|Prix livre imprimé :||EUR 7,52|
|Prix Kindle :||
Économisez EUR 4,53 (60%)
Téléchargez l'application Kindle gratuite et commencez à lire des livres Kindle instantanément sur votre smartphone, tablette ou ordinateur - aucun appareil Kindle n'est requis. En savoir plus
Lisez instantanément sur votre navigateur avec Kindle Cloud Reader.
Utilisation de l'appareil photo de votre téléphone portable - scannez le code ci-dessous et téléchargez l'application Kindle.
Saisissez votre téléphone portable ou votre adresse e-mail
En cliquant sur « Envoyer le lien », vous acceptez les Conditions d'utilisation d'Amazon.
Vous acceptez de recevoir un SMS automatique d'Amazon ou en son nom à propos de l'application Kindle sur votre numéro de téléphone portable ci-dessus. Le consentement n'est pas une condition d'achat. Des frais de messages et de données peuvent s'appliquer.
Hide (Detective D.D. Warren 2): The heart-stopping thriller from the bestselling author of BEFORE SHE DISAPPEARED (English Edition) Format Kindle
|Neuf à partir de||Occasion à partir de|
Livres audio Audible, Version coupée
|Gratuit avec l'offre d'essai Audible|
You can run.
You can hide.
But can you ever escape your past?
'Lisa Gardner always delivers heart-stopping suspense' HARLAN COBEN
'Stories that grip from the first page' KARIN SLAUGHTER
'The absolute master of the psychological suspense novel' SHARON BOLTON
'...a brilliant book, not to be missed under any circumstances' THE INDEPENDENT ON SUNDAY
FROM THE GLOBAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR comes an enthralling thriller, where getting closer to the truth forces the detectives to confront the uncomfortable truths in their pasts.
Annabelle Granger was seven years old when it first happened. She arrived home to find the suitcases packed and her parents desperate to flee their home. Then followed years spent running, from what, or who, she doesn't know, just an endless blur of new faces and new towns.
Now, aged 30, Annabelle has finally settled in Boston and is happy with her life. Until the bodies of six girls are found in the grounds of an abandoned mental institute and a newspaper declares her one of the victims.
Detectives D. D. Warren and Bobby Dodge are determined to unravel the decades-old riddle and they fear that the discovery signals the return of a notorious serial killer, Mr Bosu - Bobby's worst nightmare. As they get closer to the truth they will all be forced to confront the uncomfortable truths in their pasts; because ultimately, there is no hiding place...
Praise for Lisa Gardner thrillers:
'Unpredictable, suspenseful from beginning to end... I loved it' ***** Reader Review
'I was totally enthralled with this novel, it kept me held in a tight grip from beginning to end...' ***** Reader Review
'I read lots of psychological thrillers but this was amongst the best... If you like a fast moving, suspense filled, sometimes gruesome, 3D character read, then this is it' ***** Reader Review
'This book had me hooked from the start. I love how it kept me guessing all the way to the end and I still didn't figure it out. Great characters and storyline' ***** Reader Review
' ...the most thrilling and enjoyable I have read and I intend to read every one of her books as, so far, they have all been excellent' ***** Reader Review
'This is an excellent novel and I highly recommend this to other readers' ***** Reader Review
'It starts well and finishes even better!' ***** Reader Review
'There was barely time to pause for breath reading this!' ***** Reader Review
'This author is unrivalled in the genre in my opinion' ***** Reader Review
Description du produit
My father explained it to me the first time when I was seven years old: The world is a system. School is a system. Neighborhoods are a system. Towns, governments, any large group of people. For that matter, the human body is a system, enabled by smaller, biological subsystems.
Criminal justice, definitely a system. The Catholic Church–don't get him started. Then there's organized sports, the United Nations, and of course, the Miss America Pageant.
"You don't have to like the system," he lectured me. "You don't have to believe in it or agree with it. But you must understand it. If you can understand the system, you will survive."
A family is a system.
I'd come home from school that afternoon to discover both of my parents standing in our front room. My father, a professor of mathematics at MIT, was rarely home before seven. Now, however, he stood next to my mother's prized floral sofa, with five suitcases stacked neatly by his feet. My mother was crying. When I opened the front door, she turned away as if to shield her face, but I could still see her shoulders shaking.
Both of my parents were wearing heavy wool coats, which seemed odd, given the relatively warm October afternoon.
My father spoke first: "You need to go into your room. Pick two things. Any two things you want. But hurry, Annabelle; we don't have much time."
My mother's shoulders shook harder. I set down my backpack. I retreated to my room, where I stared at my little pink-and-green painted space.
