{"product_id":"into-the-black-nowhere-isbn-9781101985571","title":"Into the Black Nowhere","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom award-winning author Meg Gardiner, co-author of Michael Mann’s \u003ci\u003eHeat 2\u003c\/i\u003e--In this exhilarating thriller inspired by real-life serial killer Ted Bundy, FBI profiler Caitlin Hendrix faces off against a charming, merciless serial killer.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn southern Texas, on Saturday nights, women are disappearing. One vanishes from a movie theater. Another, from her car at a stoplight. A mother is ripped from her home while checking on her baby. Rookie FBI agent Caitlin Hendrix, newly assigned to the FBI's elite Behavioral Analysis Unit, fears that a serial killer is roaming the dark roads outside Austin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaitlin's unit discovers the first victim's body in the woods, laid out in a bloodstained white baby-doll nightgown. A second victim in a white nightie lies deeper in the forest's darkness. Around the bodies, Polaroid photos are stuck in the earth like headstones, picturing other women with their wrists slashed. The women in the woods are not the killer's first victims, nor are they likely to be his last. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo track the UNSUB, Caitlin must get inside his mind; he is a confident, meticulous killer, capable of charming his victims until their guard is down, snatching them in plain sight. He then plays out a twisted fantasy—turning them into dolls for him to possess, control, and ultimately destroy. Caitlin's profile leads the FBI to focus on one man: a charismatic, successful professional who easily gains people's trust. But can they apprehend him before it's too late? As Saturday night approaches, Caitlin and the FBI enter a desperate game of cat and mouse, racing to capture the cunning predator before he claims his next victim.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eInto the Black Nowhere\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Excellent. You know the drill, bookstore near you. Buy now, thank me later.”—\u003cb\u003eStephen King\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chilling new cases to dive into on a long winter’s night.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBookpage\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With a plot that moves at a breathless pace and a heroine with a history of her own issues, Gardiner’s gripping nail-biter will please fans of Alex Kava, Tami Hoag and even Thomas Harris’ Hannibal Lechter novels. Be ready for requests.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eOne of “The Most Anticipated Crime, Mystery, and Thriller Titles of 2018...a fast paced thriller that also functions as a travel guide, with mouth-watering descriptions of taco stands providing relief from stomach-churning crime scenes.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLitHub\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gardiner once again does serial killing to a turn.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Excellent...Gardiner expertly integrates the FBI science of profiling with a suspenseful plot and believable characters. It’s no wonder a TV drama based on this series is in the works at CBS.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Riveting...[Caitlin Hendrix] is a strong female character who is never the victim, and that is rare in this genre.”—\u003cb\u003eAssociated Press\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Gardiner skillfully builds tension as the pace accelerates toward the most dramatic, exhausting, and satisfying ending I’ve read in quite some time. Woman power, y’all.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eLone Star Literary Life\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Gardiner, who has 13 well-received titles to her name, including Edgar Award winner China Lake, has turned in another winner with Into the Black Nowhere. Crime-thriller fans appreciate her compelling, well-developed characters—both good and bad- her sense of plot, her master of heart-stopping twists, and her pace, which is TV-ready, as her recent accomplishment shows, combine to create a rollercoaster of a reading ride.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Florida Times-Union\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Robust character study mixed with an engrossing police procedural...Gardiner knows how to push the terrifying envelope.”—\u003cb\u003eOline Cogdill, \u003ci\u003eThe South Florida Sun-Sentinel \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eMEG GARDINER\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of thirteen critically acclaimed novels, including \u003ci\u003eUNSUB \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eChina Lake\u003c\/i\u003e, which won the Edgar Award. Originally from Santa Barbara, California, she lives in Austin, Texas.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof*** \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCopyright © 2018 Meg Gardiner\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cry\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003epierced the walls, ringing through the darkness. Shana Kerber roused and squinted at the clock. Twelve forty five A.M.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer voice came as a sigh. \"Already:\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShana huddled for a minute under the comforter, clinging wish fully to warmth and sleep. \u003ci\u003eHush yourself, Jaydee. Please. \u003c\/i\u003eBut the baby's crying intensified. It was her strong, wide awake, \u003ci\u003eI'm hungry \u003c\/i\u003ecry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe night was bitter. Early February, the north wind scouring Texas. It whistled through the cracks in the farmhouse, rattling the doors in their frames. Shana rolled over. The other side of the bed was cool. Brandon wasn't home yet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a few more seconds Shana lay still, aching with fatigue, hoping Jaydee would quiet. But she was crying to beat the band. Ten months old and still up twice a night. Shana's mom swore things would get easier. She'd been swearing so for months. \u003ci\u003eWhen, Mom? Please, when?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Coming, baby,\" Shana murmured.