DON'T LET GO

Name: DON'T LET GO
Brand: Coben, Harlan
SKU: PR-9781524743345
Price: 0.99 EUR
Availability: OutOfStock
Rating: 3.8 (1646 reviews)

3.8

(1646)

Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur FROM THE BESTSELLING AUTHOR AND CREATOR OF THE HIT NETFLIX DRAMA THE STRANGERWith unmatched suspense and emotional insight, Harlan Coben explores the big secrets and little lies that can destroy a relationship, a family, and even a town in this powerful new thriller. Suburban New Jersey Detective Napoleon “Nap” Dumas hasn't been the same since senior year of high school, when his twin brother Leo and Leo’s girlfriend Diana were found dead on the railroad tracks—and Maura, the girl Nap considered the love of his life, broke up with him and disappeared without explanation. For fifteen years, Nap has been searching, both for Maura and for the real reason behind his brother's death. And now, it looks as though he may finally find what he's been looking for. When Maura's fingerprints turn up in the rental car of a suspected murderer, Nap embarks on a quest for answers that only leads to more questions—about the woman he loved, about the childhood friends he thought he knew, about the abandoned military base near where he grew up, and mostly about Leo and Diana—whose deaths are darker and far more sinister than Nap ever dared imagine. Extrait Daisy wore a clingy black dress with a neckline so deep it could tutor philosophy. She spotted the mark sitting at the end of the bar, wearing a gray pinstripe suit. Hmm. The guy was old enough to be her dad. That might make it more difficult to make her play, but then again, it might not. You never knew with the old guys. Some of them, especially the recent divorcees, are all too ready to preen and prove they still got it, even if they never had it in the first place. Especially if they never had it in the first place. As Daisy sauntered across the room, she could feel the eyes of the male patrons crawling down her bare legs like earthworms. When she reached the end of the bar, she made a mild production of lowering herself onto the stool next to him. The mark peered into the glass of whiskey in front of him as though he were a gypsy with a crystal ball. She waited for him to turn toward her. He didn’t. Daisy studied his profile for a moment. His beard was heavy and gray. His nose was bulbous and putty-like, almost as though it were a Hollywood silicon special effect. His hair was long, straggly, mop-like. Second marriage, Daisy figured. Second divorce in all probability. Dale Miller—that was the mark’s name—picked up his whiskey gently and cradled it in both hands like it was an injured bird. “Hi,” Daisy said with a much-practiced hair toss. Miller’s eyes slid toward her. He looked her straight in the eyes. She waited for his gaze to dip down to the neckline—heck, even women did it with this dress—but they stayed on hers. “Hello,” he replied. Then he turned back to his whiskey. Daisy usually let the mark hit on her. That was her go-to technique. She said hi like this, she smiled, the guy asked whether he could buy her a drink. You know the deal. But Miller didn’t look in the mood to flirt. He took a deep swallow from his whiskey glass, then another. That was good. The heavy drinking. That would make this easier. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked her. Burly, Daisy thought. That was the word to describe him. Even in that pinstripe suit, Miller had that burly-biker-Vietnam-vet thing going on, his voice a low rasp. He was the kind of older guy Daisy found sexy, though that was probably her now legendary daddy issues rearing their insecure head. Daisy liked men who made her feel safe. It had been too long since she’d known one. Time to try another angle, Daisy thought. “Do you mind if I just sit here with you?” Daisy leaned a little closer, working the cleavage a bit, and whispered, “There’s this guy. . . .” “Is he bothering you?” Sweet. He didn’t say it all macho poseur like so many d-bags she had met along the way. Dale Miller said it calmly, matter-of-factly, chivalrously, even—like a man who wanted Afficher moinsAfficher plus

Coben, Harlan

DON'T LET GO

3.8

(1646)

Indisponible

Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur FROM THE BESTSELLING AUTHOR AND CREATOR OF THE HIT NETFLIX DRAMA THE STRANGERWith unmatched suspense and emotional insight, Harlan Coben explores the big secrets and little lies that can destroy a relationship, a family, and even a town in this powerful new thriller. Suburban New Jersey Detective Napoleon “Nap” Dumas hasn't been the same since senior year of high school, when his twin brother Leo and Leo’s girlfriend Diana were found dead on the railroad tracks—and Maura, the girl Nap considered the love of his life, broke up with him and disappeared without explanation. For fifteen years, Nap has been searching, both for Maura and for the real reason behind his brother's death. And now, it looks as though he may finally find what he's been looking for. When Maura's fingerprints turn up in the rental car of a suspected murderer, Nap embarks on a quest for answers that only leads to more questions—about the woman he loved, about the childhood friends he thought he knew, about the abandoned military base near where he grew up, and mostly about Leo and Diana—whose deaths are darker and far more sinister than Nap ever dared imagine. Extrait Daisy wore a clingy black dress with a neckline so deep it could tutor philosophy. She spotted the mark sitting at the end of the bar, wearing a gray pinstripe suit. Hmm. The guy was old enough to be her dad. That might make it more difficult to make her play, but then again, it might not. You never knew with the old guys. Some of them, especially the recent divorcees, are all too ready to preen and prove they still got it, even if they never had it in the first place. Especially if they never had it in the first place. As Daisy sauntered across the room, she could feel the eyes of the male patrons crawling down her bare legs like earthworms. When she reached the end of the bar, she made a mild production of lowering herself onto the stool next to him. The mark peered into the glass of whiskey in front of him as though he were a gypsy with a crystal ball. She waited for him to turn toward her. He didn’t. Daisy studied his profile for a moment. His beard was heavy and gray. His nose was bulbous and putty-like, almost as though it were a Hollywood silicon special effect. His hair was long, straggly, mop-like. Second marriage, Daisy figured. Second divorce in all probability. Dale Miller—that was the mark’s name—picked up his whiskey gently and cradled it in both hands like it was an injured bird. “Hi,” Daisy said with a much-practiced hair toss. Miller’s eyes slid toward her. He looked her straight in the eyes. She waited for his gaze to dip down to the neckline—heck, even women did it with this dress—but they stayed on hers. “Hello,” he replied. Then he turned back to his whiskey. Daisy usually let the mark hit on her. That was her go-to technique. She said hi like this, she smiled, the guy asked whether he could buy her a drink. You know the deal. But Miller didn’t look in the mood to flirt. He took a deep swallow from his whiskey glass, then another. That was good. The heavy drinking. That would make this easier. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked her. Burly, Daisy thought. That was the word to describe him. Even in that pinstripe suit, Miller had that burly-biker-Vietnam-vet thing going on, his voice a low rasp. He was the kind of older guy Daisy found sexy, though that was probably her now legendary daddy issues rearing their insecure head. Daisy liked men who made her feel safe. It had been too long since she’d known one. Time to try another angle, Daisy thought. “Do you mind if I just sit here with you?” Daisy leaned a little closer, working the cleavage a bit, and whispered, “There’s this guy. . . .” “Is he bothering you?” Sweet. He didn’t say it all macho poseur like so many d-bags she had met along the way. Dale Miller said it calmly, matter-of-factly, chivalrously, even—like a man who wanted Afficher moinsAfficher plus