By J. R. Roberts
MAN OR MONSTER?
The sheriff of Effingham, Missouri, wishes Clint Adams’ aid to seize what's both a brutal killer or a wild animal. After seeing the corpse, Clint can’t think who—or what—could have so savagely mutilated the sufferer. yet Romanian immigrant Frederick Talbot is familiar with, and it truly is his accountability to seek down and ruin this predator.
For Talbot claims to be a vampire and werewolf hunter, and he believes this kind of creatures him to the USA from the outdated nation. The Gunsmith doesn’t think in superstitions, yet he’ll crew up with Talbot and pack silver bullets rather than lead if it skill bringing a murderer—whether badman or beast—to justice…
OVER FIFTEEN MILLION GUNSMITH BOOKS IN PRINT!
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Extra info for Blood Trail (Gunsmith, Book 381)
I just went back down to Bud’s. I picked up a little something. I’m getting out,” Henry said. To punctuate his statement, he held up the bag from the record store. See, conclusive evidence that I’m doing just ﬁne. Henry watched his son unwrap a lotus leaf and eat the glutinous sticky rice inside. He could tell by the concern in his son’s voice that Marty was unconvinced. “I’m heading over to the Panama Hotel. I thought I’d ask if they’d let me look around. They found a lot of old things in the basement.
There was a pause. Then the lunch bell rang. Doors were slamming down the hall. She took her long black hair in equal handfuls and tied it with a ribbon. “Keiko Okabe,” she said, tying on her apron and waiting for a reaction. Henry was dumbfounded. She was Japanese. With her hair pulled back, he could see it clearly. And she looked embarrassed. What was she doing here? The sum total of Henry’s Japanese friends happened to be a number that rhymed with hero. His father wouldn’t allow it. He was a Chinese nationalist and had been quite a ﬁrebrand in his day, according to Henry’s mother.
But during the war years, the adventures were, well, less than adventurous. Instead of smashing robots from another planet, the son of Krypton spent his days uncovering ﬁfth columnists and Japanese spy rings, which hardly interested Henry. Although he did wonder about Superman himself. The actor playing the voice of Superman was a mystery in 1942. No one knew who he was. No one. And kids everywhere obsessed over ﬁnding his true identity. So as Henry ran down the street, he’d look at the mild-mannered folks who wore suits and glasses, like Clark Kent, wondering if they just might be the voice of Superman.
Blood Trail (Gunsmith, Book 381) by J. R. Roberts