Unsafe Harbor

( 2 )

Overview

Spirited US Fish and Wildlife agent Rachel Porter is back in her native New York following the trail of murderous smugglers. Rachel Porter has relished the beautiful serenity of Hawaii, but her hometown of New York holds a special place in her heart. So when a job prospect in nearby New Jersey arises, she jumps at the chance. But, after the diversity of Hawaii, rats, roaches and seagulls are about the only creatures Jessica encounters in her new job. While she slaves away at her paperwork, Rachel pines for some ...

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Overview

Spirited US Fish and Wildlife agent Rachel Porter is back in her native New York following the trail of murderous smugglers. Rachel Porter has relished the beautiful serenity of Hawaii, but her hometown of New York holds a special place in her heart. So when a job prospect in nearby New Jersey arises, she jumps at the chance. But, after the diversity of Hawaii, rats, roaches and seagulls are about the only creatures Jessica encounters in her new job. While she slaves away at her paperwork, Rachel pines for some excitement. But she gets more than she bargained for when the body of a rich socialite is discovered steps away from her post. Rachel fears for the safety of the woman who found the body after she is called in to investigate the mysterious $20,000 shawl, made of illegal Tibetan antelope fur, found with the victim. Rachel is determined to show that she still has the New York grit needed to track down those responsible for the brutal murder . . .

Spirited US Fish and Wildlife agent Rachel Porter is back following the trail of murderous smugglers. New York holds a special place in Rachels heart so when a job in nearby New Jersey arises, she jumps at the chance. Slaving away at her paperwork, Rachel pines for some excitement. But she gets more than she bargained for when the body of a rich socialite is discovered with an illegal Tibetian antelope shawl. Rachel is determined that she still has the New York grit needed to track down those responsible . . .

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Credible characters, evocative place descriptions and a penetrating look at the world of illegal imports lift Speart's 10th mystery to feature U.S. Fish and Wildlife agent Rachel Porter (after 2005's Restless Waters). After an idyllic stint in Hawaii, Rachel is back in her native New York City and commuting from the Lower East Side to what so far has proved a tedious new job in Port Elizabeth, N.J. One gray winter morning, she arrives at work to find police swarming around the mobile luncheonette truck operated and owned by her Polish-immigrant friend, Magda, who has discovered the body of a prominent Manhattan socialite, Bitsy von Falken. Rachel later sees Magda wearing an expensive shawl that she says a friend gave her, but when Rachel identifies the exotic material as illegal Tibetan antelope fur, Magda admits she took it from the murder victim. Rachel launches a dangerous investigation that will expose animal abuse and other crimes among New York's elite. Both established fans and new readers will cheer the gutsy Rachel every step of the way. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information
Kirkus Reviews
Rachel Porter, intrepid U.S. Fish and Wildlife agent, is virtually single-handed in defeating smugglers breaching New Jersey port security. Since transferring from Hawaii to the Garden State's Port Elizabeth so she can work near her FBI lover Santou, stationed in New York, plucky Rachel Porter is appalled by her coworkers' daily lack of gumption. When a wealthy socialite is murdered on her patch and Magda, the woman running the local luncheonette, suddenly sports a $20,000 shahtoosh shawl, Rachel begins to nose around. Then the luncheonette burns down with Magda inside, sending Rachel's investigation into overdrive. She meets other socialites, from Tiffany, a former lap dancer, to Giancarlo, a gay designer who swathes himself and his clientele in contraband shawls and illegally imported ivory doodads. Santou, seasoned by his own anti-terrorist investigations, warns Rachel to be careful, but too late: She's attacked by goons. Something more sinister than wildlife corruption is going down. A Chinese kingpin whose son Rachel killed a while back (Restless Waters, not reviewed) is trafficking in blood diamonds-gems used to fund guerilla operations in Africa. A bang-up finale in the port almost gets Rachel and a pal killed. The best things here are the descriptions of New York neighborhoods, especially the Lower East Side. The worst are the many convenient coincidences and contrivances and pulp lingo.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780727864307
  • Publisher: Severn House Publishers
  • Publication date: 5/28/2006
  • Series: Rachel Porter Mysteries Series , #10
  • Pages: 234
  • Sales rank: 1,095,139
  • Product dimensions: 5.34 (w) x 8.86 (h) x 0.90 (d)

Meet the Author

Jessica Speart writes about environmental and wildlife issues. Her writing has appeared in the "New York Times Sunday Magazine, OMNI, Travel & Leisure, Audubon, National Wildlife, Mother Jones, Delta's Sky Magazine, " and many other publications. "Unsafe Harbor" is her tenth Rachel Porter mystery. Jessica lives in Connecticut with her husband and their two dogs, Max and Tallulah.

