{"product_id":"final-truth-isbn-9780345483843","title":"Final Truth","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\u003eIn her thrill-packed trilogy \u003ci\u003eCold Truth, Hard Truth,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDark Truth,\u003c\/i\u003e Mariah Stewart  proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she can brilliantly and suspensefully handle  the truth. Can you? Then prepare yourself for the shocking, eye-opening \u003ci\u003eFinal Truth,\u003c\/i\u003e in which a woman who specializes in exposing lies finds herself trapped in a real-life  nightmare.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e All that stands between Lester Ray Barnes and the state of Florida’s  death chamber is a judge’s signature. He is sentenced to die for the rape and murder  of a young woman, his conviction hinging on two pieces of evidence: DNA testing and  an eyewitness who placed him at the scene. But when the story breaks that the DNA  testimony at trial had been fabricated and that the eyewitness was coerced by a cop,  all hell breaks loose. In the absence of credible evidence to sustain the conviction,  the court is forced to set Lester Ray free. It’s the sort of circus the media adore–until  it turns into the kind of Grimm’s fairy tale the media love even more.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Intrigued  by the story of a young man railroaded by justice, true-crime writer Regan Landry  is drawn into Lester Ray’s camp like a moth to a flame. For Regan, writing is a way  to stay connected to her late literary-legend father, and her knack for detective  work makes her a natural when it comes to uncovering new leads in even the murkiest  mysteries.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Eager for the spotlight, Lester Ray willingly agrees to work with Regan  on a tell-all about his experience as an innocent man on death row. But less than  a week after leaving prison, he vanishes from the Sunshine State. Soon after, darkness  descends on the outer banks of North Carolina as a string of women are raped and  murdered in a frenzied spree. Fearing the worst, Regan, along with Special Agent  Mitch Peyton and the FBI, sweeps in to confront the unspeakable: the horrifying possibility  that they have helped to free a cunning monster with an insatiable appetite for death–and  a ruthless determination never to be caged again.Praise for Mariah Stewart\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCold Truth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Tantalizing . . . intriguing and enjoyable.”\u003cbr\u003e–Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHard Truth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Stewart’s characters are rich and the intrigue compelling.”\u003cbr\u003e–Romantic Times\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\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.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      Regan Landry sat cross-legged on the floor of her father’s study and  thumbed through the contents of a file, one of several she’d brought up  from the basement in an unmarked cardboard box earlier that morning. Her  father, Josh Landry, internationally renowned bestselling author of true  crime books, had been the world’s worst record keeper. Almost two years  after his death, Regan was still sorting through the boxes of material  he’d left scattered throughout his home outside Princeton, New Jersey. So  far this past week, she’d uncovered newspaper articles in a box in the  attic that related to cases chronicled in the file cabinets in the  basement. Not for the first time, Regan rolled her eyes. The man had been  the most unorganized person on the face of the earth.  When her cell phone rang,   she had to move several piles of newspapers to find it. A glance at the  caller ID screen brought a smile to her face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So what are you doing on this fine morning in May?” Mitch Peyton asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What am I always doing when I’m at my dad’s?” She laughed good-naturedly.  “Sorting through files and trying to organize the mess.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’d think.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t know why you don’t just hire someone to do that for you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How would someone else know what to do with all this?” She glanced around  the room and frowned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’d tell them. You’d show them what you’ve done, point them in the  direction of the materials that still need to be sorted through, and tell  them to follow your lead. If a file exists, file the newly found material  in it. No existing file, you make a new one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      “I wasn’t aware that the FBI taught a class in Filing 101.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’d be surprised what they teach us down here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ve seen you at work, Mitch, up close and personal. There’s little that  you do that surprises me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I can see I’m going to have to work on my technique. Can’t have the woman  thinking she knows all my secrets.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Regan could have replied that Mitch had been an open book right from the  start, but she let it pass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As a special agent with the FBI, Mitch was a member of a distinguished  team within the Bureau that sought out the best of the best. But when it  came to Regan, there’d been no sign of the wily investigator with crack  computer skills that had brought him to the attention of the team leader.  