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe tossed back the covers, brushed her sleep tangled hair from her face, and slogged out of the bedroom. The hardwood floor creaked beneath her bare feet. Jaydee's cries grew clearer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSix feet down the hall, she slowed. The crying wasn't coming from the nursery.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe house was completely dark. Jaydee was too little to climb out of her crib.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShana turned on the hall light. The nursery door was open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA sliver of ice seemed to slide through her chest. At the far end of the hall she could see into the living room. On the sofa, half lit by\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ethe hall light, a stranger sat holding her little girl on his lap.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe icy sliver sank through Shana. \"What are you doing here?'\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Don't worry. I'm a friend of your husband.\" The man's face was in shadow. His voice was soothing-almost warm. \"She was crying. Didn't want to wake you.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe seemed completely relaxed. Shana walked slowly to the living room. She glanced out the front window. The moon was full. An SUV was parked outside. A placard hung from the rearview mirror.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Is that…\" She looked him up and down. \"Army? Are you ...\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe baby twisted in the man's arms. He bounced her. \"She's quite the little doll.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe tickled Jaydee and made baby talk. Shana tried harder to see his face. His eyes remained in shadow. Something stopped her from turning on the table lamp.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIs he a friend of Brandon's?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShana extended her hands. \"I’ll take her.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe wind battered the windows. The man's smile persisted. Though she couldn't see his eyes, Shana had a gut certainty that he was watching her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe edged forward. She was eight feet from him. Out of his reach. \"Give Jaydee to me.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e He didn't.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer hands were open. \"Please.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJaydee twisted in the man's arms. Her chubby legs pumped like pistons. Shana's heart thundered. She saw the power in the man's hands and knew she couldn't simply charge at him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe shotgun was under her bed. Five seconds was what it would take to run to the bedroom, grab it, and rush back down the hall. It was a twelve gauge. It was loaded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd it was useless, because this man was holding her child to his chest. Her breathing caught, like a cloth snagging on a nail.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe inched forward. \"Give her here.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a few seconds, he continued bouncing Jaydee. Crying, the little girl reached starfish fingers toward Shana.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"She wants her mama,\" the man said. \"Aww, come here.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShana held still, her own arms outstretched. \"Give me my baby.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe smile stiffened. The man set Jaydee gently beside him on the sofa.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBefore Shana could inhale, he lowered his shoulders, gathering himself. He was in motion when the light finally hit his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe dashboard clock read one thirty A.M. when Brandon Kerber turned into the gravel driveway. The truck bounced over the ruts, stereo blasting Chris Stapleton. Brandon whistled along. His rare Saturday night out had been golden-a Spurs game in San Antonio with friends from his army days. He curved past the stand of cedars and the house came into view.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What ...\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe front door was open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrandon gunned the F-150 up to the house. The windows reflected the truck's headlights like wild eyes. He jumped out. In the wind, the door was banging back against the wall. An acid taste burned his throat. Banging that loud should have woken Shana up. Inside the darkened house, he heard a mournful sound.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCrying.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrandon rushed in. The living room was cold. The headlights threw his shadow ahead of him on the floor like a blade. The crying kept up. It was the baby.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJaydee lay huddled on the floor. He scooped her up. \"Shana?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hit a light switch. The living room lit up, neat, clean, and empty. Jaydee's eyes were red rimmed. She was exhausted from sobbing. He pulled her to his chest. Her cries diminished to pathetic hiccups.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"Shana.\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrandon ran to the bedroom with the baby and flipped on the light. He spun and strode down the hall, looking in the nursery. In the kitchen. The garage. The back porch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNothing. Shana was gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe stood in the living room, clutching Jaydee, telling himself, \u003ci\u003eShe's here. I just can't see her.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the truth closed in on him. Shana had vanished.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was the fifth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e2\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEarly morning shadows slashed the road. The sun blazed gold through the pines. Caitlin Hendrix accelerated and swung her Highlander into the grounds of the FBI Academy in Quantico.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBeneath her black winter coat, her credentials were clipped to the left side of her belt. Her Glock 19M was holstered on the right. The text on her phone read, \u003cb\u003eSolace, Texas.