Andrea Kane
Coming in March 2019 from Andrea Kane: DEAD IN A WEEK.
Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-nine novels, including fifteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.
Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller. She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted, and Drawn in Blood.
Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Dead in a Week, adds the Zermatt Group into the mix—a covert team of former military and spy agency operatives. With a week to save a young woman from ruthless kidnappers, this globe-spanning chase, from the beerhalls of Germany, to the tech gardens of California, to the skyscrapers of China, and finally the farmlands of Croatia will keep readers guessing until the very end. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence that Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, and A Face to Die For.
Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind.
With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.
Kane lives in New Jersey with her husband and family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Otherwise, she’s either writing or playing with her Pomeranian, Mischief, who does his best to keep her from writing.
“Derek wished he had more of the right words to offer. But both he and Sloane knew those words didn't exist. So he gave her the only ones he had. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”
“He made a choice, one his father didn't understand or agree with. But he still should have supported it. That's what love is about.”
“The loss is hers. Let her remain in this ugly world, full of diseased and soulless people. While I and the true goddesses soar to Mount Olympus.That's the greatest punishment I can impose on her, after all.”
“He never reveals anything personal about himself, and he becomes enraged if I try to steer the conversation in that direction. So I don't. But if I were to speculate, I'd say that he's not just insane, he's still part child himself. He has three sides to him -- the child, the gentleman, and the lunatic.”
“Someday you'll have to tell me the whole story behind you two.""Maybe. But first, I have to figure it out myself.”
“If you're looking for pity, forget it," Connie retorted. "You've passed up more dates than I care to count. You're married to your work." A pause. "And maybe to the past.”
“There'd never been any closure. There hadn't even been good-byes.”
“I so want to meet the other women. I hear their voices, their weeping. Maybe they can explain to me why we're here. Or maybe I don't want to know.”
“In one motion, Connor shrugged off his jacket, flung it aside, and went to her. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked in a heated voice.She tipped her head toward the rear of the apartment. "Back there.""Too far. I'm not sure I can last." He kissed her, a blatantly carnal kiss that reawakened all their earlier urgency, brought it screaming back to life."There's a couch in the living room," Julia managed, pointing to their left and shivering as Connor began unbuttoning her blouse. "That's a lot closer." His lips burned a path from her collarbone to her throat. "Which is bigger, the couch or the bed?""The bed.""Then I’ll last." Connor was pulling her down the hall. "Barely.”
“So, unless you've embezzled money outright or murdered someone and want me to hide the body, I won't be getting in any deeper than I already am.”
“Did you say five hundred twenty-two people?""Um-hum. I'll kick in some extra cash, if you're running low.""Cash isn't a problem. Space is. I don't need money. I need Shea Stadium.”
“I don't believe this. And I thought running a corporation was hard? This isn't a wedding; it's a fucking conspiracy planned by pompous, cutthroat lunatics. Worse, they're delusional enough to believe they're visionaries. Wedding planners who want to color-coordinate flowers and bathroom accoutrements? What the hell's a bathroom accoutrement, anyway—toilet paper?”
“Decision time. It's too dark for you to see your surroundings. So I'll describe. You choose." He pulled the pins out of her hair, tunneling his fingers through it as it tumbled to her shoulders. "The fireplace is across the hall. There's a shag rug in front of it. The living room's to our right. It has a wide, cushy sectional sofa. The den's to our left. It has a leather recliner that tilts way, way back. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms. The guest room's got a queen-size bed and a huge area rug. The master's got a king-size bed and extra pillows. What's your pleasure?""Where are the condoms?""In the master.""Sold.”
“Did you take me here so we'd relax, or so we'd be on safe ground because we're among lots and lots of people?"He set down his glass, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "I took you here because the food and the sangria are great, and because it's far away from offices and hospitals. As for safe ground, I told you, there is none."His voice lowered, took on a rough, provocative quality that sent shivers up her spine. "The crowd's irrelevant. The setting's irrelevant. I want you no matter where we are and no matter who we're with. I think you know that. What I want to do with you can't be done in a restaurant—any restaurant, busy or quiet. It requires total privacy, long uninterrupted hours, and a very big bed." He paused. "Actually, the bed is optional. I could improvise.”