Thrillers & Suspense
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Ocean Prey (A Prey Novel)
Fan-favorite heroes Lucas Davenport and Virgil Flowers join forces on a deadly maritime case in the remarkable new novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author John Sandford.
An off-duty Coast Guardsman is fishing with his family when he calls in some suspicious behavior from a nearby boat. It's a snazzy craft, slick and outfitted with extra horsepower, and is zipping along until it slows to pick up a surfaced diver...a diver who was apparently alone, without his own boat, in the middle of the ocean. None of it makes sense unless there's something hinky going on, and his hunch is proved right when all three Guardsmen who come out to investigate are shot and killed.
They're federal officers killed on the job, which means the case is the FBI's turf. When the FBI's investigation stalls out, they call in Lucas Davenport. And when his case turns lethal, Davenport will need to bring in every asset he can claim, including a detective with a fundamentally criminal mind: Virgil Flowers.
An off-duty Coast Guardsman is fishing with his family when he calls in some suspicious behavior from a nearby boat. It's a snazzy craft, slick and outfitted with extra horsepower, and is zipping along until it slows to pick up a surfaced diver...a diver who was apparently alone, without his own boat, in the middle of the ocean. None of it makes sense unless there's something hinky going on, and his hunch is proved right when all three Guardsmen who come out to investigate are shot and killed.
They're federal officers killed on the job, which means the case is the FBI's turf. When the FBI's investigation stalls out, they call in Lucas Davenport. And when his case turns lethal, Davenport will need to bring in every asset he can claim, including a detective with a fundamentally criminal mind: Virgil Flowers.
Editorial Reviews
"Entertaining. . . Fans will enjoy seeing the two old buddies and their cohorts wading into dangerous [sic] waters."-Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
PloeppeBen CaseyL
Once again John Sandford has written a great story, replete with both humor and tragedy. Though I’ve read Ocean Prey but once-I’ve read all the others multiple times-I know I’ll read it again. Sandford is the master of realistic, humorous dialogue and really amusing (though sometimes quite juvenile) scenes. If you read it and like it half as well as I did, you’ll still be quite entertained. Thank you, Mr. Camp!
AhkPloeppeBen Cas
I'm only a hundred pages in but can tell it'll be typical Sandford all the way through. Minimal plot holes, human characters and page turning pacing. It's obvious he enjoyed his vacation.
BookzillaAhkPloep
John Sandford is a must buy, must read author. This stand-alone is easy to follow and difficult to put down. No editing errors, gratuitous violence or drag-you-down drama. Intriguing storyline with descriptive and informative writing that draws the reader into each scene. Realistic procedures, actions and reactions. Believable characters with distinct personalities and great banter. Thought-provoking and occasionally snarky dialogue. ‘When it comes to a culture, it means that people who let their light shine will eventually get dragged down, and a lot of people will enjoy seeing that happen. If you’re in a tall poppy culture, it’s all right to be smart, but you can’t act smart. You can’t show it.” “No, you’re too obscure to ruin. Get a few more years under your belt and a little more status, get closer to a pension, then you’ll be worth ruining. Ruining you now would be like shooting a squirrel and mounting its head. Nobody would be impressed.” I will re-read this book and always look forward to, pre-order when possible, new works by this author.
ETony WRay Daniel
I am a long time Sandford fan. I was looking forward to loving this book. I couldn’t get interested in the characters or story. Too much technical diving detail. It felt like much of the book was simply tailing the bad guys. After I finished the book, I actually checked the cover to see if someone had co-authored.
