{"product_id":"the-spider-isbn-9780593315606","title":"The Spider","description":"\u003cb\u003e#1 INTERNATIONAL BEST SELLER • A serial killer is spinning a sinister web and Detectives Joona Linna and Saga Bauer are caught dead center. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This pulse-pounding descent into the chilling world of \u003ci\u003eThe Spider\u003c\/i\u003e is another shocking thriller in the Killer Instinct series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree years ago, Detective Saga Bauer received an ominous postcard describing a gun and nine white bullets—one of which was intended for her partner, Detective Joona Linna. The sender alleged that Saga was the only person who could save him. But as time passed, the threat faded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUntil now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sack with a decomposing body has been found hanging from a tree in the forest. A milky white bullet casing turns up at the scene. When the body count begins to rise, the police realize that the killer is sending riddles, offering them the chance to stop the murders before they happen. But the police always seem to arrive a moment too late. As they begin to close in, the case becomes more and more tangled: someone is spinning a fiendishly intricate web, pulling Joona ever closer to a trap he may not be able to escape. \u003ci\u003eThe Spider\u003c\/i\u003e is shocking and exhilarating in a way only Lars Kepler could accomplish.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Lars Kepler's \u003ci\u003eThe Spider\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Kepler captivates the reader while also keeping things moving at a break-neck pace. While Linna has been saddled with many tough cases, this one could be the most complex, as members of the police appear to be the target, with gruesome outcomes. . . . Chilling ... will have readers wondering as the story progresses, proving Lars Kepler’s superior writing ability. . . . Keep[s] the reader hooked from the opening pages and never backs down. . . . The characters, many of whom emerge for the first time, are strong and keep the reader in the middle of the action, adding depth to an already stellar piece of writing. . . . There is such an easy flow to Lars Kepler novels. . . . There appears to be no jaggedness when it comes to reading, nothing jilted or lost in translation. . . . Dark, Scandinavian, and full of surprises. What else could you want in a book?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMystery \u0026amp; Suspense\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Kepler...ups the ante in this pulse-pounding ninth Killer Instinct thriller featuring detective Joona Linna.... Kepler manages to make each murder resonate, giving the deaths uncommon weight in the lives of Linna and his fellow detectives, who grow increasingly distraught at their failure to prevent the killings. That veracity, combined with regular passages of almost unbearable tension, make this another standout in a strong series.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eLARS KEPLER is the pseudonym of the critically acclaimed husband-and-wife team Alexandra Coelho Ahndoril and Alexander Ahndoril. Their number-one internationally best-selling novels have sold more than seventeen million copies in forty languages. The Ahndorils were both established writers before they adopted the pen name Lars Kepler. They live in Stockholm, Sweden. Translated by Alice Menzies.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot Silverman hears the thudding of the horse’s hooves against the bark chips as it gallops along the illuminated trail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sky is dark, the August air cool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe trees race by on either side of her, fading away into the night before reappearing in the glow of the next lamp post.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot is head of the National Crime Unit in Stockholm, and she goes riding in Värmdö, to the east of the capital, four times a week. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt helps to clear her head and centre herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe horse charges along the narrow trail, and the quick pace makes her heart race.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe catches brief glimpses of things in her periphery: fallen trees, the far edge of the field, a damp sweater with a smiley face on it, draped over a barrier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe horse’s movements are asymmetrical as it gallops, its left hip higher than the right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEach three-beat gait ends with its right front leg pushing off from the ground, followed by a moment of suspension.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn those few seconds as they fly through the air, she feels a tingle in her thighs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCatullus is a Swedish warmblood gelding with long legs and a powerful neck, and Margot needed only to shift her outside leg back and push her hip forward to help spur him into a gallop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer braid thuds against her back each time his hooves hit the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sees a deer bolt across a clearing through the swaying ferns.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe lights are broken on the last part of the trail, and Margot can no longer see the ground in front of her. She closes her eyes and puts her faith in Catullus, allowing herself to be carried forward.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen she opens her eyes, she spots the bright stable between the trees and slows to an extended trot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot’s chest and back are sweaty, and she can feel the lactic acid burning in her muscles after an hour’s interval training.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe walks Catullus in through the gates and dismounts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt is almost 11 p.m., and Margot’s silver Citroën is the only car still parked outside the stable block.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe leads the horse through the darkness towards the building. His bit clinks, hooves beating softly against the dry, trampled grass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom one of the stalls inside, she hears a couple of loud thuds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCatullus stops dead, lifting his head and pulling back slightly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Hey, what’s up?’ Margot asks, squinting into the darkness between the tractor and the nettles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe horse is afraid, exhaling heavily through his nostrils. She strokes his neck and tries to coax him towards the stable, but he refuses to budge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What’s going on, buddy?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe shudders and veers sharply to one side, as though he is about to bolt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Whoa-oh-ho.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot grips the reins and firmly leads him in a half-circle, through the tall meadow grass and out onto the gravel. The lights outside the stable block give everything nearby three sharp shadows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCatullus snorts and lowers his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot squints at the end of the building, and though she can’t see anything, she shudders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnce they are safely inside the bright stable building, she takes off her helmet. The tip of her nose is red, her blonde braid heavy against the back of her quilted jacket. Above the tops of her long boots her jodhpurs are dirty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe smell of hay and manure hangs heavy in the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe other horses are quiet as she leads Catullus to the wash stall, takes off his saddle and hangs it up in the heated tack room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA couple of stirrups clink against the wooden wall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer first job is to rinse Catullus down and give him a blanket, then she needs to take him to his stall, feed him, give him a little extra salt and turn out the lights before heading home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe reaches into her pocket to make sure she hasn’t lost her father’s old hip flask. She uses it for hand sanitiser rather than liquor—not because it’s especially practical but because it brings her luck and amuses her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe door onto the yard creaks, and Margot feels a rush of unease. She steps out into the main area and peers towards the front of the building.