{"product_id":"the-innocent-isbn-9780307717139","title":"The Innocent","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eVanessa Michael Munroe—the fearless heroine of the New York Times bestseller The Informationist—returns in a gripping new thriller.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEight years ago, five-year old Hannah was spirited out of school and into the closed world of a cult known as The Chosen. Ever since, followers of its leader have hidden the child and shielded her abductor. Now, childhood survivors of The Chosen who have escaped to make a life for themselves on the outside know here to find Hannah and turn to Vanessa Michael Munroe for help. Munroe reluctantly takes the job, and travels to Buenos Aires to infiltrate the cult and save the girl. Inducted in to a world unlike anything she has faced before, Munroe must navigate unpredictable members and their dangerous cohorts, the impatient survivors who hired her, and the struggle against her own increasingly violent nature so she can rescue the child before the window of opportunity closes and Hannah is lost forever.\u003c\/p\u003e\"The best thriller of the year.\" —\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Bay Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Impressive. . . . The gripping plot runs on adrenaline as much as does Vanessa, who unleashes her violent tendencies when the powerless are threatened. . . . Vanessa makes for an intriguing heroine—at once tough, fearless, vulnerable, and compassionate.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Much-anticipated. . . . Stevens vividly depicts a dark domain of manipulation, indoctrination, and abuse.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Part Lisbeth Salander, part Jason Bourne, Munroe comes out swinging hard again. . . . A gritty, suspenseful novel.” —\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you haven’t joined the Munroe bandwagon, now’s the time to climb aboard.” —\u003ci\u003eDallas News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fans of thrillers who haven't yet discovered Stevens are in for a treat...Those who have eagerly awaited this sequel will be delighted to find the same intelligent writing, masterful pacing, and tense and fluid action scenes that feel ready-made for the cinema, and an intensely emotional core that lends Stevens' novel a depth not often found in the genre.\" —\u003ci\u003eAssociated Press\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A whirlwind thriller about a seriously a**-kicking female renegade battle against a hair-raising cult.” —\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Vanessa Michael Munroe earns her spot in the roll call next to a certain dragon-tattooed individual by virtue of calculated calm and serious self-defense skills.” —\u003ci\u003eAustin Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] story about a tough-as-nails spy with a tortured past who is fighting to overcome her demons and save a young girl in the process. This one kept me up all night reading…If you enjoy a fast-paced thriller, check this one out.” —\u003ci\u003eParkersburg News \u0026amp; Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“…as fast-paced, exciting and violent as Stevens’ first novel. If you enjoy action thrillers, you do not want to miss “The Innocent.” —\u003ci\u003eGalveston Daily News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The Innocent...is a provocative story about a women's tortured soul.\" —\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTAYLOR STEVENS\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling and award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eThe Catch\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Doll,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Informationist\u003c\/i\u003e, all featuring Vanessa Michael Munroe. Her novels have received critical acclaim, have been published in twenty languages, and \u003ci\u003eThe Informationist\u003c\/i\u003e has been optioned for film by James Cameron's production company, Lightstorm Entertainment. Raised in communes across the globe and denied an education beyond the sixth grade, Stevens broke free of the Children of God and now lives in Texas, where she is currently at work on the next Munroe adventure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eTen in the evening local time meant late afternoon in Dallas, still within the office hours of most businesses, although Logan expected that Capstone Consulting kept the phones running far later than the standard nine to five.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He picked up the handset, exhaled, and dialed a call he’d never expected to make. \u003cbr\u003e Capstone was owned and operated by Miles Bradford, former Special Forces turned private contractor, the man who’d been by Munroe’s side when the world had turned upside down. If there was ever a person who’d want to know about her current state, who’d be willing to get involved in a nightmare predicament for no other reason than that it involved her, that man was Bradford.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Anticlimactically, Logan was put on hold. During the frustrating wait, he moved methodically about the room, scanning surfaces and opening drawers, careful to leave everything as he’d found it while the phone to his ear provided background music. He was checking beneath the sofa when Beethoven’s Ninth was clipped short by a cheery voice announcing Capstone, as if it were some high-stakes New York marketing firm instead of the bullets-and-blood mercenary outfit Logan knew it to be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e According to the receptionist, Bradford was out of the country.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I know you have a way to get in contact with him,” Logan said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Tell him that Michael’s in trouble and that if he wants to talk to me, this line’s only going to be clear for the next three or four hours.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He recited the apartment’s phone number, and after a routine reassurance that someone would get back to him, he hung up and moved on to the meager pantry.