Catherine Coulter Bombshell Ebook

An avid fan of Catherine Coulter who made the FBI Series sensational? Then you should not miss out having Catherine Coulter Bombshell ebook download all for free. The story goes as FBI Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith was recruited to a unit in Washington D.C. headed by Dillon Savich. Savich knows that Hammersmith is something special in tracking down criminals.

While he was heading to D.C., he received a phone call that his sister Delsey was found bathing in blood, naked, and unconscious. This is the mark of the beginning where the complexity of the story is unfolding. Meanwhile, the murder of the grandson of the former Federal Reserve Bank has left him a puzzle to solve. Will Agent Hammersmith be able to protect and find his sister’s assailant and be able to catch the suspect of the murder? Can he correctly connect the dots and able to sniff the culprit behind? Did Savich had the right decision to let Agent Hammersmith take the case?

Read Bombshell by Catherine Coulter to know the answers. Follow Agent Griffin Hammersmith on his investigation and get ready to soak in this great FBI thriller book – a masterpiece by Catherine Coulter.

Readers’ Review

Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith of the FBI has just accepted a transfer from San Francisco to Washington DC to work under Special Agent Dillon Savich of the FBI’s CAU division. We first met Griffin in Backfire, with that story happening just a couple of weeks ago. He’s just arrived in the area and was going to stop and see his sister Delsey, when he gets a call from Agent Ruth Noble (Point Blank) saying his sister survived an attack. Apparently she’s a witness to something huge.

At the same time Savich and his Special Agent wife, Sherlock, are dealing with the very public death of the grandson of a former chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank. The two are completely separate investigations, but the people involved in the investigations overlap and the story is told from a number of angles.

If you haven’t read some of the prior books in this series you will probably have a harder time appreciating a number of characters; many of whom had been showcased as the `couple du jour’ in prior books. There isn’t a great deal of backfill given. I suggest starting with either The Cove or even The Maze. Each book in the series carries two investigations and Savich and Sherlock are in every book with a new couple introduced in each.

But for readers of this series, most will appreciate seeing so many familiar characters again along with some new interesting ones. Griffin is one-half this story’s couple du jour and we might be seeing a second one advance in the future. The author’s wit is evident throughout, as are dangerous situations.

– C Thilmany

I waited with great anticipation for this book and wasn’t disappointment. I love the characters and the romance aspects without a lot of gross sexual conduct involved. I like that some things are left to the imagination!

The dual story line was interesting and not confusing at all. The book kept me interested and I read it almost straight through but got too sleepy and had to finish it this morning.

Excited for the new series.

– P. Briggs

I have enjoyed reading her books over the years, own many of them and have often reread many of the books. This book and the last have gone down hill in quality, not only the writing but the story line. This took me over 3 weeks to even finish the book and the ending seemed to be just “stuck” there without any flow or mystery. Very disappointing, I wondered many times while reading this book if it was even written by the author? The conversation between the characters seemed so fake at times, this type of dialogue has been used in small doses (and effectively in that manner) in other books, but in this book and the last book it seems that is the only type of conversation between characters.

I also wonder if the editor even read this book, it is very poorly written all on points.

– Sportsmom


She’d drunk way too much. She was an idiot. Why had she, Delsey Freestone, a reasonably intelligent twenty-five-year-old supposed adult, swan-dived into those last two margaritas? Because the big cheese director of Stanislaus was treating you like his favorite student, making you his special margarita recipe, that’s why, and you were afraid to turn him down. To be honest, you were flattered, too. And what was in those margaritas that tasted so good?

She was very sure at that moment she didn’t want to know.

She didn’t understand why Dr. Elliot Hayman, the new director of the Stanislaus School of Music —Call me Elliot, my dear—had appeared to want to cut her out of the graduate student female herd at the party and bestow his margaritas and attention on her. Not only was Dr. Hayman in charge of the prestigious music school, he was also an internationally celebrated concert pianist, with a libido, she’d read in a critic’s review, to rival his glissandos. When it came to renown, he was in a different universe than hers. She and Anna Castle, a violinist from Louisiana and her best friend in Maestro, had decided Dr. Hayman enjoyed the role of director because it appealed to his vanity, but they also both acknowledged it was only the older graduate students, like herself, who believed that he was, at the core, faintly contemptuous of the students. On the other hand, he was a sharp dresser, dropping in conversations that he shopped twice a year in Milan for his suits, always fashioned for him by Bruno Giraldi himself. Whoever Bruno was, Anna observed, Dr. Hayman certainly dressed to impress.