Mitch was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and had since the first  time they’d worked a case together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Maybe you’re right.” She sighed. “Maybe I should just have someone come  in and make a list of the files we already have, then go through the other  boxes, check the list for duplicates . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “There you go.” He didn’t wait for her to run through the entire process  as he knew her mind was already starting to do. “You’ve spent enough time  on cleanup. You have a book due.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Already turned it in to Nina last week, which is one of the reasons I’m  here at Dad’s now. I’m trying to decide what I want to do next.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No ideas?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I have plenty of ideas, but none of them have struck my immediate fancy.”  She stood and went to the desk and flipped through one of the files she’d  left out last night, thinking it might be a contender for the topic of her  next book. “There are lots of possibilities, but nothing seems to be  jumping out at me and demanding my attention.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I always wondered about the process you writers go through,” he said.  “How you decide on one idea over another.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “The story that needs to be told decides for me. It’s simply a matter of  finding it. I’m just lucky that Dad did so much of the groundwork on  several potential projects. There’s no end to the number of books he’d  wanted to write. Which, of course, explains why there’s no end to the  number of boxes and folders he left everywhere from the attic to the  basement to one of the outbuildings.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “But until some idea grabs you by the throat . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “. . . I’ll be sorting through files, hoping something does, sooner rather  than later.” She sighed. “I get antsy when I’m not working.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ve noticed. While you’re waiting for lightning to strike, move the  search for an assistant to the top of your list of things to do. You know  how things go with you: something lands on your radar, and you forget  about everything else.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You know me too well, Agent Peyton. Once I get started, finding an  assistant will be the last thing on my mind. I shall put an ad in this  week’s Princeton Packet and one of the Trenton papers—maybe I should try  New Brunswick, too—and see what kind of response I get. It would make more  sense to have someone else doing this”—she stared around the room at the  piles of files and boxes—“so that I can focus on my next project.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      “Speaking of projects, anything new on your search for the elusive Eddie  Kroll?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Not really.” Regan sat in her father’s oversized leather chair and  swiveled around to stare out the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Dolly Brown still not returning your calls?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No. She called me back, left me a message saying, effectively, she’s told  me everything she knows and to stop calling her. I can’t for the life of  me figure out what she’s hiding, but she’s lying about something.” Regan  paused. “I think if I work on her sister-in-law, Stella, I might be able  to finally get some answers. But since her husband, Carl, died back in  March, I’ve given Stella a pretty wide berth.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Carl was Dolly and Eddie Kroll’s brother?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Right. Stella always seemed to have something she wanted to say, but she  was a bit wary of speaking up in front of Dolly, and Dolly was always  around.” Regan watched several ducks land feetfirst in the pond behind the  old farmhouse. “Maybe I should make a quick trip to Illinois, stop in and  see if Dolly feels like chatting. While I’m there, I can stop at Stella’s  as well.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Good idea. But put that ad for an assistant in the paper before you  leave. Think you can be back in time for the weekend? I’m planning on a  few days off, and I was hoping we could meet up at your place in Maryland.  I miss you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I miss you, too. I was thinking about going to look at boats on Saturday.  You can come with me and put in your two cents.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ll brush up on my boat-speak. Fore and aft. Avast and ahoy. Bow and  stern.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’re going to have to do better than that, if you’re going to crew for  me.” She laughed. “I guess I’ll see you . . . when?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Let’s shoot for Friday night. I’m leaving this afternoon for Michigan,  but I don’t expect this case will go more than a day or so. I’ll let you  know if there’s a change.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Okay. I love you, Mitch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Love you, too, babe.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Regan closed her phone and slipped it into her pocket, hoping that Friday  night would find Mitch on his way to her home in Maryland rather than the  scene of some other heinous crime. She admired his work, was proud of his  reputation as one of the FBI’s top agents, understood the urgency of his  job. But there were times when she needed him, too. Like now. She wished  she could have his company for even an hour, right now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Unfortunately, wishing alone couldn’t make it happen, she reminded herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She forced her thoughts back to Sayreville, Illinois, and the mystery  she’d found there a year ago, a mystery that remained unsolved.