{"product_id":"dont-let-go-isbn-9781101984277","title":"Don't Let Go","description":"\u003cb\u003eFROM THE BESTSELLING AUTHOR AND CREATOR OF THE HIT NETFLIX DRAMA \u003ci\u003eTHE STRANGER\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith unmatched suspense and emotional insight, Harlan Coben explores the big secrets and little lies that can destroy a relationship, a family, and even a town in this powerful new thriller.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuburban New Jersey Detective Napoleon “Nap” Dumas hasn't been the same since senior year of high school, when his twin brother Leo and Leo’s girlfriend Diana were found dead on the railroad tracks—and Maura, the girl Nap considered the love of his life, broke up with him and disappeared without explanation. For fifteen years, Nap has been searching, both for Maura and for the real reason behind his brother's death. And now, it looks as though he may finally find what he's been looking for. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Maura's fingerprints turn up in the rental car of a suspected murderer, Nap embarks on a quest for answers that only leads to more questions—about the woman he loved, about the childhood friends he thought he knew, about the abandoned military base near where he grew up, and mostly about Leo and Diana—whose deaths are darker and far more sinister than Nap ever dared imagine.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Harlan Coben and \u003ci\u003eDon't Let Go\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Harlan Coben is a folk poet of the suburbs and his well-tuned new mystery, \u003ci\u003eDon’t Let Go\u003c\/i\u003e, shows why. Coben does his usual professional job on the central mystery...but his greater talent lies in his warmhearted descriptions of life in places like Westbridge.”—Marilyn Stasio, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Ernest Hemingway could have learned a tip or two from Coben’s direct and punchy writing style. And Coben deftly intersperses his action sequences with observations about human behavior.”—Steve Forbes, \u003ci\u003eForbes \u003c\/i\u003eonline \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Harlan Coben is the modern master of the hook-and-twist luring you in on the first page...only to shock you on the last.”—Dan Brown\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Simply one of the all-time greats—pick up any one of his thrillers and you’ll find a riveting, twisty, surprising story with a big, beating heart at its core.”—Gillian Flynn\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Outstanding...Coben keeps Nap and the reader blindly guessing as he peels back layers of deceit reaching back 15 years, revealing nesting dolls of deadly secrets.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Harlan Coben's addictive crime novels keep readers on the edge of their seat. Get ready for twists, turns, reversals, and you'd-never-guess-it plot twists. His thrillers are virtuoso mysteries that expose the dark side of familiar settings. Prepare yourself for relatable characters, crackling prose, and shocking endings.”—\u003ci\u003eReader's Digest \u003c\/i\u003e“The Most Binge-Worthy Authors of All Time”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Nap] is both endearing and sometimes quite witty. Coben is the master of these types of characters while exposing the hidden layers of suburbia.”—Associated Press\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] shattering tour de force of a classic mystery wrapped in the fabric of the kind of...thriller nobody writes better.”—\u003ci\u003eProvidence Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Harlan Coben is one of the best suspense novelists out there today.”—The Huffington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Coben knows how to deliver an exciting thriller expertly. His latest novel is no exception.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Certain teams (the Yankees), performers (Springsteen), and shows (\u003ci\u003eThe Sopranos\u003c\/i\u003e) exist at such a rarified level of excellence that our expectations become unreasonable...Harlan Coben...belongs in this rarified category.”—\u003ci\u003eNewark Star-Ledger\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“You won’t be able to put it down once you open it....Get this book now.”—Bookreporter.com\u003cb\u003eHarlan Coben\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003eand international bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including \u003ci\u003eI Will Find You\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Match\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWin\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFool Me Once\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eStay Close\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Stranger\u003c\/i\u003e, as well as the award-winning Myron Bolitar series. Coben has more than eighty million books in print in more than forty languages worldwide, and several of his novels have been made into Netflix series. The winner of Edgar, Shamus, and Anthony Awards, he lives in New Jersey.Daisy wore a clingy black dress with a neckline so deep it could tutor philosophy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She spotted the mark sitting at the end of the bar, wearing a gray pinstripe suit. Hmm. The guy was old enough to be her dad. That might make it more difficult to make her play, but then again, it might not. You never knew with the old guys. Some of them, especially the recent divorcees, are all too ready to preen and prove they still got it, even if they never had it in the first place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eEspecially \u003c\/i\u003eif they never had it in the first place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As Daisy sauntered across the room, she could feel the eyes of the male patrons crawling down her bare legs like earthworms. When she reached the end of the bar, she made a mild production of lowering herself onto the stool next to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The mark peered into the glass of whiskey in front of him as though he were a gypsy with a crystal ball. She waited for him to turn toward her. He didn’t. Daisy studied his profile for a moment. His beard was heavy and gray. His nose was bulbous and putty-like, almost as though it were a Hollywood silicon special effect. His hair was long, straggly, mop-like.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Second marriage, Daisy figured. Second divorce in all probability.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller—that was the mark’s name—picked up his whiskey gently and cradled it in both hands like it was an injured bird.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hi,” Daisy said with a much-practiced hair toss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Miller’s eyes slid toward her. He looked her straight in the eyes. She waited for his gaze to dip down to the neckline—heck, even women did it with this dress—but they stayed on hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hello,” he replied. Then he turned back to his whiskey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Daisy usually let the mark hit on her. That was her go-to technique. She said hi like this, she smiled, the guy asked whether he could buy her a drink. You know the deal. But Miller didn’t look in the mood to flirt. He took a deep swallow from his whiskey glass, then another.