{"product_id":"promise-not-to-tell-isbn-9780399585289","title":"Promise Not to Tell","description":"\u003cb\u003eA broken promise reveals a terrifying legacy in this electrifying \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller from the author of \u003ci\u003eUntouchable\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeattle gallery owner Virginia Troy has spent years battling the demons that stem from her childhood time in a cult and the night a fire burned through the compound killing her mother. And now one of her artists has taken her own life, but not before sending Virginia a last picture...a painting that makes Virginia doubt everything about the so-called suicide—and her own past...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike Virginia, PI Cabot Sutter was one of the children in the cult who survived that fire—and only he can help her now. As they struggle to unravel the clues in the picture, it becomes clear that someone thinks Virginia knows more than she does and that she must be stopped. Thrown into an inferno of desire and deception, Virginia and Cabot draw ever closer to the mystery of their shared memories—and the shocking fate of the one man who still wields the power to destroy everything they hold dear.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003ePromise Not to Tell\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Another complex, compelling romantic suspense novel from a queen of the genre.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The master of romantic suspense has set her latest novel in moody, rainy Seattle, a setting that perfectly suits her central mystery. Krentz dives into sociopathic psychology and complex characterization to great effect in this twisty story, whose plot clips along at a terrific pace.”—BookPage\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An excellent novel of romantic suspense.\"—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eWhen All the Girls Have Gone\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Jayne Ann Krentz is a woman who knows her way around a thrilling plot...[She] knows how to ignite the sparks in a relationship and she also knows how to create suspenseful situations...Krentz has done it again.”—The Huffington Post\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A tasty whodunit...A lot of action.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eWhen All the Girls Have Gone\u003c\/i\u003e by Jayne Ann Krentz leaves readers spellbound...Just when the reader thinks they have found the answers, the carpet is pulled from under them with a new set of questions.”—Working Mother\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A number of intriguing storylines are cleverly intertwined to make Jayne Ann Krentz’s \u003ci\u003eWhen All the Girls Have Gone \u003c\/i\u003ea compelling, suspenseful and satisfying read.”—BookPage\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With its fast-paced plot spiked with unexpected twists and plenty of danger, snappy writing infused with tart wit, and a captivating pair of protagonists who could give Bogart and Bacall a run for their money when it comes to creating sexual sparks, Krentz’s latest superbly written tale ticks off every box on a romantic-suspense fan’s wish list.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Krentz returns with an intricately plotted romantic suspense novel that satisfies on every level...A terrific read by a stellar author.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cb\u003eJayne Ann Krentz \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of more than fifty \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers. She has written contemporary romantic suspense novels under that name, as well as futuristic and historical romance novels under the pseudonyms Jayne Castle and Amanda Quick, respectively. There are more than 35 million copies of her books in print.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hannah Brewster splashed the accelerant around the inside of the      small cabin, working feverishly because time was running out. She      was certain now that the demon would come for her that night. He      had been stalking her for weeks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She had spent many agonizing hours trying to decide what to do. In      the end she had finally understood that she had no alternative but      to destroy her creation. It was her only hope of keeping the      promise she had made all those years ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She set the empty container down on the floor next to the door and      picked up the box of matches. She was surprised to see that her      hands were once again steady, just as if she held a brush and      stood in front of an untouched canvas. Tonight she would paint a      picture with fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Afterward they would say she was crazy, that she had finally gone      over the precarious edge that separated sanity and madness. But      the truth was that her mind had not been this clear in a very long      time. She knew exactly what she had to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A few weeks ago, when the monster had come to the island the first      time, she had tried to convince herself that she was      hallucinating. Again. These days the past came and went in visions      that were so real she often got confused. It had been twenty-two      years, after all, and everyone claimed that Quinton Zane was dead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But two weeks ago she had spotted him again. She had tried to      convince herself that she could not trust her eyes. But that night      she had sensed that she was being watched. She had known then that      she could no longer deceive herself into thinking that she was      hallucinating. The truth was always shatteringly clear at night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At midnight she had picked up a brush, her hand firm and steady,      and begun to paint her final picture. She had continued painting      every night until her creation was finished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And then she had waited for the demon to return.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For the past several days she had made the long walk into the      small village every afternoon to watch the ferry dock. She      stationed herself inside the shop that sold herbal teas and      studied the handful of visitors who arrived. It was February and      still quite chilly in the Pacific Northwest. At this time of year      there was never more than a handful of tourists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She had spotted the demon immediately, even though he had tried to      disguise himself with dark glasses, a stocking cap and a black      parka. He could not fool her. She might be plagued with visions,      but even her hallucinations were clear and detailed. She was an      artist, after all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Quinton Zane was after the secret she had kept for so long. He was      relentless. Now that he had found her, he would not stop until he      forced her to give up the truth. After he had gotten what he      wanted from her, he would kill her. She wasn't afraid of dying.      