{"product_id":"riptide-isbn-9780515130966","title":"Riptide","description":"\u003cb\u003eAgents Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock must protect the life of a young political speechwriter in this \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller in Catherine Coulter’s FBI Thriller series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA senior speechwriter for the governor of New York, Becca Matlock is at the top of her professional game when she receives a disturbing phone call that threatens everything: “Stop sleeping with the governor or I’ll kill him.” The thing is, she’s not sleeping with her boss, but that fact doesn’t stop the calls from the man who refers to himself as her “boyfriend.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen her stalker murders an innocent in New York City and the governor is shot in the neck, Becca comes under suspicion and takes off for the sanctuary of Riptide, an isolated community on the coast of Maine. But she soon finds herself at even greater risk...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFBI special agents Savich and Sherlock are in Riptide to help out an old friend of Savich’s father, and soon become embroiled in Becca’s deadly situation. But as enemies new and old circle closer, time is running out for them all.\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eRiptide:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This terrific thriller will drag you into its chilling web of terror and not let go until the last paragraph...The perfect beach book—fast-paced twists and turns driven by believable dialogue between a cast of well-developed characters. A ripping good read.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe San Francisco Examiner\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“All the elements of a real spellbinder: glamour, romance...murder, colorful characters, sinister settings and a hidden motive for revenge that goes back decades. The plot twists at every turn...Excellent.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe San Diego Union-Tribune\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Plunges ahead at a breathtaking pace...\u003ci\u003eRiptide\u003c\/i\u003e will be in high demand, and deservedly so.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“[Coulter] successfully layers one mystery atop another, giving away a teaspoon of information at a time.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Cincinnati Enquirer\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“If there was an award for ‘Thriller of the Year,’ \u003ci\u003eRiptide\u003c\/i\u003e would win, hands-down.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Florida Times-Union\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e (Jacksonville, FL)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for Catherine Coulter’s FBI Thrillers:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fast-paced.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A good storyteller...Coulter always keeps the pace brisk.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eFort Worth Star-Telegram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With possible blackmail, intra-judiciary rivalries and personal peccadilloes, there’s more than enough intrigue—and suspects—for full court standing in this snappy page-turner...A zesty read.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBook Page\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Twisted villains...intriguing escapism...The latest in the series featuring likable married FBI agents Lacey Sherlock and Dillon Savich.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLansing \u003c\/i\u003e(MI)\u003ci\u003e State Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Coulter takes readers on a chilling and suspenseful ride...taut, fast-paced, hard to put down.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eCedar Rapids Gazette\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The perfect suspense thriller, loaded with plenty of action.”—\u003cb\u003eThe Best Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The newest installment in Coulter’s FBI series delivers...a fast-moving investigation, a mind-bending mystery.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fast-paced, romantic...Coulter gets better and more cinematic with each of her suspenseful FBI adventures.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eCatherine Coulter\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the FBI Thrillers featuring husband and wife team Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock. She is also the author—with J. T. Ellison—of the Brit in the FBI series. She lives in Sausalito, California.New York City\u003cp\u003eJune 15\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePresent\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBecca was watching an afternoon soap opera she’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseen off and on since she was a kid. She found herself\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewondering if she would ever have a child who needed a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheart transplant one month and a new kidney the next, or a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehusband who wouldn’t be faithful to her for longer than it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etook a new woman to look in his direction.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen the phone rang.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe jumped to her feet, then stopped dead still and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estared over at the phone. She heard a guy on TV whining\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout how life wasn’t fair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t know what fair was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe made no move to answer the phone. She just stood\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere and listened, watching it as it rang three more times.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen, finally, because her mother was lying in a coma in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLenox Hill Hospital, because she just plain couldn’t stand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe ringing ringing ringing, she watched her hand reach out\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand pick up the receiver.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe forced her mouth to form the single word. “Hello?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hi, Rebecca. It’s your boyfriend. I’ve got you so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003escared you have to force yourself to pick up the phone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIsn’t that right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe closed her eyes as that hated voice, low and deep,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eswept over her, into her, making her so afraid she was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshaking. No hint of an Atlanta drawl, no sharp New York\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003evowels, no dropped R’s from Boston. A voice that was well\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeducated, with smooth, clear diction, perhaps even a touch\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof the Brit in it. Old? Young? She didn’t know, couldn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etell. She had to keep it together. She had to listen carefully,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto remember how he spoke, what he said. You can do it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKeep it together. Make him talk, make him say something,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou never know what will pop out. That was what the police\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epsychologist in Albany had told her to do when the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eman had first started calling her. Listen carefully. Don’t let\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim scare you. Take control. You guide him, not the other\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eway around. Becca licked her lips, chapped from the hot,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edry air in Manhattan that week, an anomaly, the weather\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eforecaster had said. And so Becca repeated her litany of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003equestions, trying to keep her voice calm, cool, in charge,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyes, that was her. “Won’t you tell me who you are? I really\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewant to know. Maybe we can talk about why you keep calling\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme. Can we do that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Can’t you come up with some new questions, Rebecca?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter all, I’ve called you a good dozen times now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd you always say the same things. Ah, they’re from a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshrink, aren’t they? They told you to ask those questions,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto try to distract me, to get me to spill my guts to you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSorry, it won’t work.