In this prequel to The Bookseller, former FBI profiler Hugo Marston has just become head of security at the US Embassy in London. He’s asked to protect a famous movie-star couple, Dayton Harper and Ginny Ferro, who, while filming a movie in rural England, killed a local man in a hit and run. The task turns from routine to disastrous almost immediately. Before Hugo even meets them, he finds out that Ferro has disappeared, and her body has been found hanging from an oak tree in a London cemetery. Hours later a distraught Harper gives Hugo the slip, and Hugo has no idea where he’s run off to. Taking cues from a secretive young lady named Merlyn, and with a Member of Parliament along for the chase, Hugo’s search leads to a quaint English village. There, instead of finding Harper, more bodies turn up. Teaming with local detectives and then venturing dangerously out on his own, Hugo struggles to find connections between the victims. Is this the work of a serial killer—or something else entirely? Knowing he’s being tailed, the killer prepares for the final, public act of his murderous plan, and Hugo arrives just in time to play his part. . . . “In  The Button Man , Mark Pryor is at his finest, spinning a tale of intrigue and deception so thrilling you’ll stay up all night to finish it.” — Elizabeth L. Silver , author of The Execution of Noa P. Singleton " The Button Man is one of those books that’s so much fun to have waiting for you on the nightstand or desk—just sitting there, smirking at you, promising an excellent time if you’d just hurry up and get done with your chores. Terrible things, clever people, and a bit of sexy thrown in for good measure, The Button Man is well-written with a snappy pace. In short, it’s everything that makes us love mysteries in the first place.”   — Jamie Mason , author of Three Graves Full “The stunning English scenery, like the Parisian backdrops of Marston’s previous adventures, shines throughout the book, and Pryor has a particular gift in bringing the spookiness of the old country to an American audience…. Fits in perfectly with the rest of the Hugo Marston novels.” ― MysteryPeople “Full of surprises with delightful, quirky characters and resplendent with descriptions of London, the English villages and countryside, this prequel to The Bookseller is a well-written and entertaining read that will captivate both Hugo Marston fans and newcomers alike.” ― Terry Ambrose , author of License to Lie Praise for previous Hugo Marston novels: "Once you've had a bit, you can't wait for more." — Oprah.com   "Enough intrigue to satisfy every reader...." — RT Book Reviews    "The Hugo Marston series now belongs on every espionage fan's watch list." — Booklist  Mark Pryor is the author of the Hugo Marston novels, The Bookseller, The Crypt Thief, and The Blood Promise, and the true-crime book As She Lay Sleeping. A native of Hertfordshire, England, he is an assistant district attorney in Austin, Texas, where he lives with his wife and three children. The Button Man A Hugo Marston Novel By MARK PRYOR Prometheus Books Copyright © 2014 Mark Pryor All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-61614-994-9 CHAPTER 1 LONDON, ENGLAND, 2008 Hugo turned the corner onto Gable Street, the growl of London's evening traffic fading away behind him. The winter sun had set an hour ago and the damp evening settled itself comfortably over the city, bringing with it one of London's famous fogs, a slow creeper that followed Hugo from the Whitechapel station, stalking him every step of the way. By the time he reached the entrance to the alleyway, at the south end of Gable Street, the fog had swallowed up the first of the terraced houses behind him. Hugo looked back at the remaining homes for signs of life; a few windows glowed yellow behind tightly-drawn curtains, but that was all. He stood at the mouth of the alley, the reason he was here, and peered into its darkness. Under his feet the gray concrete of the sidewalk gave way to ancient cobblestones, worn smooth by the feet of man and beast, now shiny with the damp of the evening. Overhead the night sky was moonless, the stars already snuffed out by the gathering mist. As Hugo peered into the alley, the blackness seeped across the cobblestones toward him. He raised his shoulders and shivered against a chill that was real, or mostly real. Above his head, a gentle breeze rattled the branches of an old oak tree that reached over from the cemetery next door, sending a soft shower of rain pattering onto his hat. He put out a hand and brushed his fingers against the rough brick wall. It was damp and his fingertips came away grimy. Two hundred years of London soot, he thought, and Gable Street had changed very little in that time. He'd read about this place but had never been here. He'd first heard about it from a colleague in the FBI's behavioral-profiling unit, a man almost as obsessed with unsolved murders as Hugo. And now he was here for the sa