She had, in fact, been contemplating the prospect of making the      final transition ever since Abigail had died. That had been just      before Christmas. But she had made a promise twenty-two years ago      and she had done her best to keep the vow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The real problem was that she feared she was not strong enough to      resist Quinton Zane. The bastard could make you believe anything      he wanted you to believe. She had fallen under his spell once and      paid a terrible price. She could not risk getting sucked back into      his web. She had a duty to protect the children. She was the only      one left who could warn them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The odor of the accelerant fumes was almost overpowering. It was      time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She struck one of the matches. When the flame was steady she      stepped outside and tossed the match through the doorway of the      cabin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For a few seconds nothing happened. Unnerved at the thought of      failure, she plunged her fingers into the box for a second match.      At that instant the fire exploded, roaring to life. The wild      flames illuminated the interior of the cabin and her final      painting in a hellish light.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She watched the inferno through the doorway, studying the image      with a critical eye. She had been forced to paint the picture on      the wall because she had not had a large enough canvas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The fire devoured the cabin and the painting. The heat was      intense. Instinctively she moved back several more steps,      welcoming the chill of the night air off the cold waters of Puget      Sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She stood, transfixed by her act of destruction. Scenes from the      past and the present fused in her mind. She thought she heard      children screaming but she was certain that was a memory, not her      present reality. There were no children nearby. She had chosen the      cabin because of its remote location. She had been aware that her      nighttime habits would disturb neighbors, even here on the island,      where eccentricities were not only tolerated but also expected.      Abigail had been the only one who understood and accepted her      weird ways.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So, no, there were no children screaming. But her heart was      pounding and her breath was tight in her chest, just as it had      been that dreadful night all those years ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She watched the fire and waited. She was certain that he would      soon appear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Quinton Zane emerged from the dense shadows of the thick woods      that surrounded the cabin. It was as if he had walked straight out      of one of her paintings, straight out of the past, straight out of      her nightmares.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She could not let him touch her. He was too strong, too powerful.      If he got his hands on her, he would force the truth from her. She      might be crazy, like everyone said, but she knew how to keep a      secret.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Stay away from me,\" she warned. She was amazed at the calm      fortitude in her voice. \"Don't touch me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But Zane broke into a run, moving toward her. His tall figure and      broad shoulders were silhouetted against the storm of flames just      as they had been that long-ago night when she had watched him      stride through the burning compound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was strong. He could easily outrun her. She would not stand a      chance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was calling to her now, telling her to come to him, promising      safety, security and an end to the visions, just as he had      promised all those years ago. But she knew he lied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She made her decision.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You were a fool to come back,\" she shouted. \"The key belongs to      the children. Did you really think that they would forget what you      did to their families? You're a dead man. You just don't know it      yet.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She turned and fled into the night. Footsteps pounded behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The edge of the cliffs was lit with moonlight and fire. She had      walked to that edge many, many times in the years she had been      living on the island. So many nights she had stopped there, looked      down at the dark, deep water far below and thought about how easy      it would be to take one more step.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the past she had always turned back. But not tonight. A sense      of deep certainty came over her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She realized somewhat vaguely that she was still holding the box      of matches. She would not need them anymore. She tossed them aside      and kept going until there was nothing but air beneath her feet,      until she was flying away from the demon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The last thing she heard was Quinton Zane's scream of frustrated      rage. She knew then that she had defeated him, at least for the      moment. It was up to others to stop him. She had kept her promise      and she had sent the warning. She could do no more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She knew a split second of peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The dark sea took her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You saved my life, Mr. Salinas,\" Virginia Troy said. \"I'm      embarrassed to admit that it took me this long to track you down      so that I could thank you. Embarrassed to tell you that I came      looking for you now only because I need your help.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No need to apologize,\" Anson said. \"I was just doing my job that      night. You were a little kid caught up in the craziness. There was      no reason you should have come looking for me as an adult.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The last time he had seen Virginia Troy she was a child of nine,      one of the eight children trapped in the blazing barn. He'd used      his vehicle to crash through the locked doors, tossed all eight      kids into the SUV and reversed out of the inferno, a hound out of      hell. Shortly after he had gotten them all to safety, the barn had      collapsed in on itself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He'd saved the kids but he and the local firefighters had not been      able to save all of the adults. Virginia Troy's mother had      perished, along with several other people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Quinton Zane had kept the women away from their children at night.      