So why had Dr. Hayman dogged her all evening, giving her entirely too much attention until she was certain every student within hearing distance now hated her guts? Thank you, Dr. Hayman—Elliot —that was just what she needed. And what would Anna say about him when she told her about his behavior tonight? She’d laugh and say something like, “Smile, Dels, and suck it up,” stretching it out in her lazy Louisiana drawl until Delsey would want to yank the words right out of her mouth. She’d wished all evening that Anna had come, but no, Delsey had had to fly solo.

Delsey supposed the sudden waves of gut-wrenching nausea combined with her flatlining brain had been heaven-sent, since it had gotten her out the door of Professor Rafael Salazar’s sprawling ranch-style home on Golden Meadow Terrace in under a minute, with no one the wiser, only one arm in her coat when she’d quietly closed the back door behind her. She’d sucked in the cold winter air, grateful to be out of Professor Salazar’s whooping hoedown, away from both him and his twin brother, Dr. Hayman, and wasn’t that a hoot? Twins! Separated as boys and ending up with different last names. The only thing they had in common, as far as she could see, was their incredible talent.

She drove very carefully until her head was pounding so hard and she was feeling so woozy she was swerving like a drunk, which, she supposed, she was. No cops, please—too much humiliation. She eased her ancient Spyder to the curb of Tinsel Tree Lane and shifted into neutral. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, willing the world to stitch itself back together for her, swearing to any power listening that she’d go back to her one-drink limit. She’d made that promise when she was only sixteen, after sharing a bottle of hooch with her boyfriend Davie Forman, and wanted to die, certainly not have sex with him in his daddy’s Mustang. Tonight was the first time she’d broken that promise in nine years. What an idiot you are; you deserve freezing your butt off and having your head explode, and the misery of hugging the toilet in the morning.

She finally cracked an eye open to see the half-moon crystal clear overhead. It looked as cold and hard as the solid mountains of snow that blanketed everything around her—trees, street signs, cars, mailboxes. Big snow, the locals called it—unusual, the locals also said—yet here it was, a big honking snowstorm. At least it had stopped pelting down for a while, but they said it would begin again hard near dawn. She’d come to realize after the first heavy snow in December that if she hit a snowdrift, she and her Spyder wouldn’t be found until spring.

Looking at the unrelenting white made her miss the warm salty air of Santa Monica, scented with the night jasmine trellised on the stone fence surrounding her former apartment building. To top it off, her car heater was struggling to stay alive, her Spyder no more used to this circuit-freezing weather than she was. She sure wasn’t helping any, staying out all hours of this frigid night—it couldn’t be more than ten degrees, and counting down. Houston, we have a problem. She squeezed her eyes shut; what should she do?

She became aware of how very quiet it was, not a single owl hooting in the snow-drenched trees, not a single car or truck engine tunneling through the snow on the interstate only a quarter-mile away. No wonder; it was nearly one o’clock on Saturday morning. Only people she didn’t want to know about were up this time of night. She looked around and sent a silent prayer of thanks upward that there weren’t any cops, either. She knew she wasn’t up for convincing anyone she wasn’t drunk. She’d probably shatter the Breathalyzer.

She raised her head after a few minutes, held perfectly still for a moment, noticed she didn’t feel as dizzy and, blessed be, her headache was throttling down. She shifted the Spyder into gear and drove slowly, in a perfectly straight line, as only those who are impaired and know it do. After another six blocks, she turned off onto Hitchfield Avenue and then onto Lonely Bear Court. She saw her building up ahead on the right, a duplex with her one-bedroom unit on the bottom and Henry Stoltzen’s on top.

Built as a solid red brick back in the twenties, it had been split up in the late nineties by the heirs to the old lady who’d lived there all her life. She looked up to see Henry’s light on. Henry and his prized six-inch goatee had helped her move in the day she’d arrived in Maestro, fed her hot dogs and beer, and quickly become a good friend. He
liked the popular songs she wrote and sang, even though he sat solidly in the classical corner, a gifted cellist who adored playing Jean-Baptiste Sébastien Bréval’s Sonata in C Major.

He seemed oblivious to most other people around him, only his music and his iPod tethering him to planet earth. She turned into her parking spot next to Henry’s, drew a deep breath, thanked the Almighty she was still alive, and even better, not in jail. She promised good works she told herself she wouldn’t forget by morning, as she slogged through the snow to her front door. She was shaking with cold when she finally fit her old-fashioned key into the lock and the door opened. She stepped into a blissful seventy degrees.


It’s no surprise if you were hooked of the preceding FBI Series by Catherine Coulter. This book has left many in awe and or desperation as Catherine writes her book not commending to the traditional style any FBI thriller book. So give it a try reading and I know you will surely love Catherine Coulter Bombshell Ebook and what’s more? It’s absolutely free to download.

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