CARI MORA

Morbid mysterian Harris (Hannibal Rising, 2006, etc.) returns with a trademark mix of murderous psychopaths and morally iffy good guys.

Lesson No. 1: Don’t mess with a determined Colombian woman, especially not one with combat experience and no fear of dying. The title character is a case in point: 25, pretty, though with scars that speak to a terrible past. Under the watchful eye of the immigration authorities, she works several jobs, including managing a luxurious Miami property with a murky title, a property that was once owned by drug lord Pablo Escobar and under which he tucked away a trove of gold ingots. Enter Hans-Peter Schneider, a decidedly nasty fellow in the tradition of other Harris villains. Hans-Peter has fangs with “silver in them that shows when he smiles” and is otherwise rather vampiric in aspect, and he has a thing for harvesting organs and selling women into slavery. He’s after that gold, and Cari is a mere inconvenience to be dealt with in due time, minus a limb or two, perhaps. So it is with Cari’s pool cleaner friend Antonio, anyway, who winds up an object of Hans-Peter’s attention: “These were Antonio’s legs. That was Antonio’s torso. His head was missing.” Things get ickier still as heads explode, bob around in liquid cremation machines, and otherwise undergo assorted unpleasantries. Hans-Peter isn’t the only one after the gold, of course, and then there are the rising waters thanks to climate change, waters that have burrowed their way under the mansion. It’s a race against time—and crocodiles, and all the other ways of dying unhappily in South Florida. It’s vintage Harris, with nice twists and elegant ways of expressing just how bad bad people can be. Suffice it to say that, as the story winds to a blood-soaked close, some of the principals probably won’t be showing up in a sequel.

Refreshingly, entertainingly creepy and with nary a fava bean in sight.