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Read an Excerpt

Unsafe Harbor

A Rachel Porter Mystery
By Jessica Speart

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2006 Jessica Speart
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0060559616

Chapter One

The sound of a siren split the air, shrill as the cry of a prehistoric bird. I steered my vehicle to one side of the road as a set of flashing red lights appeared in my rearview mirror. Their reflection was dulled by the morning haze, the sky dingy as a soiled pillow case. I stifled a yawn and cranked up the radio, hoping the local shock jock would say something outrageous to jolt me awake.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic paid little heed to the blue-and-white Crown Vic that continued to screech angrily behind us. But that was the norm for this place. This stretch of the turnpike lay between a couple of urban bullies: Newark and Elizabeth, the Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield of industrial Northern New Jersey.

I'd quickly become acclimated to my new surroundings. In fact, perhaps a little too well. I gave the incident barely a thought until the Crown Vic's emblem caught my eye. Squeezing through morning rush-hour traffic was a Port Authority police car. It clearly signaled that something was taking place in my territory. I watched as the squad car disappeared amid the crowd of vehicles, until even its call had been silenced.

Damn, I thought. Why didn't I have one of those handy dandy sirens?

Instead, I continued to crawl along with the rest of the throng, like one more regular Joe. There was little to do but stare out the window as the scenery slowly slipped by.

Vast warehouses gradually gave way to towering columns of colorful cargo containers. The metallic rainbows rose like giant LEGOs, their individual shells stacked high to the sky. Hidden from view lay a sprawling complex where goods from far-flung places arrived daily by ship.

One if by air, two if by sea. Newark International Airport stretched along one side of the road, while the Port of Elizabeth laid claim to the other. The turnpike divided the two. What they have in common is that each is a major transportation hub.

A massive blue-and-yellow structure appeared ahead like a concrete flag of Sweden. The Ikea building cheerfully announced that I'd reached my destination. Exit 13A swiftly approached and, as usual, my vehicle was stuck in the wrong lane. At times like this, I have no shame. The Trailblazer used its bulk to bully its way into the tiniest of spaces. What I hadn't counted on was hitting a patch of ice while swerving into the exit.

My vehicle fishtailed, nearly colliding with another brawny SUV. That car did what no disc jockey this morning had so far achieved. Its blaring horn finally shocked me awake. I quickly overcorrected, and sliding to the other side of the road, brushed up against a border of tall, graceful phragmites. Their feathery plumes shook their heads in distress as they valiantly buffered a small polluted creek. Taking a deep breath, I maintained my grip on the wheel and continued on, pretending not to notice the other cars that did their best to steer clear of me.

I'd been stationed at Port Elizabeth for only a few months, but the posting already felt like years. Perhaps it was due to the fact that winters on the East Coast were colder than I had remembered, the January days morbidly gray.

Things will be better once spring arrives, I thought, trying to bolster myself.

But the cold felt as though it would never go away. A gust of wind rounded a bend and shook the Trailblazer as if it were a toy. I must have been certifiable to have ever willingly left Hawaii. I tried to push that thought from my mind while passing the Jersey Garden Mall and drab hotels overlooking scenic oil tanks and chemical plants.

Turning on to North Avenue, I jostled my way between a line-up of trucks and entered Port Authority property. I felt like one more game piece on a Monopoly board, my destination to pass Go, collect what I could, and land at the seaport.

Asphalt lots filled with truck wheels and empty containers lined the roadway. This was the place where old semis go to die. A section of swampland up ahead caught my eye. It consisted only of weeds on which nothing had ever been built. However, plenty of action was taking place today.

Five Port Authority squad cars were parked in single file, their flashing lights simultaneously announcing that urgent business was under way. Sitting nearby was a silver "roach coach," which best resembled a sardine can on wheels. A closer look revealed it was a mobile luncheonette truck that serviced the port.

My pulse sped up upon catching sight of the sign on its side. Whatever was going on obviously involved the Kielbasa House. It served some of the best homemade food in the area, and was owned and operated by a Polish woman that I'd befriended.

I parked behind the last car and got out. My hiking boots crunched through snow and weeds, the sound of my steps in time with the same thought repeating over and over in my head: Please don't let anything have happened to Magda.

I nearly made it to the cordoned-off area before being stopped.

"Sorry, but this is official police business. You'll have to turn back around," intoned an authoritative voice.

I stared at the Port Authority officer's badge. Then I looked at the man himself. Even through his clothes, I could tell that Officer Nunzio worked out diligently. His arms and legs were slightly bent, as if his muscles had sprouted muscles. He looked to be no more than thirty years old, sported a flattop, and was clearly gung-ho. My fingers clumsily fumbled while removing my own badge from my pocket.

"Special Agent Rachel Porter," I responded, and quickly stashed the badge away, hoping that he hadn't seen the words U.S. Fish and Wildlife.

Nunzio stepped aside and let me pass.

"What's going on?" I asked, as he walked beside me.

Continues...


Excerpted from Unsafe Harbor by Jessica Speart Copyright © 2006 by Jessica Speart. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

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