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heroic yet vulnerable police officer caught in an agonizing tug-of-war between conscience and career is Nancy Taylor Rosenberg's most unforgettable and fascinating character to date. In this stunning new thriller about law enforcement and those who devote their lives to it, Rosenberg has crafted a story that is both intensely real and terrifying.

Rachel Simmons, an idealistic thirty-four-year-old widow with two children to raise, joins the Oak Grove, California, police force for reasons that go beyond economic necessity. Upholding the law has had a special meaning for Rachel ever since she was kidnapped as a child and her life was saved by a courageous policeman.

When Rachel witnesses a vicious abuse of police authority and reports it, she propels herself into a nightmare of conflict and terror. By cracking the sacred blue code of silence, she has made enemies of the very men and women who hold her life in their hands- armed adversaries who are accustomed to exercising their power and will stop at nothing to ensure her silence.

Suddenly there is danger everywhere. Rachel's children are threatened, her name is slandered, a shooting frame-up puts her on the legal defensive, and someone is bent on her death. She is alone, increasingly afraid, and forced to rely on an ambitious attorney whose motives she questions, even as he seems to offer a way out.

With its riveting revelations of the harsh reality of life behind the badge and a plot that moves from shock to shock, Abuse of Power bristles with danger and excitement, both on the streets and in court. Its shattering conclusion will make readers think hard about many issues in today's headlines. This compelling novel shows Nancy Taylor Rosenberg at her finest.

First two pages of Abuse of Power

eated on a bench outside Department 22 of the Ventura County Superior Court, the male police officer was dressed in the black regulation uniform. His head against the wall, he was sound asleep. The small redheaded woman at his side wore a pink cotton blazer over a simple white dress. Her feet were encased in scuffed black flats, her knees chafed and bony.

Rachel Simmons glanced to her left at Jimmy Townsend. Testifying was no more stressful to him than writing a speeding ticket. She, on the other hand, detested going to court. How could Townsend sleep when her insides were quivering? "Wake up," she said, nudging him with her elbow when she saw two men coming down the corridor.

"What the-" Townsend bolted upright on the wooden bench. A heavyset man in his late thirties, he had unruly brown hair and a round, jowly face. His chin was peculiar, almost inverted. Only a few inches of his neck were visible. His upper body was so densely padded that his shoulders had a tendency to bunch up around his ears.

The two men stopped a few feet away. Michael Atwater was the district attorney assigned to their case. Dennis Colter was a DA as well. Rachel had attended high school with Colter in San Diego, but she doubted if he would recognize her after so many years.

"I don't care what Judge Sanders said," Atwater was saying. "If you plead it right, you can get an extra six years tacked onto his sentence. The oral copulation is a separate and distinct crime. Sanders has his head up his asshole. If he gives you any more problems, tell him to call me. He must have slept through the last judicial sentencing conference."

Once Dennis Colter entered the adjoining courtroom, Mike Atwater walked over to where Rachel was sitting. "We'll probably call you in about ten minutes," he told her, ignoring the officer beside her.

At six-four, Mike Atwater had the most athletic body Rachel had ever seen. A slender man, he carried most of his height in his legs. His hair was brown and neatly trimmed. He combed it straight back from his face, keeping it in place with some product that made it look as if he had just stepped out of the shower. His eyes were dark and heavily hooded. Before becoming an attorney, he had made a name for himself as a world-class runner, breaking records in the indoor mile. Everything about him was supple and loose. "You look exhausted," he said. "Did you work last night?"

"Yes," Rachel said, staring at her hands, "I work every night." She could not make eye contact with him. When she did, she became a specimen under a microscope. She raised her gaze to his slender wrists, the gold cufflinks in his starched white shirt, the clear polish on his fingernails. "I'm assigned to the graveyard shift at the PD, but i also have an extra job as a security officer at State Farm Insurance in Simi Valley," she told him. "I work there on my days off."

"I see, " Atwater said, stroking the side of his face.

"Did you get the flowers?"

"Ah, yes." Rachel blushed, fidgeting in her seat. "There were beautiful. I don't know how to thank you."

"You just did," Atwater said, turning and slapping open the double doors to the courtroom.

"Flowers?" Townsend said, scowling. "Mike Atwater sent you flowers? He's an egotistical prick. I've worked with him on five other cases. In case you didn't notice, the asshole didn't ever speak to me. What am I a log or something?"

Rachel shrugged. "I have no idea why he sent them, Jimmy. All I did was go to lunch with him in the cafeteria last week when he called me to go over my testimony. The next day i got two dozen red roses. When the delivery guy rang the doorbell, I thought he had the wrong house."

© 1996 Penguin USA

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