They had been locked in separate quarters. Zane had torched the      entire compound before he vanished. It was a miracle and a tribute      to the first responders that several of the cult members had made      it out alive. The following morning, when they had surveyed the      ruins, it was clear that Zane had not intended for any of his      followers to survive. Each one was, after all, a potential      witness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I have never forgotten what you did that night,\" Virginia said.      \"Afterward my grandparents tried very hard to erase that part of      my past. The stress of losing my mother and finding themselves      stuck with the task of raising me eventually broke up their      marriage. My grandmother still won't talk about it. But for the      rest of my life I will remember that you saved all of us who were      locked up in that barn.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can't blame your grandparents,\" Anson said. He was aware of a      great heaviness settling on him. \"There was a lot of pain going      around. You lost your mother that night. They lost a daughter.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Something about the bleak tone of Virginia's voice told him that      she wasn't only mourning the loss of her mother all those years      ago. He had a feeling that she carried another kind of burden as      well. He recognized survivor's guilt when he saw it because it was      close kin to the kind of guilt he felt when he looked back on that      night. He had not been able to save everyone in Quinton Zane's      compound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For a while he and Virginia sat quietly, facing each other across      the desk. He did not try to restart the conversation. Once upon a      time he had been a cop. He understood the value of silence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A mid-February rain beat steadily, lightly, against the windows.      He had lived in Seattle for several months now, but this was his      first full winter in the city. He was starting to think of it as      the Season of the Deep Gray. The skies were overcast most of the      time, and when the sun did make short, fitful appearances, it was      low on the horizon. The weak, slanting light was often blocked by      the gleaming new office towers. The boom in high-rise construction      in recent years had created dark canyons in much of downtown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It should have been depressing, he reflected. Instead, there was a      sense of energy about the city. He had been surprised to discover      that something in him responded to the vibe. He wasn't the only      one. The region was home to innumerable start-ups. The new gig      economy was going full blast. Businesses of all kinds were      enthusiastic about setting up shop in the city. New restaurants      and coffeehouses opened every week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Seattle was infused with a frontier spirit. That was as true now      as it had been in the gold rush and big timber eras. But these      days there was a hell of a lot more money around. That, he told      himself, ought to be good for the investigation business-the      business in which he and two of his foster sons, Cabot and Max,      were engaged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His job was to ensure that Cutler, Sutter \u0026amp; Salinas prospered.      When the door had opened a short time ago, he'd hoped that the      representative of a corporation or maybe a lawyer needing discreet      services for a wealthy client would walk into the office.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Instead, Virginia Troy had entered the small reception lobby,      bringing with her the long shadows of the past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He hadn't recognized her, of course. She had been one of the      youngest kids he brought out of the burning barn all those years      ago-a wide-eyed little girl so traumatized by the events that she      had not even been able to tell him her name for several hours.      Cabot, who had been orphaned that night, had supplied him with      Virginia's name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Virginia was thirty-one now. No wedding ring, Anson noted. That      did not surprise him. There was a cool reserve about her. She      wasn't exactly a loner, he concluded, rather someone who was      accustomed to being alone. He knew the difference.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was the kind of woman who caught a man's eye, but not because      she was a stunner. Attractive, yes, but not in a standard-issue      way. She wasn't one of those too-beautiful-to-be-real women like      you saw on TV. Instead there was something compelling about her,      an edge that was hard to define. Probably had something to do with      the bold, black-framed glasses and the high-heeled boots, he      decided.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Most men wouldn't know how to handle a woman like Virginia Troy.      Sure, some would be damned interested at first, maybe even see her      as a challenge. But he figured that, in the end, the average guy      would run for the hills.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A short time ago, when she had walked into the room, she had taken      a moment to size up everything in sight, including him. He had      been relieved when he and the expensive new furniture appeared to      have passed inspection.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Although his name was on the door, technically speaking he was the      office manager, receptionist, researcher and general gofer. Max      and Cabot were the licensed investigators in the firm. Both had      complained mightily about the stiff rent on the newly leased      office space, as well as the money spent on furnishing the place,      but Anson had refused to lower his newfound standards of interior      design.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before embarking on his career in office management, he had never      paid any attention to the art of interior design. But after hiring      a decorator and immersing himself in the finer points of the      field, he had become convinced that the premises of the firm had      to send the right message to potential clients. That meant leasing      space in an upscale building and investing in quality furniture.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305174257893,"sku":"NP9780399585289","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399585289.jpg?v=1767735169","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/promise-not-to-tell-isbn-9780399585289","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}