{"product_id":"survival-of-the-fittest-isbn-9780345539038","title":"Survival of the Fittest","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES \u003c\/i\u003eBESTSELLER • The iconic thriller series that inspired the upcoming streaming show on Prime Video\u003ci\u003e, \u003c\/i\u003ein development now!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe daughter of a diplomat disappears on a school field trip—lured into the Santa Monica Mountains and killed in cold blood. Her father denies the possibility of a political motive. There are no signs of struggle and no evidence of sexual assault, leaving psychologist Alex Delaware and his friend LAPD homicide detective Milo Sturgis to pose the essential question: \u003ci\u003eWhy?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Feverish in pace and rich in characters . . . a chilling and irresistible thriller.”—\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWorking with Daniel Sharavi, a brilliant Israeli police inspector, Delaware and Sturgis soon find themselves ensnared in one of the darkest, most menacing cases of their careers. And when death strikes again, it is Alex who must go undercover, alone, to expose an unthinkable conspiracy of self-righteous brutality and total contempt for human life.“Why is it so hard to put down a Kellerman thriller . . . ? It’s simple: the nonstop action leaves you breathless; the plot twists keep you guessing; the themes . . . are provocative.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “An original and gripping tale that is one of his best.”—\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eJonathan Kellerman\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of more than three dozen bestselling crime novels, including the Alex Delaware series, \u003ci\u003eThe Butcher’s Theater, Billy Straight, The Conspiracy Club,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eTwisted, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e True Detectives\u003c\/i\u003e. With his wife, bestselling novelist Faye Kellerman, he co-authored \u003ci\u003eDouble Homicide \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Capital Crimes\u003c\/i\u003e. With his son, bestselling novelist Jesse Kellerman, he co-authored the first book of a new series, \u003ci\u003eThe Golem of Hollywood\u003c\/i\u003e. He is also the author of two children’s books and numerous nonfiction works, including \u003ci\u003eSavage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e With Strings Attached: The Art and Beauty of Vintage Guitars\u003c\/i\u003e. He has won the Goldwyn, Edgar, and Anthony awards and has been nominated for a Shamus Award. Jonathan and Faye Kellerman live in California, New Mexico, and New York.Hooray for Hollywood. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrass stars with celebrities' names were inlaid in the sidewalk but the stars of the night were toxin merchants, strong-arm specialists, and fifteen-year-olds running from family values turned vicious. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOpen twenty-four hours a day, Go-Ji's welcomed them all.  The coffee shop sat on the north side of Hollywood Boulevard, east of Vine, between a tattoo parlor and a thrash-metal bar. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt 3:00 a.m., a Mexican boy was sweeping the sidewalk when Nolan Dahl pulled his cruiser into the front loading zone.  The boy lacked documentation but the sight of the policeman didn't alter his rhythm; cops could care less about \u003ci\u003einmigraci¾n.\u003c\/i\u003e  From what the boy had observed after a month, no one in L.A. cared much about anything. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan Dahl locked the black-and-white and entered the restaurant, sauntering the way only 220 pounds of young, muscular cop laden with baton, belt, radio, flashlight, and holstered nine-millimeter could saunter.  The place smelled rancid and the aisle of deep red carpet between the duct-taped orange booths was stained beyond redemption.  Dahl settled at the rear, allowing himself a view of the Filipino cashier. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe next booth was occupied by a twenty-three-year-old pimp from Compton named Terrell Cochrane and one of his employees, a chubby sixteen-year-old mother of two named Germadine Batts, formerly of Checkpoint, Oklahoma.  Fifteen minutes ago, the two had sat around the corner in Terrell's white Lexus, where Germadine had rolled up a blue, spangled legging and shot fifteen dollars' worth of tar heroin into a faltering ankle vein.  Now nicely numbed and hypoglycemic, she was on her second diluted jumbo Coke, sucking ice and fooling with the pink plastic stirrer. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerrell had mixed heroin and cocaine into a speedball and was feeling as perfectly balanced as a tightrope walker.  He slouched, forked holes in his cheeseburger, simulated the Olympic logo with five flaccid onion rings while pretending not to watch the big blond cop. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan Dahl couldn't have cared less about either of them, or the five other \u003ci\u003ethings\u003c\/i\u003e scattered around the bright room.  Elevator rock played softly.  A slim, pretty waitress the color of molasses hurried down the aisle and stopped at Nolan's booth, smiling.  Nolan smiled back, waved away a menu, and asked for coconut cream pie and coffee, please. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"New on the night shift?\" asked the waitress.  She'd come from Ethiopia five years ago and spoke beautiful English with a pleasant accent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan smiled again and shook his head.  He'd been working Hollywood night shift for three months but had never patronized Go-Ji's, getting his sugar rush from a Dunkin' on Highland recommended by Wes Baker.  Cops and doughnuts.  Big joke. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Never seen you before, Officer--Dahl.