{"product_id":"deadisbn-9780345483829","title":"Dead","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Mariah Stewart comes a novel of sexy romantic suspense for fans of Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter, and Karen Robards.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBestselling author Mariah Stewart proved she can knock ’em dead with the best when  she delivered the resounding one-two-three punch of her suspense “thrillogy”–Dead  Wrong, Dead Certain, and Dead Even. Now, in her anticipated hardcover debut, she’ s back to finish off this stunning series with her hottest shot yet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two years ago,  a major FBI undercover drug deal suddenly went south– and special agent Dylan Shields  went down in a hail of bullets. When the dust cleared, his fellow agent (and fiancée)  Anne Marie McCall was left alone with too many unanswered questions and nothing to  do but hit the job as hard as she could to dull the pain. Only now is she beginning  to ease up on her punishing routine as a Bureau profiler and starting to let some  light in again. and. Detective Evan Crosby had a lot to do with drawing Annie back  into life, and she’s not about to let her chance at happiness with him slip away.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But before she can embrace a bright new future, she must grapple with the dangerous  past whose demons of doubt and suspicion won’t let her sleep at night . . . and whose  dead will never rest in peace until someone digs up the truth and deals out the payback.  That means going places where no one– including the FBI–wants Annie to be and cutting  through a minefield of smoke and mirrors, politics and intimidation, dirty tricks  and deadly threats, in order to make a cold case hot enough to get the right people  sweating. The harder Annie squeezes, the more blood, lies, and betrayal she wrings  out . . . and the closer she comes to connecting a face to the trigger finger that  blew away her dreams–and Dylan Shields. What she doesn’t know is that the killer  she’s closing in on is looking for closure too. The kind that only Annie’s death  can bring.Praise for Mariah Stewart\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDead Wrong\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fast paced and intricately plotted, Stewart’s new novel combines engaging characters with a unique premise, adds an unexpected romance to the mix, and overlays it all with her singular knack for keeping readers up at night.”\u003cbr\u003e–Library Journal\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDead Certain\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Crackles with danger and suspense. Great characterization and gripping drama make Stewart’s books hot tickets.”\u003cbr\u003e–Romantic Times (four-star review)Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of numerous novels and several novellas. She is a RITA finalist for romantic suspense and is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International Organization) Award honoring excellence in women’s fiction, and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she is a three-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the New Jersey Romance Writers, and has been inducted into their Hall of Fame. Stewart is a member of the Valley Forge Romance Writers, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Romance Writers of America. She lives with her husband, two daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers amid the rolling hills of Chester County, Pennsylvania.Lyndon, Pennsylvania  August, 2005  What could possibly be going through a man’s mind at the moment he decides  to take the life of a child?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Detective Evan Crosby stared down at the twisted body of Caitlin McGill  and wondered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The young girl’s blank eyes stared endlessly at the sun, her mouth open in  its final scream. Her thin arms stretched outward, bent   at the elbows, to form perfect Ls. Her feet turned in, toes touch-  ing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Pigeon-toed.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What?” Evan turned his head slightly, though his eyes were still on the  girl who lay at his feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “We used to call people whose feet turned in like that pigeon-toed,” one  of the crime-scene investigators noted. “How old was this one?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Not even fourteen,” Evan replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Just like the last one.” The CSI shook his head. “Crazy. Just plain  damned crazy. She was a real cute kid.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “They were all cute kids.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “This is what, the third? Fourth? In the past two months?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    No one responded to the question, which was rhetorical. Everyone on the  scene—from the Avon County, Pennsylvania, detectives to the CSIs to the  local police to the medical examiner—knew exactly how many others there’d  been since the first of May.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Four.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Jamie Kershaw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Heidi Fuhrmann.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Andrea Masters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And now Caitlin McGill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    All between the ages of twelve and fourteen. All pretty girls   who attended one of the many private schools that flourished in   the Philadelphia suburbs. All with dark red stains down the front   of the white cotton shirts that were standard school-uniform at-  tire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    All of them barefoot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What’s up with that, anyway?” Joe Sullivan, Evan’s onetime partner at the  Lyndon Police Department, came up the hill from the playground and stopped  three feet behind Evan. “Whaddaya suppose he’s doing with their shoes?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Your guess is as good as mine.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Poor kid.” Sullivan shook his head. “What’s your old lady say about it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. She’s been away.” Evan let the  “old lady” comment ride. He’d had that conversation with Joe on more than  one occasion. It had never done any good—Joe was Joe and wasn’t about to  change.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Guess they keep those FBI profilers pretty busy, eh?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Never a shortage of psychos, Joe, you know that.” Evan nodded to Dr.  