Hudson & Frankie

Frankie Marlowe runs the rare bookstore her late mother built, and she does not have time for nonsense. Not from her customers. Not from her grief. Definitely not from the six-foot-three Irishman bleeding to death on her hardwood floors at closing time.

She gets the dish towel before she gets the panic.

She tells him to mind her display cases.

She locks the door behind him when he leaves and assumes that's the end of it.

It is not.

Hudson Roarke runs Philadelphia. Three generations of Roarke men have run this city before him, and he has spent fifteen years making sure no one ever forgets it. He has buried his father. Buried his mother. Buried the men who killed both of them. He has not laughed in years. He has not been touched by anything in longer than he can remember.