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well,\" he said, \"life's full of new experiences.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe waitress laughed.  \"Well, hmm.\"  She left for the pastry counter and Nolan watched her before shifting his blue eyes, making contact with Terrell Cochrane. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eScruffy thing.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan Dahl was twenty-seven and had been formed, to a large extent, by TV.  Before joining the force, his notion of pimps had been red velvet suits and big hats with feathers.  Soon he'd learned you couldn't prepare for anything. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAnything.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe scanned Terrell and the hooker, who had to be a minor.  This month the pimp was into coarse, oversized, insipid plaid shirts over black T-shirts, abbreviated cornrows above shaved temples.  Last month had been black leather; before that, African prince. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cop's stare bothered Terrell.  Hoping it was someone else under scrutiny, he looked across the aisle at the three transsexuals giggling and whispering and making a big deal out of eating french fries. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe eased back to the cop. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cop was smiling at him.  A weird smile--almost sad.  What did \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e mean? \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerrell returned to his burger, feeling a little \u003ci\u003eout\u003c\/i\u003e of balance. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Ethiopian waitress brought Nolan's order and watched as he tasted a forkful of pie. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Good,\" he said, though the coconut tasted like bad pi±a-colada mix and the cream was gluey.  He was a practiced culinary liar.  As a kid, when his mother had served swill he'd said, \"Delish,\" along with Helena and Dad. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Anything else, Officer Dahl?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not for now, thanks.\"  \u003ci\u003eNothing you've got.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay, just let me know.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan smiled again and she left. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerrell Cochrane thought, \u003ci\u003eThat smile--one happy fucker.  No reason for a cop to be happy 'ceptin' he busted some rodney with no video going.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan ate more pie and again aimed his smile at Terrell.  Then he shrugged. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pimp looked sideways at Germadine, by now nodding half-comatose into her Coke.  \u003ci\u003eFew minutes more, bitch, then back outside for more gravel-knee.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cop ate the rest of the pie, finished his coffee and his water, and the waitress was there right away with refills. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBitch.  After bringing Terrell's and Germadine's food, she'd mostly ignored them. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerrell lifted his burger and watched her say something to the cop.  The cop just kept smiling and shaking his head.  The bitch gave the cop his check and the cop gave her money and she turned all grinny. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA twenty, keep it,\u003c\/i\u003e was the reason. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFuckers always tipped big, but this?  All that smiling, must be celebrating something. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cop looked into his empty coffee cup. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen something came out from under the table. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis gun. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was smiling at Terrell again.  Showing him the \u003ci\u003egun!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cop's arm stretched. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerrell's bowels gave way as he ducked under the table, not bothering to push down on Germadine's head though he'd had plenty of practice doing \u003ci\u003ethat.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe other patrons saw Terrell's dive.  The transsexuals and the drunken long-haul truck driver behind them and the toothless, senile, ninety-year-old man in the first booth. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone ducked. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExcept the Ethiopian waitress, who'd been talking to the Filipino cashier.  She stared, too terrified to move. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan Dahl nodded at the waitress.  Smiled. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe thought, \u003ci\u003eA sad smile, what's with this guy?\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNolan closed his eyes, almost as if he were praying.  Opening them, he slid the nine-millimeter between his lips and, sucking like a baby, fixed his gaze on the waitress's pretty face. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was still unable to move.  He saw her terror, softened his eyes, trying to let her know it was okay, the only way. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA beautiful, black, final image.  God this place smelled crappy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe pulled the trigger. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    #1 New York Times bestselling author Author of Guilt","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305233567973,"sku":"NP9780345539038","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345539038.jpg?v=1767737629","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/survival-of-the-fittest-isbn-9780345539038","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}