Sidney Sheldon’s Angel of the Dark: A gripping thriller full of suspense

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Part IV (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Authors (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Sidney Sheldon and Tilly Bagshawe (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

LOS ANGELES

1996

HE GOT THE CALL AT AROUND nine p.m.

“Unit 8A73. Come in, please.”

“Yeah, this is 8A73.”

The patrolman yawned into the radio. It had been a long, boring night making the rounds in West Hollywood and he was ready for his bed. “What’s up?”

“We got a 911. Female. Hysterical.”

“Probably my wife,” he joked. “I forgot our anniversary yesterday. She wants my balls in a jar.”

“Your wife Spanish?”

“Nope.”

“Then it ain’t her.”

He yawned again.

“Address?”

“Four-twenty Loma Vista.”

“Nice neighborhood. What happened, the maid forgot to put enough caviar on her toast?”

The operator chuckled.

“Probably a DV.”

Domestic violence.

“Probably?”

“The lady was screaming so much it was tough to make out what she was saying. We’re sending backup, but you’re closest. How soon can you guys be there?”

The patrolman hesitated. Mickey, his partner, had ducked out of their shift early to hook up with yet another skank on Hollywood Boulevard. Mickey got through hookers the way that other men got through socks. He knew he shouldn’t cover for him, but Mickey was so goddamn charming, saying no to the guy was like trying to swim against a riptide. What to do? If he admitted he was alone, they’d both get canned. But the alternative—showing up solo at a DV—wasn’t an appealing prospect either. Violent husbands were not usually the LAPD’s biggest fans.

Fuck it.

“We’ll be there in five.”

Mickey’s skank had better be worth it.

FOUR-TWENTY LOMA VISTA TURNED OUT TO be a vast, sprawling, Spanish Mission-style 1920s estate, perched high in the Hollywood Hills. A discreet, ivy-clad gate set into a fifteen-foot wall gave little clue of the opulence that hid behind it: a dramatic, sweeping driveway and gardens so enormous and perfectly manicured they looked more like a country club than the grounds of a private residence.

The patrolman barely registered the fancy real estate. He was looking at a crime scene.

Open gate.

Front door ajar.

No signs of forced entry.

The place was eerily quiet. He drew his weapon.