\u003cbr\u003e He was violating Munroe’s space and her privacy, a deed not done lightly, hunting for what he knew was hidden somewhere nearby. He didn’t need a visual to confirm his suspicions, but he did want the specifics in order to assess the damage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was in the middle of Munroe’s bathroom when the phone rang. Logan fumbled and then recovered. The wait had been thirty minutes, not a bad measure of Bradford’s concern.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There was static on the line and a few seconds’ delay, but even through that Logan could hear the clipped, impatient quality of Bradford’s tone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I just got your message,” he said. “What kind of trouble is she in?”\u003cbr\u003e Carefully scripted, Logan said, “The self-inflicted, oops-look-at-that-I’m-dead kind of trouble.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was a pregnant pause and Bradford said finally, “Suicide?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “No, she’s very much alive. But she’s self-medicating. And she’s started carrying knives again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Silence, and then, “How long has this been going on?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I have no idea. I flew into Morocco this morning and she met me at the airport. The signs are all there, she doesn’t try to hide them—flaunts them, even—she’s poking at me with them, like she wants me to know. I’m going to take a guess and say it’s only been a few weeks. She just moved to Tangier, and it could be related.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Any idea what she’s taking?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Not sure,” Logan said. “I’m trying to find out. Never thought I’d see the day she started this shit again, but if history’s any predictor, it’ll be legal and she’ll have a fake prescription.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan searched the nightstand drawers. “Anyway, she’s out with Noah right now. I’m ransacking her apartment.” \u003cbr\u003e Bradford exhaled a low whistle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “She won’t know,” Logan said. “Been there, done that, won’t get caught.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There was another pause and then Bradford said, “Logan, I’m in Afghanistan. There’s no way for me to get out of here for another weekand until then I’m at a loss as to what I can do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan knelt to look under the bed. “I’m not sure either,” he said.“I just figured you’d want to know. You’re the obvious intervention partner of choice—I mean, you were there, you know better than anyof us why she’s doing it—and really, Miles, I think you’re the only other person who cares the way that I do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan opened the doors of a large armoire and glared at a small box barely visible under a pile of clothes. “I think I’ve found it,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e From the box he pulled a smaller box, opened it, and shook free a bottle of syrup. He read off the label, “Phenergan VC.”\u003cbr\u003e “Is that the codeine version?” Bradford said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan searched the label, lips set tight. Bradford knew his pharmacopoeia. “Yes, codeine,” he said. “The box holds twelve and two are missing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If we’re lucky, that’s the first box,” Bradford said. He hesitated.“Okay, look, I understand why you called and I thank you for it. The earliest I can get out of here is next Thursday. Do you think you can find an excuse to get her to the States?”\u003cbr\u003e “You know how she is about returning.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I could come to Morocco,” Bradford said. “But I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” There was a long silence, and although Bradford never verbalized it, Logan understood the reason. Noah and Bradford around Munroe at the same time brought far too much potential for conflict.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Best would be to get her to the U.S.,” Bradford said. “Or really anywhere out of Morocco.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan nodded agreement to the empty room. “I’ll figure something out and let you know how it goes,” he said, although in truth his favor already required that he take her from here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’d give you a number,” Bradford said, “but it’s pointless, I move around too much. Call the office. They’ll be able to reach me. If you can’t get her to go back, I’ll come to you, but I need at least a week.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The call over, Logan continued to stare into the armoire at the box and all that it stood for. Codeine wasn’t the heaviest stuff she’d taken, nor was it the worst to be abused; the issue was that she was self-medicating at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Heavy, burdened, he replaced the bottle and rearranged the clothes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He could work this thing. Getting Bradford involved was a definite step forward, and pulling him in had been rather easy.\u003cbr\u003e Logan shoved away the stab of guilt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He would have made that call even if he didn’t need Munroe’s help, and Bradford wasn’t offering to do anything he didn’t want to do.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Logan returned to the bedroom and the weight of two days’ travel pressed against his eyelids. Intent on remaining alert until whatever god forsaken hour Munroe came back, he closed his eyes for a second and opened them to bright sunlight streaming through the curtains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He bolted upright with no recollection of falling asleep or of Munroe returning, or with any concept of how much time had elapsed. He fumbled for his watch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Seven in the morning, local time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e God, he was tired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He rolled his legs over the side of the bed and listened, shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog that wrapped around his brain. There was no sound or movement in the apartment, so he stood and padded to the window. Parked along the curb were a few cars, but no BMW.