit, he adds a nice element to the story. The only downside is the lack of Ryan! He's my favorite character in this series.

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  • Posted January 5, 2014

    should read in order written

    really enjoy Brennan series. have just added 5 more to my NOOK. am reading Bones to Ashes now and it wonderful. love the tenacity of Brennan when she is working on a set of bones.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 1, 2013

    Deadly decsions

    I have just read the sample an ut sounds like a really good book.

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  • Posted October 5, 2012

    Good as always

    I found out about this series from watching the show Bones. I think they're both fantastic but very different from each other since Tempe is different in each.

    Anyway this was a good story with nice twists... Worth the $8 I paid

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2012

    A Good Read

    Great for people wanting to know about how the culture of biker gangs in today society function with law always coming at them. Wasnt as fast paced as Deja Dead till more toward the end, but still another great one. Id recommend it to anyone who likes crime novels

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  • Posted September 26, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Recommend

    The evolution of Tempe is taking shape in this the 3rd book of the series.

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  • Posted November 23, 2011

    Highly Recommended

    Enjoyed the book. Reichs does a great job of developing the story and getting the reader excited about what comes next. Book starts a little slow, but picks up speed.

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  • Posted July 8, 2011

    Captivating

    As usual Kathy Reichs did not dissapoint

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  • Posted January 6, 2011

    Deadly Decisions

    Another good read from the Temperance Brennan series.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 15, 2010

    Favorite so far

    Though I enjoyed the first two books in this series, the third book has been my favorite. In the first book some of the scenes tended to carry on, in this one I felt that she explained the necessary things but did not go into such great detail as to completely loose the reader. The characters keep developing and I can hardly wait to read the next in this series.

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  • Posted February 6, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Deadly Decisions

    The death of a young girl causes Brennan to investigate the rivalry of local biker gangs. Along with trying to figure a way to stop the gang wars, Brennan must confront the possibility that her lover, Ryan, is not what he seems. Along with her devistation, Brennan must watch Harry's son, Kit, and make sure he does not get tangled with the wrong crowd. This book is fast-paced and keeps fans on the edge of their sets.

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