Of all the moments in my past, this is the one I would most like to have back. Three minutes in the bedroom of my youth. Fingers skimming over my sticker-plastered desk, skipping over framed photos of my grandparents, hopscotching past my engraved silver-plated brush and oversize hand mirror. I bypassed my books. Didn't even consider my marble collection or stash of kindergarten art. I remember making a positively agonizing choice between my favorite stuffed dog and my newest treasure, a bridal-dressed Barbie. I went with my dog, Boomer, then grabbed my cherished baby blankie, dark pink flannel with a light pink satin trim.
Not my diary. Not my stash of silly, doodle-covered notes from my best friend, Dori Petracelli. Not even my baby album, which would've at least given me photos of my mother for all the years to come. I was a young, frightened child, and I behaved childishly.
I think my father knew what I would choose. I think he saw it all coming, even back then.
I returned to our family room. My father was outside, loading the car. My mom had her hands wrapped around the pillar that divided the family room from the eat-in kitchen. For a minute, I didn't think she'd let go. She would take a stand, demand that my father stop this foolishness.
Instead, she reached out and stroked my long dark hair. "I love you so much." She grabbed me, hugging me fiercely, cheeks wet against the top of my head. The next moment, she pushed me away, wiping briskly at her face.
"Outside, honey. Your father's right–we have to be quick."
I followed my mother to the car, Boomer under my arm, blankie clutched in both hands. We took our usual places–my father in the driver's seat, my mother riding shotgun, me in the back.
My father backed our little Honda out of the drive. Yellow and orange leaves swirled down from the beech tree, dancing outside the car window. I spread my fingers against the glass as if I could touch them.
"Wave at the neighbors," my father instructed. "Pretend everything is normal."
That's the last we ever saw of our little oak-dotted cul-de-sac.
A family is a system.
We drove to Tampa. My mother had always wanted to see Florida, my father explained. Wouldn't it be nice to live amid palm trees and white sandy beaches after so many New England winters?
Since my mother had chosen our location, my father had picked our names. I would now be called Sally. My father was Anthony and my mother Claire. Isn't this fun? A new town and a new name. What a grand adventure.
I had nightmares in the beginning. Terrible, terrible dreams where I would wake up screaming, "I saw something, I saw something!"
"It's only a dream," my father would attempt to soothe me, stroking my back.
"But I'm scared!"
"Hush. You're too young to know what scared is. That's what daddies are for."
We didn't live amid palm trees and white sandy beaches. My parents never spoke of it, but as an adult looking back, I realize now that a Ph.D. in mathematics couldn't very well pick up where he left off, especially under an assumed identity. Instead, my father got a job driving taxis. I loved his new job. It meant he was home most of the day, and it seemed glamorous to be picked up from school in my own personal cab.
The new school was bigger than my old one. Tougher. I think I made friends, though I don't remember many specifics about our Florida days. I have more a general sense of a surreal time and place, where my afternoons were spent being drilled in self-defense for first-graders and even my parents seemed foreign to me:
My father, constantly buzzing around our one-bedroom apartment. "What'd you say, Sally? Let's decorate a palm tree for Christmas! Yes, sir, we're having fun now!" My mother, humming absently as she painted our family room a bright shade of coral, giggling as she bought a swimsuit in November, seeming genuinely intrigued as she learned to cook different kinds of flaky white fish.
I think my parents were happy in Florida. Or at least determined. My mother decorated our apartment. My father resumed his hobby of sketching. On the nights he didn't work, my mother would pose for him beside the window, and I would lie on the couch, content to watch my father's deft strokes as he captured my mother's teasing smile in a small charcoal sketch.
Until the day I came home from school to find suitcases packed, faces grim. No need to ask this time. I went into my room on my own. Grabbed Boomer. Found my blankie. Then retreated to the car and climbed in the back.
It was a long time before anyone said a word.
A family is a system.
To this day, I don't know how many cities we lived in. Or how many names I assumed. My childhood became a blur of new faces, new towns, and the same old suitcases. We would arrive, find the cheapest one-bedroom apartment. My father would set out the next day, always coming home with some kind of job–photo developer, McDonald's manager, salesclerk. My mother would unpack our meager belongings. I would be shuffled off to school.
I know I stopped talking as much. I know my mom did, too.
Only my father remained relentlessly cheerful. "Phoenix! I've always wanted to experience the desert. Cincinnati! Now, this is my kind of town. St. Louis! This will be the place for us!"
I don't remember suffering any more nightmares. They simply went away or were pushed aside by more pressing concerns. The afternoons I came home and found my mother passed out on the sofa. The crash courses in cooking because she could no longer stand up. Brewing coffee and forcing it down her throat. Raiding her purse for money so I could buy groceries before my father returned from work.
I want to believe he had to know, but to this day I'm not sure. It seemed for my mother and me at least, the more we took on other names, the more we gave away of ourselves. Until we became silent, ethereal shadows following in my father's blustery wake.
She made it until I was fourteen. Kansas City. We'd lasted nine months. My father had risen to manager in the automotive department of Sears. I was thinking of going to my first dance.
