When a would–be writer brandishing a bad novel accosts literary agent Jo Donovan, she writes it off as just another occupational hazard. A ridiculous figure in trench coat and fedora (Jo calls him Sam Spade, a nickname he readily accepts), he’d been rejected by the agency but persists in believing he’s destined to be a great writer and that Jo will be his muse. Scary, yes, but well within the realm of failedwriter madness. But when her agency and writers fall prey to vicious pranks, Jo senses something far more sinister than your run–of–the–mill egomaniac.
These attacks are accompanied by an implicit and repeated th