John K. LenonETon
Whenever you get to have Davenport and Flowers? It's a 5 star book. But, the book was really 5 star. It's a great story, once again well written and funny. The dialogue and story are like all the other Prey books. Outstanding. Lucas is working a drug case in Florida and about half way in, realizes he needs that effing Flowers to help. Thankfully. Here's the deal. When you read the book you are sad that it ends. You want another chapter or 8. But all the ends are tied up nicely and again, the way it ends? You can see what might could happen in the next book. What characters might be in play. Having read all 31 books, some multiple times? It's now time to say, when is the next one coming? Finally, the author says in the end of the book that there might have been a couple errors in previous books as to Glocks Vs Barretta's, safeties, what not. The fact that the John wants us to know he made a couple mistakes lets us know he cares. I care that he cares. Anyone that gives this 4 stars is just being a dumb dumb. Get this book. I got it yesterday and read it today. Highly Recommend.
Short Excerpt Teaser
The Muggers
Lucas Davenport used his phone's flashlight to illuminate the cut through the knee-high wall, and from there, to the path that led down to Fort Lauderdale Beach. Early-morning traffic down Beach Boulevard was quiet, the subdued hum of small SUVs and sedans. The cars turning left off Sunrise Boulevard played their headlights across his back as he walked, throwing his shadow on the white sand.
Out on the Atlantic, he could see a bare hint of the coming dawn. Lucas walked across the sand until he was a dozen feet from the water, where the smell of seaweed pressed against his face like a hand. He sat down, took off his shoes and socks. He sat there for a while, as the eastern horizon grew brighter. Not much was going through his head-the light, the smell of the seaweed, the sound of salt water breaking up the beach.
A breeze sprang up with the dawn, but was barely strong enough to push the six-inch rollers ashore. After a while, he noticed that the world was beginning to light up. His phone rang. He dug it out of his jacket pocket and turned it off without answering, or even looking at it.
At some point, the rim of the sun broke the edge of the horizon, a brilliant arc throwing rippling orange slashes across the water. A sportfishing boat went by, a half mile out.
Then the muggers showed up.
Two men, one Anglo, one Hispanic, both thin, dark-haired, wearing worn dark clothing, their faces weathered from life on the street, like driftwood boards. Lucas knew they were muggers by the way they approached, a certain crablike walk, a phony confidence, an attitude that could turn in a moment from friendliness to naked aggression and then possibly to retreat, if Lucas should turn out to be something unexpected.
They checked him out, a guy in a sport coat barefoot on the sand, maybe shaking off a drunk? A gold watch on the left wrist, right hand in his lap. He looked at them and said, "Hey, guys."
The Anglo said, "Nice watch you got."
Lucas: "Got it from my wife for my birthday. A Patek Philippe. Twenty-eight thousand dollars, if you can believe that. I told her we should have sponsored some hungry kids somewhere. She said that we already did that and I should have some nice things."
The guy in back stopped and hooked his friend's elbow to slow down his approach; the feral sense that something was not right.
"You okay?" the lead mugger asked.
Lucas said, "No."
He slipped his right hand out of his lap, and held it straight up in front of his nose; he was gripping a black Walther PPQ.
One of the muggers said, "Whoa."
"Why were you guys going to mug me? Don't bullshit me, tell me the truth," Lucas said. "You gonna stick something in your arm? Stick something up your nose? Or what?"
They stuttered around for a moment, looking like they might run, but there was no place to hide on the empty beach and running through the sand would be slow. Much slower than a bullet. The Anglo guy said, "Mostly looking for something to eat. Ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday morning."
"Okay." Lucas sat motionless for a few seconds, the muzzle of the gun straight up to the sky, between his hands, as though he were praying, and then he fished in his jacket pocket for his wallet, extracted a bill, folded it into quarters, and tossed it across the sand. "Pick it up," he said.
The Anglo looked at his friend, then eased carefully forward, stopped, and picked up the bill. "Fifty bucks."
"Fifty bucks," Lucas said. "Go get something to eat."
They backed away, watching him, then turned and moved away more quickly. Before they were out of earshot, Lucas called, "Hey. Guys."
They stopped and looked back.
"When I get up from here and walk down the beach, if I see you jumping someone, I'll fuckin' kill both of you. You understand?"