I came home. My mother–Stella, she was called then–was facedown on the sofa. This time no amount of shaking woke her up. I have a vague memory of racing across the hall. Of banging on our neighbor's door.
"My mother, my mother, my mother!" I screamed. And poor Mrs. Torres, who'd never been granted a smile or wave from any of us, threw open her door, bustled across the hall, and hands flying to her suddenly wet eyes, declared my mother dead.
Cops came. EMTs. I watched them remove her body. Saw the empty orange prescription bottle slip out of her pocket. One of the officers picked it up. He gave me a pitying look.
"Someone we should call?"
"My father will be home soon."
He left me with Mrs. Torres. We sat in her apartment, with its rich smells of jalape—o peppers and corn tamales. I admired the brightly striped curtains she had hanging on her windows and the bold floral pillows covering her worn brown sofa. I wondered what it would be like to have a real home again.
My father arrived. Thanked Mrs. Torres profusely. Ushered me away.
"You understand we can't tell them anything?" he kept saying over and over again, once we were safely tucked back inside our apartment. "You understand we have to be very careful? I don't want you saying a word, Cindy. Not one word. This is all very, very tricky."
When the cops returned, he did the talking. I heated up chicken noodle soup in the tiny kitchenette. I wasn't really hungry. I just wanted our apartment to smell like Mrs. Torres's apartment. I wanted my mom to be back home.
I found my father crying later. Curled up on the sofa, holding my mother's tattered pink robe. He couldn't stop. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
That was the first night my father slept in my bed. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't like that.
A family is a system.
We waited three months for my mother's body. The state wanted an autopsy. I never did understand it all. But one day we had my mom back. We accompanied her from the morgue's office to the funeral home. She was put in a box labeled with someone else's name, then ... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition kindle_edition.
Biographie de l'auteur
Détails sur le produit
- ASIN : B008DMO968
- Éditeur : Headline (5 juillet 2012)
- Langue : Anglais
- Taille du fichier : 2818 KB
- Synthèse vocale : Activée
- Lecteur d’écran : Pris en charge
- Confort de lecture : Activé
- X-Ray : Activé
- Word Wise : Activé
- Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 418 pages
- Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon : 67,514 en Boutique Kindle (Voir les 100 premiers en Boutique Kindle)
- Commentaires client :
À propos de l'auteur
Meilleures évaluations de France
Un problème s'est produit lors du filtrage des commentaires. Veuillez réessayer ultérieurement.
Meilleurs commentaires provenant d’autres pays
Detectives D.D. Warren and Bobby Dodge are again involved in a case, this time, a bit hard to solve.
The plot starts focusing on the Granger family living on the run. Different cities, different names each time. Not even the main character and one of the voices of the novel, Annabelle Granger, knows what is going on.
It's through investigation that we start joining the clues and traces in order to build the story and build Annabelle's own entire life.
The story involves stalking, secrets, misleading and intertwined stories that link the case in such a clever way, murders, fear, mystery and many characters whose backgrounds are gonna be essential for the investigation.
The whole story is written in such a way that makes the novel exciting dragging you completely into the role of becoming a detective trying to look for the real unsub.
The end is well built showing us an unexpected resolution in Annabelle's life.
Amazing I would say. I really enjoyed reading this novel and I love shocking ends. Totally recommended!!
I had already read the first book about DD and Bobby and hadn't realised the link when I bought this one as I'd read 3 or 4 books in the mean time but, though it's always helpful to already know the foundation of the character's it's not integral to enjoying this follow up.
This author is now on my 'readable' list :)
Detective Bobby Dodge is introduced to us again in this new thriller. When the discovery of six bodies is made in an abandoned hospital, he feels the fear creeping up on him. Is this the return of his worst nightmare and is it coming back to haunt him?
Annabelle Granger has been running for years. Never knowing why but just trailing along behind her family. Always changing name and identity, and nearly 30 years later she is still doing it and can't quite work out why. When a body is discovered with wearing Annabelle's locket and she is named as the dead girl in the paper she decides she will no longer hide in fear, but that it's time to confront her past. Before long she realises that this may be what her family were running from and now they are after her.
With Bobby's discovery of the bodies he realises that he can't face this challenge alone and asks his old time lover and partner DD Warren from Boston PD to help him. They quickly realise that this could be a copycat murder or it could be something more sinister than that. Unfortunately for Bobby, his past isn't leaving him alone and is more tied up in this case than he could imagine.
As usual Lisa Gardner has produced a fantastic book with edgy writing and a great character. The story keeps you interested enough to keep turning the pages and before you know it your nearly finished. She is fast becoming one of my top ten authors and I would recommend her books to anybody who likes reading the thriller/crime type of book. I also think that if she carries on producing books this good, the following for the Bobby Dodge series could well be as good as the following for the Quincy series.