Roadside Crosses: A Kathryn Dance Novel
Read Roadside Crosses: A Kathryn Dance Novel Online
Authors: Jeffery Deaver
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Suspense, #Adventure, #Adult
The investigative agent who pursued a terrifyingly elusive killer—and stormed national bestseller lists—in
The Sleeping Doll,
Kathryn Dance returns in a new blockbuster from the “ingeniously devious” (
People
) Jeffery Deaver!
ROADSIDE CROSSES
Chosen as a Hot Summer Thriller on TheDailyBeast.com!
“
Roadside Crosses
is a gripping story peopled with memorable characters. No surprise. Jeffery Deaver is grand master of the ticking-clock thriller.”
—Kathy Reichs, #1
New York Times
bestselling author of
206 Bones
“The techno-savvy Deaver is too much the master gamesman to scold anyone else for a little excessive play, and in some brilliant plot maneuvers he counters every warning about warrior bloggers and glassy-eyed gamers with well-reasoned arguments in their defense. . . . Like his best players, he has one of those puzzle-loving minds you just can’t trust.”
—Marilyn Stasio,
The New York Times
“Expert and devious plotting. . . . [A] surprise-filled Kathryn Dance novel.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Deaver’s got the world of social networking and blogs down cold. . . . That dose of realism adds a fresh, contemporary edge. . . . Intricate plot twists. . . . The perfect book for a quiet summer afternoon where a little relaxation—accompanied, naturally, by a jolt of suspense—is the order of the day.”
—David Montgomery, TheDailyBeast.com
This title is also available from Simon & Schuster Audio
“A clever and twisted tale. . . . The web sites mentioned throughout are actual live links and add to the fun. . . . [A series with] unlimited potential.”
—
Library Journal
“Tightly constructed, suspenseful. . . . Deaver, perhaps more than any other crime writer, is able to fool even the most experienced readers with his right-angle turns. . . . An excellent entry in what promises to be a series as popular as his Lincoln Rhyme novels.”
—
Booklist
Be sure to read the first Kathryn Dance novel—the pulse-pounding
New York Times
bestseller
THE SLEEPING DOLL
“[An] intricately plotted thriller. . . . A dazzling mental contest.”
—Marilyn Stasio,
The New York Times
“The chase is on, and so are the surprises.”
—
Sacramento Bee
Also from Jeffery Deaver—lose yourself in his acclaimed bestseller
THE BODIES LEFT BEHIND
2009 “Best Novel of the Year” Award winner from the International Thriller Writers organization
“A
tour de force
. . . . The suspense never flags. . . . Deaver has no rivals in the realm of sneaky plot twists.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“The pace is terrific, the suspense inexorable. . . .”
—
The Guardian
(U.K.)
“Deaver is such a good puppet master that he makes us believe whatever he wants us to believe . . . without telling us a single lie. . . . It’s not until we’re well more than halfway through the book that we even begin to suspect that we might have made some dangerous mistakes . . . but by then, it’s way too late, and we are completely at Deaver’s mercy.”
—
Booklist
(starred review)
“Hurtles along at 100 m.p.h. . . . An edge-of-the-seat read.”
—
Sunday Express
(U.K.), 4 stars
“He makes the characters live and breathe. . . . Read this and no country walk will ever be the same again.”
—
Daily Express
(U.K.)
“Not just an adrenaline-charged manhunt but a game of deception and multiple double-cross that keeps the reader guessing right up to the final page.”
—
The Times
(London)
Jeffery Deaver “stokes our paranoia” (
Entertainment Weekly
) with a heart-pounding bestseller of identity theft—featuring investigator Lincoln Rhyme
THE BROKEN WINDOW
“Riveting. . . . This is one scary novel. Everything in it seems as plausible and easy as buying a purse on eBay.”
—
The Globe and Mail
(Toronto)
“Unnerving . . . An Orwellian nightmare.”
—
The New York Times
“Scary, scary. . . . What Deaver reveals about data mining is terrifying.”
—
San Jose Mercury News
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Author’s Note
One theme of this novel is the blurring of the line between the “synthetic world”—the online life—and the real world. Accordingly, if you happen to come across a website address in the pages that follow, you might wish to type it into your browser and go where it takes you. You won’t need what’s in those websites to enjoy the novel, but you may just find a few extra clues that will help you unravel the mystery. You might also simply be interested—or disturbed—by what you find there.
[W]hat the Internet and its cult of anonymity do is to provide a blanket sort of immunity for anybody who wants to say anything about anybody else, and it would be difficult in this sense to think of a more morally deformed exploitation of the concept of free speech.
—R
ICHARD
B
ERNSTEIN
IN
THE
N
EW
Y
ORK
T
IMES
OUT OF PLACE
.
The California Highway Patrol trooper, young with bristly yellow hair beneath his crisp hat, squinted through the windshield of his Crown Victoria Police Interceptor as he cruised south along Highway 1 in Monterey. Dunes to the right, modest commercial sprawl to the left.
Something was out of place. What?
Heading home at 5:00 p.m. after his tour had ended, he surveyed the road. The trooper didn’t write a lot of tickets here, leaving that to the county deputies—professional courtesy—but he occasionally lit up somebody in a German or Italian car if he was in a mood, and this was the route he often took home at this time of day, so he knew the highway pretty well.
There . . . that was it. Something colorful, a quarter mile ahead, sat by the side of the road at the base of one of the hills of sand that cut off the view of Monterey Bay.
What could it be?
He hit his light bar—protocol—and pulled over onto the right shoulder. He parked with the hood of the Ford pointed leftward toward traffic, so a rearender
would shove the car away from, not over, him, and climbed out. Stuck in the sand just beyond the shoulder was a cross—a roadside memorial. It was about eighteen inches high and homemade, cobbled together out of dark, broken-off branches, bound with wire like florists use. Dark red roses lay in a splashy bouquet at the base. A cardboard disk was in the center, the date of the accident written on it in blue ink. There were no names on the front or back.
Officially these memorials to traffic accident victims were discouraged, since people were occasionally injured, even killed, planting a cross or leaving flowers or stuffed animals.
Usually the memorials were tasteful and poignant. This one was spooky.
What was odd, though, was that he couldn’t remember any accidents along here. In fact this was one of the safest stretches of Highway 1 in California. The roadway becomes an obstacle course south of Carmel, like that spot of a really sad accident several weeks ago: two girls killed coming back from a graduation party. But here, the highway was three lanes and mostly straight, with occasional lazy bends through the old Fort Ord grounds, now a college, and the shopping districts.
The trooper thought about removing the cross, but the mourners might return to leave another one and endanger themselves again. Best just to leave it. Out of curiosity he’d check with his sergeant in the morning and find out what had happened. He walked back to his car, tossed his hat on the seat and rubbed his crew cut. He pulled back into traffic, his mind no longer on roadside accidents. He was thinking about
what his wife would be making for supper, about taking the kids to the pool afterward.