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hears Catullus shuffling in the wash stall behind her. The hose is dripping, a dark trickle of water flowing around the sweat scraper towards the drain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeveral of the other horses snort, their hooves striking the ground, while the electrical cabinet on the wall emits a low hum.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Hello?’ says Margot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe holds her breath, standing perfectly still with her eyes on the door and the dark window for a moment before turning back to Catullus.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe can see the ceiling light mirrored in the curve of his black eye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot hesitates, then takes out her phone and calls Johanna. Her wife doesn’t pick up, and she feels a knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. For the past two weeks, Margot has had the sense that someone is watching her. She even began to wonder whether Special Investigations or the Security Service has her under surveillance. She isn’t a paranoid person, but a number of anonymous calls and a pair of missing earrings have left her wondering whether she or Johanna have themselves a stalker.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot tries calling again. The phone rings and rings, but right as the voicemail is about to kick in, she hears a crackling sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Drenched and naked,’ Johanna answers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot smiles. ‘How do I always manage to call at the right time?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Hang on, let me put you on speakerphone.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomething rustles and the background noise changes. An image of a nude Johanna, standing in the middle of their brightly lit bedroom, fully visible from the apple orchard outside, flashes through Margot’s mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Sorry, I’m just drying off,’ says Johanna. ‘Are you on your way back?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Need to give the little man a quick hose down first.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Remember to drive carefully.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot can hear Johanna rubbing herself with a towel as they talk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Make sure you close the curtains and check the door is locked,’ she says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘It’s like we’re in Scream. You’re watching me from the garden right now, aren’t you? And by the time I manage to lock the door, you’ll already be in the house.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘This isn’t funny.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘OK, boss.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Ugh, I don’t want to be the boss anymore; I’m no good at it. I was fine as a detective, even if I was a bit cocky, but now that I’m in charge—’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Stop,’ Johanna interrupts her. ‘I’d have you as my boss any day.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh la la,’ Margot laughs, her mood improving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hears Johanna lower the blind, the cord clinking against the radiator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Put the blue lights on and come home,’ Johanna tells her. Her voice sounds faint, distant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Were you able to get the girls into bed?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Yeah, although Alva asked me whether you like your horse more than you like her.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Ouch,’ Margot says, laughing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe minute they hang up, the feeling of unease comes creeping back up on her. She can still hear a faint clinking sound, which continues for a moment or two before stopping. It must be coming from somewhere in the stable building, Margot thinks. It sounds like when the buckets hanging in the aisle knock together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of the horses pushes up against the wall, making it creak. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot turns towards the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt looks like someone tall is trying to hide in the shadows over by the feed room. The rational side of her knows it’s just the cabinet where they keep the brooms, but it seems to be standing much further out than usual.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe wind barrels over the metal roof, shaking the windowpanes. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot walks down the aisle. She sees the bars of the stalls flickering at the edge of her vision, heavy horseheads gleaming in the light’s glow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe has to make a real effort to stop herself calling Johanna again to ask her to double check the outside door; the kids always have trouble bolting it properly. All she is going to do is see to Catullus, drive home, take a shower, and crawl into her nice, warm bed to go to sleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe light flickers and dims.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot stops to listen, peering past the wash stall to the changing room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe stable block is quiet, but then she hears a rapid ticking sound, like something metal rolling across the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe turns around, but the noise stops. She can’t tell where it was coming from.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot steadies herself against one of the stalls and peers over to the main door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hears the ticking again, getting closer and closer now behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCatullus anxiously raises his head, and Margot feels something slam\u003cbr\u003einto her back. One of the horses must have kicked her, she thinks as she falls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe world disappears for a moment, and she hears a roaring sound in her ears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot is lying face down on the floor, her lips and forehead bleeding where they struck the concrete. She feels a strange burning, tugging sensation in her spine, and can smell something sharp in the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs it dawns on Margot that someone has just fired a gun at her, her ears start ringing. The horses are frightened, shifting in their stalls, bumping against the walls, stamping their feet and snorting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe has been shot, she thinks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh God, oh God . . .’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe needs to get up, drive home and tell her daughters that she loves them more than anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hears footsteps, and feels a sudden jolt of fear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere is a creaking sound, followed by the same clicking she heard earlier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot’s lower body is numb, but she realises that she is being dragged towards the door by her legs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer hips scrape against the rough concrete.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMargot tries to cling to a trough of feed, but she is too weak.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA bucket tips over and rolls away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer jacket and undershirt ride up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer breathing is shallow, and she knows that the bullet must have hit her spine. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWave after wave of pain shoots up through her torso.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt feels like she’s been struck with an axe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs she’s pulled across the floor, Margot feels like an animal being dragged away to slaughter, like a bark boat caught in a current, like a zeppelin floating above the fields.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe knows she can’t give up, that she has to keep fighting, but now she’s so weak she can no longer keep her head up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer face has been torn to shreds by the rough floor, and the last thing Margot notices before she loses consciousness is the slick trail of blood on the floor.","brand":"Vintage Crime\/Black Lizard","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301186261221,"sku":"NP9780593315606","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593315606.jpg?v=1767741617","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-spider-isbn-9780593315606","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}