Publisher's Weekly Review
Casey's turbulent third mystery featuring Texas Ranger Sarah Armstrong (after 2009's Blood Lines) draws the criminal profiler into a breathless drama as scary as a hurricane's eye. When Sarah's boyfriend, FBI special agent David Garrity, asks for her help in a missing child case, Sarah is eager to assist. Someone took four-year-old Joey Warner from a Houston playground while his young mother was arguing on a cellphone with Joey's dad. Aided by Sgt. George "Buckshot" Fields, Sarah also looks into the decapitation killings of prize-winning longhorn bulls, whose hides are scrawled with cryptic African drawings. As she seeks help from a former Tulane professor who's an expert on African symbols, Hurricane Juanita approaches the Gulf Coast. When clues surface that imply an eerie link between the two investigations, a terrifying cat-and-mouse game develops, pointing to more stormy weather ahead for Sarah in the best in the series to date. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
A Texas Ranger juggles two difficult cases as a hurricane bears down on Houston.While Sarah Armstrong and her partner Buckshot investigate the shooting of an extremely valuable Longhorn bull who has a strange symbol inked on his hide, Sarah's love interest, FBI agent David Garrity, searches for a little boy who disappeared from a park while his inattentive mother was talking on her cell phone. The mother, Crystal Warner, is just involved enough to join her parents in accusing the police of hounding her when they should be searching for her Joey. Though Sarah wants to help in the search, she's deterred by several more bulls found dead with new symbols on their sides. A visiting professor, Dr. Benoit, tells her that they're African symbols brought by slaves from their homelands and translates them for her. Crystal splits her time between helping David search for the missing child, trying to figure out who's killing the bulls and helping her mother get their ranch ready to withstand the threatened hurricane. When her partner is murdered, Sarah realizes that Benoit, who is not who he claims to be, may be involved in both cases. So begins a dangerous race against time to find the missing boy before the hurricane strikes.Pulse-pounding action alternates with stilted dialogue in Sarah's third (Blood Lines, 2009, etc.).]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
When someone kills prize longhorn bulls on ranches outside Houston, marking African symbols on their hides, Texas Ranger profiler Sarah Armstrong gets the case. But she's drawn more to the kidnapping of a four-year-old boy whose young mother seems oddly unaffected by her son's disappearance (FBI profiler David Garrity, Sarah's lover, asks for her help on the case). At the same time, a category 4 hurricane, Juanita, is stalling over the Gulf and gaining strength as it heads for Galveston. The intertwining of the two cases may strain credulity, but the resolution does not, as Sarah frantically seeks answers, in the process making a wrenching decision about whether to leave her 12-year-old daughter, Maggie, who's already lost one parent, in order to face death at the height of the storm for the sake of another child. This third entry (after Blood Lines, 2009) leaves open plenty of issues, both personal and professional, for Sarah, guaranteeing continuing interest in the series. Solid crime fiction with a real feel for the humanity of the characters.--Leber, Michele Copyright 2010 Booklist
Library Journal Review
The kidnapping of a four-year-old boy from a Houston park brings local law enforcement and the FBI together in an intense search. Meanwhile Texas Ranger Sarah Armstrong (Blood Lines) investigates the slaughter of some prize cattle. Symbols drawn on their hides point to African folklore. As the search for the guilty party intensifies, a major hurricane bears down in the Gulf heading straight for Houston. Contrasting the seeming unconcern of the missing boy's mother with the anguish of Sarah's daughter, who has just recovered from her father's death and now fears that her mother will perish in the storm, adds depth to this suspenseful thriller. Verdict Readers waiting patiently for the next J.A. Jance mystery will want to try this exciting read. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
One "Have you seen my puppy?" the man asked. They were in the park, a span of thick green with black-trunked oaks and soaring, spindly pines nestled among sprawling subdivisions northwest of Houston. Caught up in an imaginary world, a sandbox desert of hand-shaped hills and roundabout roads, the boy pressed down hard on a bright yellow-and-red plastic dump truck, pushing it up a make-believe ramp, then pulling it down again. All the while, his soft pink lips vibrated, brrrrrrrrrr, mimicking an engine. "Did you see my puppy?" the man asked again, louder. The boy glanced up, startled, but then smiled at the man. When he saw the frown on the man's face, the boy thought that the man looked troubled. "No," the boy said, shaking his head, his clear blue eyes wide with worry. "Is your puppy lost?" The man's brow furrowed and his lips pinched, as if he were ready to cry. The puppy must be lost, the boy thought, and then the man confirmed it. "He ran away," he said. "My little puppy ran away. Will you help me find him?" A worried look on his face, the boy swiveled toward his right and saw his momma sitting on a picnic bench, talking on her cell phone and staring off into the pond, where the ducks with the green heads and the snow-white geese milled about, plucking at the water. It was a school day, and the park was deserted except for the boy and his mother and the man who'd lost his puppy. The boy thought about the puppy and wondered where