Agnes Jenkins, the Avon County medical examiner, as she hurried past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Can’t remember anything like this, though. But at least he left them  where they’d be found quickly.” Sullivan’s voice was flat, emotionless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The M.E. bent over the body and began her ministrations. Evan looked away.  Over the past eight weeks, he’d had more than his fill of young girls  who’d had their throats slashed. He took a few steps back, then turned and  went back to his car. The crime scene would be turned over to him once the  M.E. was finished, but for now, he’d use this time to check his phone  messages, return those calls he could. Start the paperwork on this latest  homicide. Get as much work done as he could while he could. It had all the  makings of another very long night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was well after three in the morning when Evan arrived at his townhouse  in West Lyndon. Bone weary, he left his car parked out front, and  bleary-eyed, let himself in through the front door. He ignored the pile of  mail on the hall table—when had he put that there?—and pretended not to  see the blinking red light on his telephone. Messages could wait. He was  simply too tired to deal with anyone or anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Too tired, too, to make it up the steps, so he let himself drift backward  onto the living-room sofa, fully clothed. He’d just closed his eyes when  he heard the soft footfall on the stairs. Dismissing it as little more  than wishful thinking on his part, he continued to sail toward sleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Evan?” a voice called from the doorway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    More wishful thinking, surely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Evan.” The voice, gentle, filled with concern, drew closer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Soft hands caressed his arm. He sighed and smiled in his state of  almost-sleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Evan, don’t sleep down here. Come up to bed.” The voice was in his ear  now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He reached out and touched skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Annie.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He felt her weight as she sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned over him,  her lips pressed against the side of his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “When did you get here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “About nine.” She snuggled next to him, and he felt himself relax for the  first time in days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Why didn’t you call me?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I heard on the scanner that another body had been found. I   didn’t want to disturb you. I figured you’d be home when you were finished  with what you had to do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How long can you stay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ll be in town through Tuesday. Have you forgotten that my sister is  getting married on Friday?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh, shit. I did forget.” He stared up at the ceiling. How could he have  forgotten that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s okay. I’m here to remind you. Thursday night, rehearsal   dinner. Friday night, wedding. Saturday, sleep until noon. Satur-  day night, just me and you. Sunday through Tuesday, I’ll be staying with  my niece, until Mara and Aidan get back. Not much of a honeymoon for them,  but at least they’ll have a few days to themselves.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Rewind back to Saturday. Saturday sounded real good.” It had been weeks  since they’d had a night together alone. There’d been something every  weekend for the past month. Four weeks ago, it had been Mara’s wedding  shower. The past three, either Annie or Evan had been working.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Maybe on Saturday night they could have dinner at their fa-  vorite restaurant, he was thinking, then catch a movie. Or maybe they’d  just stay at home, just the two of them. That sounded even better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She lay against him, her head on his chest. His fingers trailed lightly  through her soft blond hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How old was she?” she asked softly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Thirteen. Almost fourteen.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Same as the others?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She fell silent, and he knew that she was working it through. As a  psychologist and one of the FBI’s most skilled profilers, Annie—Dr. Anne  Marie McCall—couldn’t help but sort through the pieces.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Shoes?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Missing,” he told her through a fog of fatigue. “Just like the others.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Odd trophy,” she murmured.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I wanted to ask you what you thought about that.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Tomorrow.” She sat up. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Right now, you  think you can make it up the stairs?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Doubtful.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Okay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She stood, and cool air replaced her warmth. His hand searched for her in  the dark, but she had already moved out of reach.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Where are you going?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ll be right back.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Moments later she returned. He felt the soft flow of a blanket drift over  him, the comfort of a pillow under his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Bliss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Move over.” She slid under the blanket and wrapped her arms around him,  her body molded to his in the dark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Annie . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Shh. Tomorrow. There’s nothing that can’t wait until the morning.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He wanted to say something, but his tired brain had stopped communicating  with his mouth. Effortlessly, he sailed off into the darkness, where he  dreamed of endless closets filled with small bloody shoes that frantic  mothers tried to match into pairs.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304396804325,"sku":"NP9780345483829","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345483829.jpg?v=1730757201","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/deadisbn-9780345483829","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}