Days of Rage: A Smokey Dalton Novel

Days of Rage: A Smokey Dalton Novel

by Kris Nelscott

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Product Details

BN ID: 2940156116287
Publisher: WMG Publishing
Publication date: 09/06/2018
Series: Smokey Dalton Series , #6
Sold by: Draft2Digital
Format: NOOK Book
Sales rank: 117,413
File size: 839 KB

About the Author

Kris Nelscott is an open pen name used by USA Today bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch.
The first Smokey Dalton novel, A Dangerous Road, won the Herodotus Award for Best Historical Mystery and was short-listed for the Edgar Award for Best Novel; the second, Smoke-Filled Rooms, was a PNBA Book Award finalist; and the third, Thin Walls, was one of the Chicago Tribune's best mysteries of the year. Kirkus chose Days of Rage as one of the top ten mysteries of the year and it was also nominated for a Shamus award for The Best Private Eye Hardcover Novel of the Year.
Entertainment Weekly says her equals are Walter Mosley and Raymond Chandler. Booklist calls the Smokey Dalton books "a high-class crime series" and Salon says "Kris Nelscott can lay claim to the strongest series of detective novels now being written by an American author."
Smokey Dalton's story will continue at long last in March 2014 with Street Justice, the seventh novel in the series.
For more information about Kris Nelscott, or author Kristine Kathryn Rusch's other works, please go to

Read an Excerpt

Days of Rage

By Nelscott, Kris

St. Martin's Minotaur

Copyright © 2006 Nelscott, Kris
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0312325290

Chapter One

I parked the police car in the trees, along the dirt access road. I shut off the headlights and let out a small breath.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.

A few blocks away, I could hear the rumble and clangs from the Ford Motor Plant. The air smelled of rotten eggs and sewage, the stink so thick it made my eyes water.

My heart was pounding. I had to force myself to take deep, even breaths despite the smell. For five long minutes, I sat in the car, staring out the windows, checking the rearview, hoping no one followed me.

When it became clear that no one had, I got out, closing the door carefully so that it didn't slam. I could see my breath. My back ached, and blood still trickled down the side of my face. I swiped at it with my arm, staining the sleeve of my coat.

At least I had the presence of mind to bring my gloves.

I walked down the dirt road to the construction site. Spindly trees rose up around me, their leaves scattered on the road. The noise from the Ford Plant covered the crunch of my feet along the path.

Equipment sat along the edge of the canal, ghostly shapes against the darkness. I stopped short of the edge.

They had finished dredging this section last year when someone had deemed the canaldeep enough.

The water glinted, black and filthy, its depth impossible to see. Some lights from the nearby industrial plants reflected thinly on the water's surface, revealing a gasoline slick and bits of wadded up paper.

I let out a small breath, hating this moment, seeing no other choice.

Then I went back to the cop car. I pushed on the trunk, making sure the latch held. Then I opened the back passenger door, rolled down the window, and went to the front passenger door, doing the same. I saved the driver's window for last.

I crawled back inside the car just as the radio crackled, startling me. The thin voice coming across the static talked about a fight at the Kinetic Playground, which had nothing to do with me.

Still, my heart pounded harder.

I started the car. It rumbled to life, the powerful engine ready to go.

I was shaking.

I kept the car in park, then I pushed the emergency brake. I reached across the seat and picked up my gloves and the blood-covered nightstick.

I released the emergency brake, got out of the car, and leaned inside the door. Carefully, I wedged the nightstick against the accelerator, making sure that thing flattened against the floor.

The car's engine revved, echoing in that grove of too-thin trees.

I braced my left hand on the car seat, grabbed the automatic gearshift, and shoved the car into drive. Then I leapt back, sprawling in the cold dirt as the car zoomed down the road.

The car disappeared over the bank, and I braced myself for a crash of metal against concrete---a crash that meant I had failed.

A half-second later, I heard a large splash. I ran to the edge of the road and stared down the embankment.

The car tipped, front end already lost to the canal. The brackish water flowed into the open windows, sinking it even faster.

The trunk went under last, disappearing in a riot of bubbles. I could almost imagine it popping open at the last moment, the bodies emerging, floating along the surface like the gasoline slick, revealing themselves much too soon.

But the bubbles eventually stopped, and the car vanished into the canal's depths.

I took off the bloody gloves and tossed them on top of the filthy water. No one would connect them to the car.

No one would ever know.

Except me.

Copyright © 2006 by White Mist Mountain, Inc.


Excerpted from Days of Rage by Nelscott, Kris Copyright © 2006 by Nelscott, Kris. 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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Days of Rage: A Smokey Dalton Novel 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
Anonymous 5 months ago
Best mystery series I have ever read, and I have read a bunch of them!!