{"product_id":"no-return-isbn-9780440245629","title":"No Return","description":"An F-18 Navy fighter careens out of the blue sky above the Mojave desert. A TV cameraman who grew up in a small town just miles away can see what is going to happen next. Frantically, Wes Stewart races to the downed jet and tries to save the pilot’s life. When the plane explodes, Wes escapes without harm—and plunges into a murderous conspiracy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s been fifteen years since Wes has been back to the desolate land of his childhood. Now he finds himself up against the U.S. military, the local police, and someone who is tracking his every move. In the moments he spent with the dying pilot, Wes discovered something that could get him killed. But while he tries to untangle a web of lies and secrets surrounding the crash, another danger is stalking him. And this one he will never see coming.\u003cp\u003e“Battles keeps layering on the suspense until you can hardly breathe.”—Linwood Barclay\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eNo Return\u003c\/i\u003e tells a story as clean and spare as the desert itself, stripped to the essentials: story, character, setting, emotion—and presented with an urgency that sets a new standard for pace. Brett Battles deserves thriller stardom.”—Tim Hallinan, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Queen of Patpong\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The best word I can use to describe his writing is addictive.”—James Rollins, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Devil’s Colony\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Sure-footed and clever, \u003ci\u003eNo Return\u003c\/i\u003e is a great read.”—Meg Gardiner, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Nightmare Thief\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003eBrett Battles\u003c\/b\u003e lives in Los Angeles and is the author of four novels in the acclaimed Jonathan Quinn series: \u003ci\u003eThe Cleaner, \u003c\/i\u003ewhich was nominated for a Barry Award for Best Thriller and a Shamus Award for Best First Novel; \u003ci\u003eThe Deceived, \u003c\/i\u003ewhich won the 2009 Barry Award for Best Thriller; \u003ci\u003eShadow of Betrayal; \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Silenced.\u003c\/i\u003eCHAPTER\u003cbr\u003e1\u003cbr\u003eA distant boom echoed faintly across the hills.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes Stewart peered at the sky. He recognized the sound, but it was one he hadn’t heard in years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What the hell was that?” Danny DeLeon asked. \u003cbr\u003eHe was holding the second camera.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sonic boom.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanny still looked confused, so Wes added, “You know, when a jet breaks the sound barrier.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Really?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes squinted toward the western horizon, then raised his arm and pointed. “There. See him?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanny shaded his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Flying south, just a little bit above the mountains.” Wes’s finger tracked the movement of the jet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, I don’t. . . . Wait. It’s like a white dot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes nodded. “Yep.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That thing’s moving fast.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s a fighter jet, Danny. That’s what they do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Damn.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhile it was novel to Danny, for Wes it was a reminder of a time when he would have barely noticed a sky full of jets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You guys set?” Dione Li, their producer\/director, asked from behind them. She was leading a group of three others over to the base of the rock formation. The look on her face was pure Dione: ten percent annoyed, fifteen percent pissed, and one hundred percent determined. “We got a lot to do today, and I don’t want to mess around.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Same speech, different city,” Danny said through the side of his mouth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m sweating,” Monroe Banks announced, more an accusation than a statement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“On it,” Anna Mendes called out. She whipped out a couple of Kleenex from the makeup utility belt around her waist and dabbed at a line of perspiration that had formed on Monroe’s forehead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Is it going to be this hot every day?” Monroe whined as she fanned herself with her hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes rolled his eyes. The last he’d checked, the temperature had been hovering around ninety-­two degrees, not so bad for mid-­day in the high Mojave Desert. Of course, that was because it was October—­not August, or July, or September, or June, or even May, when it seldom dipped below one hundred while the sun was out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonning her faux, producer-­mode smile, Dione stepped over to the spot she’d picked out earlier, then turned back to the others. “So, Monroe, we’ll have you stand right here for the intro shot. Behind you we’ll see the empty desert, then, as you finish, look to your right and follow the rock up. Wes will mimic your movement with the camera. Danny, I want you to get a wide shot from down the slope. Try to get as many of the formations—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Pinnacles,” Wes corrected her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As many pinnacles,” Dione said, smirking, “as you can into the frame.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDanny gave her a nod. “Will do.” He shuffle-­stepped down the small slope into position.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir location was the Trona Pinnacles, a group of tufa deposits that stretched in an east–­west line across the dry bed of Searles Lake. It was a few hours north of Los Angeles, and twenty miles from Wes’s hometown of Ridgecrest, California. The Pinnacles had been formed by an ancient sea, and the best way Wes had ever heard them described was as a bunch of giant, caveless stalagmites.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlison Pringle, the tallest member of the crew, slipped behind Wes. “Where do you want me so I’m not in your way?” she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes pointed at a spot a few feet behind his position. “There should be good.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe touched his arm just below his shoulder. “Thanks.” She smiled, then moved off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhile Monroe moved into position, Dione glanced at Alison. “Are we good with sound?