Boy I’d love to have Bruce MacLeod as a therapist ’cause that’s one happening home: a pool never lacking for naked men frolicking in its water, investigators stopping by needing advice on sexual psychos, then there are all of those whip cracks after dark.
Townsend was a helluva writer of erotic thrillers—plenty of sex and violence. I’ll never forget that rich kid who liked to be tied up and the consequences of his desires. Both books had dandy endings. Justice had its day. Were there only the two Bruce MacLeod mysteries? ‘Cause man, I’d love to slip back into that world.
So what’s your safe word?