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d never really thought it would work, that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estratagem. No, this guy knew what he was doing, and he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew how to do it. She wanted to plead with him to leave\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher alone, but she didn’t. Instead, she snapped. She simply\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elost it, the long-buried anger cutting through her bonegrinding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efear. She gripped the phone, knuckles white, and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyelled, “Listen to me, you little prick. Stop saying you’re\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy boyfriend. You’re nothing but a sick jerk. Now, how\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout this for a question? Why don’t you go to hell where\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou belong? Why don’t you go kill yourself, you’re sure\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enot worth anything to the human race. Don’t call me anymore,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou pathetic bastard. The cops are on to you. The\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ephone is tapped, do you hear me? They’re going to get you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand fry you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d caught him off guard, she knew it, and an\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eadrenaline rush sent her sky-high, but only for a moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter a slight pause, he recovered. In a calm, reasonable\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003evoice, he said, “Now, Rebecca sweetheart, you know as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewell as I do that the cops now don’t believe you’re being\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estalked, that some weird guy is calling you at all hours, trying\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto scare you. You had the phone tap put in yourself because\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou couldn’t get them to do it. And I’ll never talk\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elong enough for that old, low-tech equipment of yours to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eget a trace. Oh yes, Rebecca, because you insulted me,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou’ll have to pay for it, big-time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe slammed down the receiver. She held it there, hard,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas if trying to stanch the bleeding of a wound, as if holding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit down would keep him from dialing her again, keep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim away from her. Slowly, finally, she backed away from\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe phone. She heard a wife on the TV soap plead with her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehusband not to leave her for her younger sister. She\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalked out onto her small balcony and looked over Central\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePark, then turned a bit to the right to look at the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMetropolitan Museum. Hordes of people, most in shorts,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emost of them tourists, sat on the steps, reading, laughing,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etalking, eating hot dogs from the vendor Teodolpho, some\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof them probably smoking dope, picking pockets, and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere were two cops on horseback nearby, their horses’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheads pumping up and down, nervous for some reason.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe sun blazed down. It was only mid-June, yet the unseasonable\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheat wave continued unabated. Inside the apartment\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit was twenty-five degrees cooler. Too cold, at least\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor her, but she couldn’t get the thermostat to move either\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eup or down.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe phone rang again. She heard it clearly through the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehalf-closed glass door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe jerked around and nearly fell over the railing. Not\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat it was unexpected. No, never that, it was just so incongruous\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eset against the normalcy of the scene outside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe forced herself to look back into her mother’s lovely\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epastel living room, to the glass table beside the sofa, at the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhite phone that sat atop that table, ringing, ringing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe let it ring six more times. Then she knew she had to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eanswer it. It might be about her mother, her very sick\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emother, who might be dying. But of course she knew it was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim. It didn’t matter. Did he know why she even had the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ephone turned on in the first place? He seemed to know\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeverything else, but he hadn’t said anything about her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emother. She knew she had no choice at all. She picked it up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon the tenth ring.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Rebecca, I want you to go out onto your balcony again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLook to where those cops are sitting on their horses. Do it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enow, Rebecca.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe laid down the receiver and walked back out onto\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe balcony, leaving the glass door open behind her. She\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elooked down at the cops. She kept looking. She knew\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esomething horrible was going to happen, she just knew it,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand there was nothing she could do about it but watch\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand wait. She waited for three minutes. Just when she\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas beginning to convince herself that the man was trying\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enew and different ways to terrorize her, there was a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eloud explosion.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe watched both horses rear up wildly. One of the cops\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewent flying. He landed in a bush as thick smoke billowed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eup, obscuring the scene.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the smoke cleared a bit, she saw an old bag lady\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elying on the sidewalk, her market cart in twisted pieces\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebeside her, her few belongings strewn around her. Pieces\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof paper fluttered down to the sidewalk, now rutted with\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edeep pockmarks. A large bottle of ginger ale was broken,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eliquid flowing over the old woman’s sneakers. Time\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseemed to have stopped, then suddenly there was chaos as\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeveryone in view exploded into action. Some people\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho’d been loitering on the steps of the museum ran\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etoward the old lady.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cops got there first; the one who’d been thrown\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom his horse was limping as he ran. They were yelling,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewaving their arms—at the carnage or the onrushing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epeople, Becca didn’t know. She saw the horses throwing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etheir heads from side to side, their eyes rolling at the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmoke, the smell of the explosive. Becca stood there\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrozen, watching. The old woman didn’t move.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBecca knew she was dead. Her stalker had detonated a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebomb and killed that poor old woman. Why? Just to terrorize\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher more? She was already so terrified she could hardly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efunction. What did he want now? She’d left Albany, left the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egovernor’s staff with no warning, had not even called to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echeck in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe walked slowly back inside the living room, firmly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eclosing the glass door behind her. She looked at the phone,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheard him saying her name, over and over. Rebecca, Rebecca.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVery slowly, she hung up. She fell to her knees and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejerked the connector out of the wall jack. The phone in the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebedroom rang, and kept ringing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe pressed herself close to the wall, her palms\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eslammed against her ears. She had to do something. She\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad to talk to the cops. Again. Surely now that someone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas dead, they would believe that some maniac was terrorizing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher, stalking her, murdering someone to show her he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emeant business.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis time they had to believe her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302668161253,"sku":"NP9780515130966","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780515130966.jpg?v=1767735797","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/riptide-isbn-9780515130966","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}