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That was good. The heavy drinking. That would make this easier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Burly, Daisy thought. That was the word to describe him. Even in that pinstripe suit, Miller had that burly-biker-Vietnam-vet thing going on, his voice a low rasp. He was the kind of older guy Daisy found sexy, though that was probably her now legendary daddy issues rearing their insecure head. Daisy liked men who made her feel safe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had been too long since she’d known one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Time to try another angle, Daisy thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Do you mind if I just sit here with you?” Daisy leaned a little closer, working the cleavage a bit, and whispered, “There’s this guy. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Is he bothering you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sweet. He didn’t say it all macho poseur like so many d-bags she had met along the way. Dale Miller said it calmly, matter-of-factly, chivalrously, even—like a man who wanted to protect her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No, no . . . not really.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He started looking around the bar. “Which one is he?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Daisy put a hand on his arm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It’s not a big deal. Really. I just . . . I feel safe here with you, okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Miller met her eyes again. The bulbous nose didn’t go with the face, but you almost didn’t notice it with those piercing blue eyes. “Of course,” he said, but in a cautious voice. “Can I buy you a drink?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That was pretty much all the opening Daisy needed. She was good with conversation, and men—married, single, getting divorced, whatever—never minded opening up to her. It took Dale Miller a little more time than usual—Drink Four, if her count was correct—but eventually he got to the impending divorce to Clara, his, yup, second wife who was eighteen years his junior. (“Should’ve know, right? I’m such a fool.”) A drink later, he told her about the two kids Ryan and Simone, the custody battle, his job in finance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She had to open up, too. That was how this worked. Prime the pump. She had a story at the ready for just such occasions—a completely fictional one, of course—but something about the way Miller carried himself made her add shades of candor. She would never tell him the truth. No one knew that in this town, except Rex. And even Rex didn’t know it all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He drank whiskey. She drank vodka. She tried to imbibe at a slower pace. Twice she took her full glass to the bathroom, dumped it into the sink, filled it with water. Still, Daisy was feeling a little buzzed when the text came in from Rex.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e R?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e R for Ready.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Everything okay?” Miller asked her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sure. Just a friend.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She texted back a Y for Yes and turned back to him. This was the part where she would normally suggest that they go someplace quieter. Most men jumped at the chance—men were nothing if not predicable on that score—but she wasn’t sure that direct route would work with Dale Miller. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem interested. He just seemed to be somehow—she wasn’t sure how to put it—somehow above it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Could I ask you something?” she began.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Miller smiled. “You been asking me things all night.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There was a slight slur in his voice. Good.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Do you have a car?” she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I do. Why?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She glanced about the bar. “Could I, uh, ask you for a ride home? I don’t live far.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sure, no problem.” Then: “I may need a little time to sober up—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Daisy hopped off the stool. “Oh that’s okay. I’ll walk then.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Miller sat upright. “Wait, what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I kinda need to get home now, but if you can’t drive—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No, no,” he said, managing to stand. “I’ll take you now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If it’s trouble . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He hopped off the stool. “No trouble, Daisy.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bingo. As they started for the door, Daisy quickly texted Rex:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e OOW\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Code for On Our Way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Some might call it a con or swindle, but Rex insisted that it was “righteous” money. Daisy wasn’t sure about righteous, but she didn’t feel a lot of guilt about it either. The plan was simple in execution, if not motive. A man and a woman are getting divorced. The custody battle turns nasty. Both sides get desperate. The wife—technically speaking, the husband could use their services, too, though so far it had always been the wife—hired Rex to help them win this bloodiest of battles. How did he do it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nail the husband on a DUI.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What better way to show the man is an unfit parent?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So that was how it worked. Daisy’s job was twofold: Make sure the mark was legally drunk and then get him behind the wheel. Rex, who was a cop, pulled the guy over, arrested him for driving under the influence, and boom, their client gets a big boost in the court proceedings. Right now, Rex was waiting in a squad car two blocks away. He always found an abandoned spot very close to whatever bar the mark would be drinking in that evening. The fewer witnesses, the better. They didn’t want questions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pull the guy over, arrest him, move on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They both stumbled out the door and into the lot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This way,” Miller said. “I parked over here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The lot was made up of loose pebbles. Miller kicked them up as he led her to a gray Toyota Corolla. He hit the key fob. The car gave a muted double honk. When Miller headed toward the passenger door, Daisy was confused. Did he want her to drive? God, she hoped not. Was he more wasted than she thought? That seemed more likely. But she quickly realized it was neither of those things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller was opening the door for her. Like a real gentleman. That was how long it had been since Daisy had known a real gentleman. She hadn’t even realized what he was doing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He held the door and waited. Daisy slid into the car. Dale Miller waited while she was all the way in and properly situated before he carefully closed the door behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She felt a pang of guilt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rex had pointed out many times that they weren’t doing anything illegal or even ethically dubious. For one thing, the plan didn’t always work. Some guys don’t hang out in bars. “If that’s the case,” Rex had told her, “then he’s in the clear. Our guy is already out drinking, right? You’re just giving him a little push, that’s all. But he doesn’t have to drink and drive. That’s his choice in the end. You’re not putting a gun to his head.