In this entertaining thriller, Houston bounty hunter Dixie Flannigan, toughened up by 10 years as an ADA, agrees to do a favor for a softhearted friend and finds herself with a worldful of trouble. Her friend, Belle Richards, is a lawyer defending Parker Dann, accused of killing 11-year-old Betsy Keyes in a hit-and-run drunk-driving accident. Parker has skipped bail, and Belle, who believes her client may be innocent, wants Dixie to round him up before his impending trial. Just days before Christmas, Dixie sets off after Parker and quickly traces him to a hotel room in South Dakota. No sooner does she have him handcuffed in the back of her Mustang, however, than a blizzard hits, and Southern-bred Dixie, who's never needed a snow tire in her life, is forced to rely on Parker to get them both to safety. But it's not until Parker reveals that Betsy's sister has also died in a mysterious accident that Dixie begins to believe that he may be innocent and resolves to do some detective work before she delivers him back to Belle. Meanwhile, gourmet cook Parker brings out the sympathetic side of Dixie, who's become so used to stoking her bitchy reputation that she almost believes it herself. There are some glaring flaws here: both Dixie and Parker reveal their hearts of gold too quickly, and Rogers relies on too many scenes of little girls in peril to create suspense. Yet snappy dialogue and memorable charactersfrom Dixie's fearsome guard dog, Mud, to her young nephew obsessed with finding her a husband through the Internetultimately make the narrative pleasurable entertainment. (Feb.)
Bitch Factor
Narrated by Peggity Price
Chris RogersUnabridged — 11 hours, 19 minutes
Bitch Factor
Narrated by Peggity Price
Chris RogersUnabridged — 11 hours, 19 minutes
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Overview
Editorial Reviews
Dixie Flannigan is a self-described "bitch," a legend in the jails of Houston, Texas, for her skills at bounty hunting, tracking, and returning the most determined bail jumpers. On Christmas Eve, she's hired to find Parker Dann, a charming alcoholic charged with vehicular homicide for allegedly running down 11-year-old Betsy Keyes as she walked to school. Dixie's search takes her to South Dakota, where she encounters her first blizzard and, unexpectedly, finds herself believing Parker's protests of innocence. When Dixie discovers that Betsy's younger sister was also killed in an "accident," terrible memories of her own childhood surface, threatening to demolish her facade of toughness. This first novel is masterful from beginning to end, and Dixie is the best new heroine to come along in years. Rogers deftly avoids expository traps, allowing Dixie's past to come out gradually as she pursues justice. And how refreshing is Parker, a male character who is warm, caring, honest...and a gourmet cook! Highly recommended to all libraries. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 11/15/97.]Laurel A. Wilson, Alexandrian P.L, Mount Vernon, Ind.
Dixie Flannigan is...
"The best new heroine to come along in years!"
--Library Journal
"Funny, clever and entertaining."
--The Washington Times
"Good news for readers."
--San Antonio Express-News
"A rough-and-ready heroine willing to get down and dirty with the lowest of the low in order to land her man."
--New York Post
"One of the year's most stellar debuts."
--Romantic Times
"And while Dixie walks the walk and talks the talk...she remains appealing and sympathetic. The novel's climax is likely to leave readers chilled long after they close the book."
--The Plain Dealer, Cleveland
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940170558995 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Recorded Books, LLC |
| Publication date: | 09/19/2008 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
Friday, May 1, Houston, Texas
If Betsy Keyes had known about the car waiting at the curb that morning, waiting for the moment she stepped into the intersection, she would have worn the purple shirt. Purple was for special days, days she marked with stars in her diary. The most important days got the purple shirt and three stars.
Hopping over a jagged hump in the sidewalk, she shoved a hand in her pocket and pressed a thumb-sized metallic noisemaker: Click! Released it. Click!
Sometimes the dark secret Betsy held inside made her feel exactly like a teakettle about to boil over. Squeezing her toy clicker allowed tiny bits of worry to escape, like steam from a teakettle's whistle. The shiny black cricket painted on top had worn thin from rubbing against her finger. Crickets were supposed to be lucky, weren't they?
Click, Click.
But today's worry wasn't the bad kind. Today she would read her story to her sixth-grade classmates, which was worth two stars in her diary, at least. The story was exceptional. The class would love it.... Betsy hoped they would love it. They would laugh, certainly, and clap.
A honeybee zipped from a smelly wisteria vine trailing a chain-link fence and buzzed past her hair. She dodged it, skirting a puddle from last night's rain. Maybe she'd write a story about an angry honeybee that could only buzz-buzz-buzz, while its secrets stayed locked inside forever.
From the time Betsy was five years old, reading picture books out loud to her younger sisters, she'd known she would someday be a fabulous writer. She often skipped the real words and made up her own, inventing newadventures, new characters. Her sisters liked the made-up stories best.
She wished Courtney and Ellie hadn't played sick today. If they'd walked to school with her, she could have practiced her story. She'd whispered to them, before Mama went out to jog, that she didn't think they were really sick. After all, they were both fine at Daddy Jon's party last night.
An empty school bus rumbled past, snorting like an old bear. Betsy wrinkled her nose at the smell. Maybe she'd write a story about a girl bear with two lazy sisters.
She liked going to school early, before engine roar and car horns and the crossing guard's whistle cluttered the morning with noise. It gave her time to think about...things...like what she might have done to make her real daddy go away. She remembered his dark eyes and the way his hair flopped over his forehead like Courtney's, but she could no longer remember his smile.
Click, click.
Sidestepping a pink and yellow buttercup that had poked up through a crack in the concrete, dewdrops glistening on its petals, Betsy pushed the empty feeling away. Today was for happy thoughts. As she neared the intersection, she recited the first line of her story over and over, because teacher said the opening was so important. It had to grab a reader and pull, like reeling in a fish.
Betsy was so caught up in her words she didn't notice the car waiting for the moment she crossed the street. She didn't hear the engine ripping toward her until it was too late. As the shiny black cricket bounced from her hand, Betsy knew she should have worn the purple. Today was the last important day of her life.
HOUSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT
HOMICIDE DIVISION
RECORDED INTERVIEW: JANUARY 4, 19--
I felt the bump and looked in my rearview mirror at the body lying beside the road.... I honestly thought the killing would end there.
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