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCaitlin got out, and the freezing wind lifted her auburn hair off her shoulders. The Virginia winter constantly reminded her she was an outsider here. She liked it that way. It kept her on her toes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe buzzed through the door and headed for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eSuspected serial abductions, \u003c\/b\u003ethe text read.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe people Caitlin passed walked faster than the detectives she'd worked with back at the Alameda Sheriffs Office. They turned corners more crisply. She missed her Bay Area colleagues-missed their pride and camaraderie. But she loved seeing \u003ci\u003eFBI \u003c\/i\u003eon her creds, with the words \u003ci\u003eSpecial Agent \u003c\/i\u003ebeneath her name.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePhones rang. Beyond the windows, the blue glass walls of the FBI Laboratory complex reflected the rising sun.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCaitlin approached her desk in BAU 4, where she was currently one of eight agents and analysts assigned to Crimes Against Adults. She said good morning to her colleagues as they arrived. Everyone had received the same text.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Behavioral Analysis Unit was a department of the FBI's National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime-a branch of the Critical Incident Response Group. Its mission involved investigating unusual or repetitive violent crimes. \u003ci\u003eCritical incident response \u003c\/i\u003emeant that when a hot case came to the BAU, it acted, and fast, because time was limited and people were in danger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike today.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe barely had time to take off her coat before an office door opened at the far end of the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Don't get comfortable.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeople looked over. Special Agent in Charge C.J. Emmerich strode toward them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Five women have disappeared from Gideon County, Texas, in the last six months. The latest was two nights ago,\" he said. \"The victims have all vanished on a Saturday night. And the period between abductions is diminishing.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmmerich's gaze swept the room and landed on Caitlin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Escalation,\" she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis nod was brief. \"Commonalities between the abductions indicate that we're dealing with a single offender. Someone who's growing bolder, more confident.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmmerich was her official mentor as an agent-in training. A legendary profiler, he radiated such self discipline that it unsettled her. Solemn, intense, he attacked cases like a hawk attacks prey. When he swooped in for a kill, his talons were sharp.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"The Gideon County Sheriff’s Office has requested our assistance,\" he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis assistant stood and passed out file folders. Caitlin flipped through hers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eEscalation. \u003c\/i\u003eShe scanned the pages in the file, looking for exactly what that word meant in this case.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was no longer a raw rookie but was still finding her feet as a criminal profiler. She had a cop's experience and instincts; she was learning to interpret crime scene evidence, forensics, and victimology to build a picture of a perpetrator. Profiling was based on the insight that everything at a crime scene tells a story and reveals something about the criminal. The BAU studied offender behavior to uncover how they thought, predict how they would escalate-and apprehend them before they could put any others in danger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"The victims have been taken from public places and their own homes,\" Emmerich said. \"No witnesses, and so far, no probative forensic evidence. As the sheriff put it, they simply vanished.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eVanished. \u003c\/i\u003eCaitlin's eye was drawn to the composite sketch pinned above her desk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhite male, late twenties. The sketch caught his slit-eyed stare and casual menace. He had walked past her in a California biker bar. Later, in a dark tunnel, he'd crucified her hand with a nail gun.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Bureau's facial recognition software couldn't identify him. He was the Ghost: a killer, a betrayer, a hiss in the wiring. He had helped the serial killer known as the Prophet murder seven people, including her father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe'd promised they would meet again. She was waiting for his call.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut that couldn't rate her attention this morning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe turned a page in the file folder and saw a photo: a woman in her mid-twenties, only a few years younger than she was. Lively eyes, a self-assured smile, halo gold hair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShana Kerber. Caitlin lingered on the photo, wishing she could tell her, \u003ci\u003eHold on. People are searching for you.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"It's been twenty nine hours since the latest abduction,\" Emmerich said. \"The locals need us on scene while there's still a significant chance to find this victim alive. And if we can find her, maybe there's a chance to save the others.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pointed at Caitlin and another agent. Caitlin's pulse kicked up a beat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Grab your go bags. Flight leaves Dulles for Austin at ten thirty.\"\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299763081445,"sku":"NP9781101985571","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101985571.jpg?v=1767730124","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/into-the-black-nowhere-isbn-9781101985571","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}