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Daisy put on her seat belt. Dale Miller did the same. He started the car and put it in reverse. The tires crunched the pebbles. When he was clear of the spot, Miller stopped the car and looked at Daisy for a long moment. She tried to smile, but it wouldn’t hold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What are you hiding, Daisy?” he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She felt a chill but didn’t reply.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Something happened to you. I can see it in your face.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not sure what else to do, Daisy tried to laugh it off. “I told you my life story in that bar, Dale.”\u003cbr\u003e Miller waited another second, maybe two, though it felt to her like an hour. Finally, he looked forward and put the car in drive. He didn’t say another word as they made their way out of the parking lot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Take a left,” Daisy said, hearing the tenseness in her own voice. “And then it’s the second right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller was silent now, making the turns deliberately, the way you do when you’ve had too much to drink but don’t want to get pulled over. The Toyota Corolla was clean and impersonal and smelled a little too strongly of deodorizer. When Miller took the second right, Daisy held her breath and waited for Rex’s blue lights and siren to come on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was always the scary part for Daisy, because you never knew how someone was going to react. One guy tried to make a run for it, though he realized the futility before he reached the next corner. Some guys started cursing. Some guys—too many of them—started sobbing. That was the worst. Grown men, coolly hitting on her moments ago, some still with their hand sliding up past her dress, suddenly starting blubbering like preschoolers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They realized the severity in an instant. That realization crushed them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Daisy didn’t know what to expect with Dale Miller.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rex had the timing down to a science, and as though on cue, the spinning blue light came to life, followed immediately by the squad-car siren. Daisy pivoted and studied Dale Miller’s face to gauge his reaction. If Miller seemed distraught or surprised, neither emotion was showing on his face. He was composed, determined, even. He used his blinker to signal before carefully veering to a proper stop by the curb as Rex pulled up behind him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The siren was off now, the blue light still circling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller put the car in park and turned to her. She wasn’t sure what expression to go with here. Surprise? Sympathy? A what-can-you-do sigh?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Well, well,” Miller said. “It looks like the past has caught up with us, eh?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His words, his tone, his expression, unnerved her. She wanted to yell for Rex to hurry, but he was taking his time the way a cop does. Dale Miller kept his eyes on her, even after Rex did a knuckle-knock on his window. Miller slowly turned away and slid open the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Is there a problem, officer?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “License and registration, please.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller handed them over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Have you been drinking tonight?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Maybe one,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With that answer, at least, he was the same as every other mark. They always lied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Do you mind stepping out of the car for a moment?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Miller turned back toward Daisy. Daisy tried not to cringe under his gaze. She stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rex said, “Sir? I asked you—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Of course, officer.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dale Miller pulled the handle. When the interior car light came, Daisy closed her eyes for a moment. Miller rolled out with a grunt. He left the door open, but Rex reached past him and slammed it closed. The window was still open so Daisy could hear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sir, I would like to run a series of field sobriety tests on you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “We could skip that,” Dale Miller said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Pardon me?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Why don’t we go right to the Breathalyzer, if that would be easier?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That offer surprised Rex. He glanced past Miller for a moment and caught her eye. Daisy gave a small shrug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I assume you have a field Breathalyzer in your squad car?” Miller asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I do, yes.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “So let’s not waste your time or mine or the lovely lady’s.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rex hesitated. Then he said, “Okay, please wait here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sure.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Rex turned to go back to his squad car, Dale Miller pulled out a gun and shot Rex twice in the back of the head. Rex crumpled to the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then Dale Miller turned the gun toward Daisy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They’re back, she thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After all these years, they found me.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299972632805,"sku":"NP9781101984277","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101984277.jpg?v=1767725520","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/dont-let-go-isbn-9781101984277","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}