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan opened the bedroom door and, with the stealth of a kid preparing to sneak into the kitchen to grab a cookie, peered down the hall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Munroe’s door was slightly ajar, definitely not closed the way he’d left it the night before. Barefoot against the tiled floor, he moved toward her bedroom, and there, hearing nothing, pressed his palm to the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was alone: sprawled across the mattress, face in a pillow and tangled in sheets that trailed to the floor. The knives sat on the night-stand and against the foot of the bed lay the clothes she had shed before climbing into it. The armoire doors were partially open, and although there was no visible sign that she’d helped herself to the contents of another bottle, crashed out and dead to the world as she was, Logan had no doubt that she had.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He left her room for the guest bathroom, irritation and anger washing over him. He needed her right now, needed her to be herself, lucid, aware, not this—brain- and emotion-numbed, and half-alive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No matter the reasons, what she was doing was such a goddamn fucking waste of brilliance.\u003cbr\u003e He turned on the shower and let it run. There was no point in keeping quiet; the insomniac woman who would normally go from a dead sleep to a fighting stance over less than a whisper had drugged herself into a state of unconsciousness.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e It was afternoon when the light tap of footsteps first echoed downthe hall. Logan waited until they passed, then left his room in search of Munroe and found her in the kitchen filling a coffeepot with water,dressed in a tank and boxers and sporting a case of bed hair so bad he would have laughed if things had been otherwise. He didn’t see the knives, but then she’d never needed them to kill, and that wasn’t why she carried them anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Want coffee?” she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sure,” he replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Where’s Noah?”She yawned and scratched the back of her neck. “He’s at his holiday house. What time is it?”\u003cbr\u003e “Around three o’clock,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Munroe placed the pot on the stove and lit the burner. She sat at the kitchen table, then tilted her head up and smiled. A real smile. And in spite of himself and the frustration and anger, Logan smiled back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I needed the sleep,” she said. “And thought you might need some too, what with the jet lag and the long trip. I won’t make you wait on me like that again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was as much of an explanation as she’d give, but Logan knew she did it with calculated reason. The sleep and making him wait had been as much a deliberate display as the knives on the train.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She wanted him to know her state of mind, to take it all into account should he continue toward whatever favor he must ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan said nothing, and she smiled again—that killer smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll make you lunch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He nodded toward the empty cupboards. “From what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With a straight face she said, “Coffee,” and the heartbeat of silence was followed by commingled laughter that came as a welcome release of tension.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan couldn’t help but grin, so good was it to see her lucid and to have her again, the real her, the Michael that he knew and loved; and he relished the moment because he knew it would be short-lived.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As if she’d read his mind, she said, “Tell me why you’ve come—what is it you need?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He froze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The coffeepot percolated on the stove, but Munroe made no move to get it. She nodded toward the seat opposite. It wasn’t an invitation, it was an instruction. There was no point in arguing, so Logan sat in the proffered chair. Forearms on the table, he shifted forward, and as he opened his mouth to speak, she put a hand on his wrist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hold the thought,” she said. She stood, stepped to the stove, and turned off the burner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She’d so perfectly disarmed him. He watched her move about the kitchen: fluid, methodical, neither hurried nor pausing, much like a well-trained dancer. She turned to catch his eye, smiling conspiratorially as she set out the coffee mugs.\u003cbr\u003e She placed a cup in front of him and held her own while she sat, her posture taut, her face relaxed. “Go on,” she said, blowing steam as she held the coffee to her lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He reached for his wallet and slid the faded photo with its beauty and tragedy, memories and heartbreak, across the table. Munroe paused to look.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Is that Charity’s daughter?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Logan nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Charity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The person he’d loved longer and truer than any other being. Charity, who was his fellow childhood survivor. She’d lived the life, knew the pain and trauma better than he, and shared the burden: the lies, the secrets, and the scars.\u003cbr\u003e Logan gazed down at the photo of the little girl with the blond ringlets and bright green eyes, traced his fingers along the edge of it, and then stopped. All reason, all argument, all the words that had been turning around in his head for the past three days fled, and he was left vacant. Logan looked up and staring into Munroe’s eyes said only, “I’ve found her.”By the New York Times bestselling author of The Informationist","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305058128101,"sku":"NP9780307717139","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307717139.jpg?v=1767739946","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-innocent-isbn-9780307717139","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}