Letty Davenport, the tough-as-nails adopted daughter of Lucas Davenport, takes on an undercover assignment that brings her across the country and into the crosshairs of a dangerous group of hackers. Letty Davenport’s days working a desk job at are behind her. Her previous actions at a gunfight in Texas—and her incredible skills with firearms—draw the attention of several branches of the US government, and make her a perfect fit for even more dangerous work. The Department of Homeland Security and the NSA have tasked her with infiltrating a hacker group, known only as Ordinary People, that is intent on wreaking havoc. Letty and her reluctant partner from the NSA pose as free-spirited programmers for hire and embark on a cross country road trip to the group’s California headquarters. While the two work to make inroads with Ordinary People and uncover their plans, they begin to suspect that the hackers are not their only enemy. Someone within their own circle may have betrayed them, and has ulterior motives that place their mission—and their lives—in grave danger. "A female-forward thriller that makes a strong case that smart, unflinching women should run the world." — Kirkus Reviews "Sandford keeps his foot on the gas throughout, without stretching plausibility too far." — Publishers Weekly “This is the second in author Sandford’s series featuring Letty Davenport, government agent and adopted daughter of Sandford’s series megastar Lucas Davenport. Both series show Sandford’s mastery of character and action….Readers may wonder why, with all this comedy, the tension has them clutching the arms of their chairs. That’s Sandford at work.” — Booklist "The second Letty Davenport thriller will satisfy Sandford’s numerous readers, with its high-octane action and gallows humor." — Library Journal Praise for The Investigator “ The Investigator is a procedural action thriller in which the technical sleuthing only heightens the tension. Letty is such a capable character, and Mr. Sandford such a fine tactician, it would seem incomprehensible and even cruel to deny readers a swift follow-up.” — Wall Street Journal “John Sandford created a winning formula with his furiously paced Prey novels, which star Lucas Davenport, a Minnesota detective turned U.S. marshal with a penchant for sharp dressing, high romancing and expert marksmanship. In T he Investigator he moves the chess pieces to a different board.” — New York Times “Sandford’s first Letty Davenport novel is a violent, topical, fast-paced story that’s sure to please action fans.” — Library Journal (starred review) John Sandford is the pseudonym for the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist John Camp. He is the author of thirty-two Prey novels; four Kidd novels; twelve Virgil Flowers novels; three YA novels coauthored with his wife, Michele Cook; and four other books. One In the summer of 2021, the woman flew into Miami International with nothing to declare but the clothes she stood in, a phony passport, an iPhone with a broken screen, and a ballpoint pen. The pen didn't work, but did conceal a two-inch-long razor-sharp blade that could be used to slice open a carotid artery (for example). She looked more than tired. Exhausted, but fighting it. She had dishwater blond hair that hadn't been washed recently, a mottled tan, turquoise eyes, and a thin white scar that extended from one nostril down across her lips to her chin. The clothes she stood in were speckled with mud and what the young Customs and Border Patrol officer thought might be dried blood; the clothes reeked of old sweat and something else, like swamp water. Her ragged tee-shirt-the only clothing above her waist, worn paper thin, he could see her nipples pushing out against it-featured a drawing of a llama with a legend that said "Como Se Llama?" which the young officer understood as a Spanish pun. She had flown in on United, from the Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Chavez in Lima, Peru. How she'd gotten on the plane, he couldn't even guess. The CBP officer was giving her his best no-admittance stink-eye as he thumbed through her passport. He asked, "Your name is Angeles Chavez?" The woman shook her head: "No." "What?" Hadn't heard that before; he checked her turquoise-green eyes. "Then what is it?" "I'm not allowed to tell you that." He was about to call for help when the head of the CBP unit stepped up behind his booth, took the passport from his hand, and said, "Let her in." Hadn't heard that before, either. He let her in. A man in a plutonium suit and tie was standing a few feet behind his boss, rolling a wooden matchstick between his lips. When the woman whose name wasn't Angeles Chavez stepped past the CPB booth, the man took the matchstick out of his mouth, grinned, and asked, "How you doin', honey-bun?" "I think I got a leech up my ass," the woman said. *** So then Letty Davenport was sitting on a battered swivel chair in a near-empty room on the second floor