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Monroe, can you give me a level?” Alison wore a pair of headphones that allowed her to monitor both Monroe’s voice and any ambient noises the host’s mic might pick up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One. Two. Three.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We’re fine,” Alison said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Four,” Monroe finished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDione turned her attention to Wes. “Set?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe leaned toward him, and in a low voice asked, “You all right?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah, I’m fine.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re awfully quiet.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes frowned. “No I’m not.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Whatever you want to think, but, yeah, you are.” She did a quick check of the rest of the crew, then said, “All right, Monroe. Whenever you’re ready.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMonroe closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, an entirely different person emerged. The less-­than-­pleasant Monroe the crew had been subjected to since they’d arrived in Ridgecrest the night before had been replaced by the bright, friendly version the 1.3 million viewers of Close to Home were used to seeing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“All right,” Dione said. “Here we go. And . . . Monroe.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMonroe gave it a beat, then, “A vast nothingness. Brown for as far as the eye can see. A wasteland. A place no one would willingly visit, right?” Another beat. “If you believed that, then you’d be missing out on some of the most interesting and beautiful parts of the Mojave Desert north of Los Angeles. Hi, I’m Monroe Banks, and welcome to another episode of Close to—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hold on,” Alison called out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDione groaned. “Seriously? She almost had it in one take.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlison had a hand pressing one side of her headphones tight against her skull. “I’m picking up a hum.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Electrical?” Wes asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlison shook her head. “Don’t think so.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t hear anything,” Dione said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s getting loud—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I think I hear something,” Wes said. It wasn’t so much a hum as a rumbling whine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I hear it, too,” Monroe said, cocking her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA second later it was loud enough for everyone to hear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDione frowned. “What the hell is—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, God!” Danny cried out from the bottom of the slope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was staring off to the east.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhatever he’d seen was hidden from the others by the massive pinnacle at their side. Wes half ran, half slid down the slope toward his fellow cameraman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Where are you going?” Dione shouted after him. “I want to get this shot off.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hadn’t seen the look on Danny’s face. Wes had. Danny was terrified.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs Wes skidded to a stop he turned his head to follow Danny’s gaze, but it took a moment for his mind to actually figure out what he was seeing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA military jet. A fighter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly instead of being a white dot in the distance, this one was a mass of gray ripping through the sky no more than five hundred feet above the ground. And its trajectory was taking it lower, not higher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes’s first thought was that it was going to crash. His second was, It’s going to crash into us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What?” Danny said, alarmed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Up the slope. Behind the rock,” he yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot having to be told twice, Danny took off running for the questionable safety of the pinnacle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes scrambled to follow, but slipped on the loose dirt and fell to his knees. The ground began to shake as the roar of the aircraft intensified. He looked back quickly and saw there was no way he was going to make it to shelter in time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was going to die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe started to turn away, but a flash of light from the back of the jet stopped him. For half a second it seemed as if nothing had changed, then the nose of the aircraft inched upward a few feet, and the jet veered to the left, away from the pinnacle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe saw me, Wes thought. He saw me and did something to miss me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut whatever the pilot had done was only enough to change his path, not his fate. Wes watched as the plane began dropping lower and lower—­its new target the emptiness south of the crew’s position.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes pushed himself up and began sprinting toward the crew’s vehicles. He’d only made it a dozen feet when—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhomp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe skidded to a stop, mesmerized as the plane plowed into the desert floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had expected the jet to flip and roll, breaking into a million pieces seconds after it smashed into the ground. Instead, the multimillion-­dollar aircraft barreled through the earth, throwing up dirt and plants and rocks, but remaining intact. Then, just before it stopped, it twisted sideways, enveloping itself in a cloud of dust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWes jerked out of his trance and raced the rest of the way to the green Ford Escape he’d been in charge of driving out to the location that morning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he started to drive off, he glanced back and saw some of the shoot crew running toward the other vehicle, a Toyota Highlander. Dione was in the lead and waving frantically for Wes to stop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut stopping wasn’t an option. He jammed the accelerator to the floor and sped into the open desert.Barry Award-winning author of The Deceived","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301499064549,"sku":"NP9780440245629","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440245629.jpg?v=1767733823","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/no-return-isbn-9780440245629","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}