The Hispanic guy said, "Yes, sir." And the two of them hotfooted it down the beach path to the street and out of sight.
Lucas looked back out at the ocean. The sun was halfway above the horizon now, the orange burning off, going to yellow.
Another day.
Wasn't going to be a good one.
July
Chapter
One
...
Lucas Davenport used his phone's flashlight to illuminate the cut through the knee-high wall, and from there, to the path that led down to Fort Lauderdale Beach. Early-morning traffic down Beach Boulevard was quiet, the subdued hum of small SUVs and sedans. The cars turning left off Sunrise Boulevard played their headlights across his back as he walked, throwing his shadow on the white sand.
Out on the Atlantic, he could see a bare hint of the coming dawn. Lucas walked across the sand until he was a dozen feet from the water, where the smell of seaweed pressed against his face like a hand. He sat down, took off his shoes and socks. He sat there for a while, as the eastern horizon grew brighter. Not much was going through his head-the light, the smell of the seaweed, the sound of salt water breaking up the beach.
A breeze sprang up with the dawn, but was barely strong enough to push the six-inch rollers ashore. After a while, he noticed that the world was beginning to light up. His phone rang. He dug it out of his jacket pocket and turned it off without answering, or even looking at it.
At some point, the rim of the sun broke the edge of the horizon, a brilliant arc throwing rippling orange slashes across the water. A sportfishing boat went by, a half mile out.
Then the muggers showed up.
Two men, one Anglo, one Hispanic, both thin, dark-haired, wearing worn dark clothing, their faces weathered from life on the street, like driftwood boards. Lucas knew they were muggers by the way they approached, a certain crablike walk, a phony confidence, an attitude that could turn in a moment from friendliness to naked aggression and then possibly to retreat, if Lucas should turn out to be something unexpected.
They checked him out, a guy in a sport coat barefoot on the sand, maybe shaking off a drunk? A gold watch on the left wrist, right hand in his lap. He looked at them and said, "Hey, guys."
The Anglo said, "Nice watch you got."
Lucas: "Got it from my wife for my birthday. A Patek Philippe. Twenty-eight thousand dollars, if you can believe that. I told her we should have sponsored some hungry kids somewhere. She said that we already did that and I should have some nice things."
The guy in back stopped and hooked his friend's elbow to slow down his approach; the feral sense that something was not right.
"You okay?" the lead mugger asked.
Lucas said, "No."
He slipped his right hand out of his lap, and held it straight up in front of his nose; he was gripping a black Walther PPQ.
One of the muggers said, "Whoa."
"Why were you guys going to mug me? Don't bullshit me, tell me the truth," Lucas said. "You gonna stick something in your arm? Stick something up your nose? Or what?"
They stuttered around for a moment, looking like they might run, but there was no place to hide on the empty beach and running through the sand would be slow. Much slower than a bullet. The Anglo guy said, "Mostly looking for something to eat. Ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday morning."
"Okay." Lucas sat motionless for a few seconds, the muzzle of the gun straight up to the sky, between his hands, as though he were praying, and then he fished in his jacket pocket for his wallet, extracted a bill, folded it into quarters, and tossed it across the sand. "Pick it up," he said.
The Anglo looked at his friend, then eased carefully forward, stopped, and picked up the bill. "Fifty bucks."
"Fifty bucks," Lucas said. "Go get something to eat."
They backed away, watching him, then turned and moved away more quickly. Before they were out of earshot, Lucas called, "Hey. Guys."
They stopped and looked back.
"When I get up from here and walk down the beach, if I see you jumping someone, I'll fuckin' kill both of you. You understand?"
The Hispanic guy said, "Yes, sir." And the two of them hotfooted it down the beach path to the street and out of sight.
Lucas looked back out at the ocean. The sun was halfway above the horizon now, the orange burning off, going to yellow.
Another day.
Wasn't going to be a good one.
July
Chapter
One
...