it might be. I should tell Momma that I'm helping the man, he decided. She's upset about the big storm, the one they keep talking about on television. "Just a minute," he said, turning to run to his mother. Before the boy could leave, the man reached out and gently touched the child's shoulder. "Don't go!" he pleaded. "You've heard about the hurricane. I need to find my dog before the bad weather comes. Please help me. He's not far away. It won't take long." As the boy dropped his gaze to the sand, deep in thought, the man glanced at the woman and smiled. The boy's mother remained on her cell phone, and it appeared she hadn't even looked their way. "Your mommy is busy," the man said, wearing his best you-can-trust-me expression. "I know her, and I know she likes it when you help people. She'd want you to help me." Concentrating on the face of the man who towered over him, the boy wondered if the man looked familiar. Maybe. His momma knew a lot of people. The man had a nice smile, the kind adults have when they're worried but they want to be nice anyway, to not look upset. The boy's momma did that, tried to look like everything was okay when the boy knew it wasn't, like the day his poppa moved out. That afternoon, the little boy heard loud arguing, his momma screaming at his poppa, telling him that he'd be sorry if he left them. After his father slammed the apartment door, the boy rushed to his mother, frightened. "It's okay," she said. The boy looked up as his mother reassured him with a tightly drawn smile. "We'll be fine." Again, the boy glanced at his mother and saw she still talked on the telephone and gazed out at the water. Every day his momma brought the boy to the park to play, unless it rained. On those days, they stayed inside their small apartment, and she watched television while he played with his toys on the stained tan carpet. Once in a while, when she was in a happy mood, they played games, Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. "I need you to help me find my puppy," the man insisted, reclaiming the child's attention. "It'll only take a minute. I bet my puppy will come if you call him." The possibility that the puppy would listen to him caught the boy's interest. "Your puppy will come for me?" he asked, excited by the prospect. "If I call him?" "I bet he will," the man said, his hands palms up as if weighing the likelihood. "He's a good puppy, but sometimes we play this game. Like playing hide-and-seek. He hides, and I have to find him. I like games. Do you like games?" The boy thought again about Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, and this time hide-and-seek. "I like games," he said. "I like games a lot!" "You look like the kind of boy who would," the man said, with not only a smile, but a soft chuckle. "I play games a lot. All kinds of games." "With your puppy?" the boy asked. "Yes, with my puppy, and sometimes with little boys and girls," the man said. "It's my favorite thing to do." The boy looked at his momma a third time. She was still talking on the phone. She looked serious. Maybe it was about the storm. Or maybe she was talking to his poppa. The boy wondered sometimes where his poppa lived now that he didn't live with the boy and his momma. Considering what he should do, the boy gazed up at the man again, stared at the leash in his hand, and then asked, "What's his name?" "His name?" the man replied. "Your puppy's name," the boy said. "Buddy," the man said. "My puppy's name is Buddy." The boy laughed. "That's a silly name." "Why is that silly?" The boy thought about it and wasn't sure. "I don't know," he said. "It just is." The chains squeaked wearily as the humid, hot breeze picked up, and the eight swings with their thick brown leather seats swayed lazily back and forth, back and forth. How strange that the sky was so blue and the day so tranquil when a violent storm circled in the Gulf. Sometimes the boy liked to swing. His momma pushed him so high that he thought he should be able to stretch out his legs and punch his feet through a cloud. "And your name is Joey," the man said. "I'm Joey!" the boy said, then felt confused. "How did you know my name?" "I told you, I know your mommy," the man said with an indifferent shrug. Joey Warner thought about that. The man knew his name, and he didn't seem like a stranger. He was a nice man with a nice smile. And the man was right, Joey thought. His momma liked it when Joey helped, like picking up his toys or cleaning his room. And he was supposed to be respectful of adults. His momma said that, too. "Okay," Joey said, nodding. Then he cried out, "Buddy!... Buddy!" Above the boy, tree branches rustled and the still green leaves shimmered, showing off their silver underneath. Joey looked over at his momma and thought again that she had to be talking to his poppa, because that's the way they talked now, angry with loud voices. Although he couldn't hear her, he knew his momma was upset. "I saw my puppy over there," the man said, pointing near a stand of trees bordering the parking lot. "That's where Buddy ran off." "Oh," Joey said. Then that's where the puppy must be, he thought. With the man following, Joey ran fast toward the parking lot, shouting, "Buddy!... Buddy! Come, Buddy!" The man glanced back toward the picnic table, wondering if the boy's mother would finally look in their direction. But even with the boy shouting, she never turned around, instead staring out at the shimmering water. "That's right, Joey. Let's play the game," the man murmured. "Call the puppy. Come with me. It's all part of the game. Someone hides, and someone seeks." THE KILLING STORM Copyright © 2010 by Kathryn Casey Excerpted from The Killing Storm by Kathryn Casey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.