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She turned the chair around to gaze on the boxes she’d brought up from the  basement. It had been in a box very much like any one of those that she’d  first found report cards, dated from the 1940s, from Saint John the  Baptist Elementary School in Sayreville, Illinois, for a child named  Edward Kroll. From the comments written in the small, precise hand of  Sister Mary Matthew, Regan had learned that Eddie Kroll had been an asset  to the class, had shown an aptitude for mathematics, was inquisitive and  an excellent reader. But there’d been no explanation of how or why her  father had come into possession of these pieces from another boy’s  childhood, or why he had kept them hidden away. She’d searched through  hundreds of files since her father’s death, but the name hadn’t turned up  anywhere else. She’d even asked Mitch to run a check through the FBI  computers to see if Edward Kroll had a criminal record, but he hadn’t  gotten any hits. The puzzle had led Regan to place ads in all of the  newspapers local to Sayreville, Illinois. It had been one of those ads  that had come to the attention of Dolly Brown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dolly Brown told Regan she’d been a neighbor of the Krolls, and how, at  age thirteen, Eddie Kroll and two of his friends had lured another  classmate to a vacant lot, where they’d beaten the boy to death. Eddie, as  the youngest of the three, and the least culpable, had been sentenced to  juvenile detention until he turned twenty-one, at which time he was  released. No one knew what happened to him after that, Dolly Brown had  said. Eddie Kroll had simply disappeared, and they’d heard a few years  later that he’d died.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dolly Brown had lied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dolly neglected to tell Regan that her maiden name was Kroll, and that she  was the sister of the sought-after Eddie. It had taken Regan a while to  figure that out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She still wasn’t sure why Dolly had lied about all that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And there’d been that business about the other Kroll sister, Catherine.  Dolly had shown Regan photos of Eddie as a child, but had insisted there  were no pictures of their younger sister, Catherine, beyond early  childhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Another lie of Dolly’s.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Regan still had no explanation of why Dolly’s sister-in-law, Stella, had  quietly slipped a packet of old family photographs into Regan’s purse  during her last visit to Sayreville. There, amid photos of Eddie that had  been taken prior his incarceration, were pictures of a pretty young woman  identified on the flip sides as Catherine Kroll. The pictures were dated  1963. Regan had already determined that Catherine had been born in 1938,  so she’d have been twenty-five years old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Why had Dolly lied?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Regan had returned to Sayreville to discuss this very thing with Dolly,  only to find she’d gone to Florida for the winter and had   instructed everyone she knew not to divulge her whereabouts to   anyone—especially to Regan Landry. When Regan had stopped at Stella’s  home, she found Stella’s husband seriously ill, and she’d declined to  press the matter. After a phone call to Stella in April, she learned that  Carl had passed away several weeks earlier, and once again Regan chose not  to question the woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I guess the real question is why can’t I let it go,” Regan muttered under  her breath as she reached for the file. It sat off by itself next to the  phone on the corner of the desk, as if waiting for Dolly to call back with  answers to all the questions the file seemed to ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Why can’t I let it go?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Regan rested her chin in her hand. What difference would it make if she  ever found out what happened to Eddie Kroll—where he’d gone, how he’d  died, where he’d been laid to rest—or why Dolly had been so protective of  him, even now, all these years later?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Questions without answers. Regan didn’t know why it mattered. She only  knew that it did, and that she was driven by something she didn’t  understand to take it as far as she could.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    To that end, she went online and booked herself on a morning flight to  Chicago. She could drop in on Stella, pay a sympathy call on Carl’s widow.  Of course, while she was in Sayreville, she’d drop in at Dolly’s as well,  see what that crafty old bird was up to, see if she could figure out  whatever it was Dolly didn’t want her to know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her travel arrangements made, Regan turned her attention to her search for  an assistant. She hunted up the phone number for the local newspapers’  classified departments, and dialed the first number on the list.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mitch was right. It was time. Time to get her father’s files organized.  Time to get on with her next book.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And once she’d hired that assistant, maybe she’d have time to figure out  just what Dolly Brown was up to.New York Times bestselling author of Dark Truth; Sometimes the truth hurts. Sometimes it kills.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":44885333541093,"sku":"NP9780345483843","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345483843.jpg?v=1767726873","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/final-truth-isbn-9780345483843","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}