Read Jaz Parks s'en mord les doigts by Jennifer Rardin Free Online
Book Title: Jaz Parks s'en mord les doigts|
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 730 KB
v The author of the book: Jennifer Rardin
Date of issue: September 5th 2008
ISBN 13: 9782811200244
City - Country: No data
Read full description of the books Jaz Parks s'en mord les doigts:Je m'appelle Jaz Parks. Mon patron, Vayl, est né en 1744 en Roumanie, où il est... mort. Entre les mains de son épouse, qui plus est. Une vampire. Mais c'est de l'histoire ancienne. Pour l'heure, Vayl travaille à la CIA, où il exerce son plus grand talent... celui d'assassin. Moi ? Je l'aide. Évitez de me traiter d'assistante, ou je vous en colle une. Vayl et moi devons éliminer un chirurgien esthétique de Miami lié au terrorisme. Mais notre mission se complique lorsqu'on découvre qu'il est de mèche avec un salopard aux pouvoirs surnaturels capables de mettre l'Amérique à genoux...
Read information about the authorI’ve spent all my life in the Midwest, which has certainly shaped my perspective on all kinds of issues, from the question of whether or not we really have an accent, to the many and varied uses of corn.
I was born in Evansville, Indiana on April 28, 1965. Mom tells me almost every year what crappy weather it was that day. However I like to think of my birthday as the first frost-free date for my planting area. See what happens when you grow up around farmers? Scary, huh?
After a youth spent up to my eyeballs in fairy tales, nordic myths and supernatural legends I made the solid and practical decision to go to college and major in English. After which I never really held a well paying job until this gig came along! Which is why my kids love to sing that song to me from the musical “Avenue Q.” The one that begins with the line, “What do you do with a B.A. in English?”
Once I figured out the answer to that question, I wrote Once Bitten, Twice Shy. Now my laptop is my constant companion. We reside in an old farmhouse along with my husband and our two teenagers. No pets since the cat died last winter, but the birds seem to appreciate his absence. They come to feast at the feeders while I write on the back porch in the cool of the morning. Lovely.
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