by Stephanie Kuehn


$9.89 $10.99 Save 10% Current price is $9.89, Original price is $10.99. You Save 10%.
View All Available Formats & Editions
Choose Expedited Shipping at checkout for guaranteed delivery by Monday, September 23


A YALSA 2015 Best Fiction for Young Adults Pick

Two years ago, fifteen-year-old Jamie Henry breathed a sigh of relief when a judge sentenced his older sister to juvenile detention for burning down their neighbor's fancy horse barn. The whole town did. Because Crazy Cate Henry used to be a nice girl. Until she did a lot of bad things. Like drinking. And stealing. And lying. Like playing weird mind games in the woods with other children. Like making sure she always got her way. Or else.

But today Cate got out. And now she's coming back for Jamie.

Because more than anything, Cate Henry needs her little brother to know the truth about their past. A truth she's kept hidden for years. A truth she's not supposed to tell.

Trust nothing and no one as you race toward the explosive conclusion of the gripping psychological thriller Complicit from Stephanie Kuehn, the William C. Morris Award—winning author of Charm & Strange.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250044600
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication date: 03/15/2016
Pages: 256
Sales rank: 776,734
Product dimensions: 5.39(w) x 8.28(h) x 0.73(d)
Age Range: 14 - 17 Years

About the Author

STEPHANIE KUEHN is the William C. Morris award-winning author of CHARM & STRANGE, and holds degrees in linguistics and sport psychology, and is currently working toward a doctorate in clinical psychology. She lives in Northern California with her husband, their three children, and a joyful abundance of pets. When she's not writing, she's running. Or reading. Or dreaming.

Read an Excerpt


By Stephanie Kuehn

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2014 Stephanie Kuehn
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-4305-9


My phone is ringing.

It's 3:29.

In the morning.

The phone keeps ringing. Or not ringing really — the Monk song I have programmed is what's playing, and the notes, the beat, sound sort of sad, sort of mournful, against the bleak-black December night. I groan and fumble around in the sheets. I like to be prepared, so I sleep with my phone beneath my pillow just in case someone calls. No one ever does, of course.

Except for now.

More fumbling, but my fingers find the phone at last. I slide it out and hold it in front of my face. My eyes are bleary and my brain slow, but what I'm seeing on the touch screen finally registers:

Unknown caller.


I answer.

"Hello?" I say.

Nothing. I hear nothing.

"Who is this?"

No response, but I press the phone closer to my ear. No one speaks, but I hear something. I do. Short feral bursts of noise. Organic. Like a faint sobbing.

Or laughing.

"Hey," I say, a little louder than before. I want to make sure that I'm heard. "I know you're there. Who're you trying to reach?"

Still no answer, and nothing keeps happening, the way nothing sometimes does. The phone line remains open, and I remain listening. The human sounds fade. They're replaced by a howling wind. The muffled blare of a horn.

I lay my head against my pillow and look up at the ceiling, shadowy and dark. Outside the house, rain falls softly. This is December in California. The phone beeps that its battery is low, but I don't move. Instead I close my eyes, and on the backs of my lids, I picture places where the wind might be blowing.

The desert.

The mountains.

The ragged edge of the world.

I still don't move.

I fall asleep with the phone against my ear.

* * *

"Jamie," Angie says to me at breakfast the next morning. "We thought you should hear it from us first."

"Hear what, Mom?" I ask. I call Angie Mom because that's what she likes and because it's so rarely the thought that counts. That's dishonest on my part, I know, but if I had to pick one quality to define me, it's this — I can't stand to hurt other people's feelings. Not saying what I mean is sometimes the best way I know how to be kind.

From the other side of the kitchen, Angie's husband Malcolm straightens his silk tie and pours coffee into his stainless-steel travel mug. He only drinks the organic free trade stuff, which is expensive as hell, but, hey, Malcolm can definitely afford it. He even grinds the beans at home. Like it's some kind of virtue.

"It's your sister," he says.

I stiffen. "My sister?"


"What about her?"

"She's been released."

My hands go ice-cold the way they always do when I'm taken by surprise.

This is not a good thing.

"Are you okay?" Angie asks as my fork clatters to the hardwood floor. Maple syrup dots the front of my T-shirt and jeans on the way down.

"But I thought —"

"We thought the same thing." Malcolm fits the lid just right onto his mug. Click. He hasn't noticed my hands yet. They're completely numb now and useless. I look down at my food, cut-up whole-grain waffles that I can no longer eat, and sort of jam my arms into my lap. It can take hours to get feeling back, a whole day even — some kind of nerve thing that even the big-shot doctors down at Stanford can't figure out after years of rigorous and invasive testing. I shake my head and try to keep breathing. This is so not what I needed.

Not now.

Not when I have a full day of classes, including AP physics and digital arts.

Not when I play piano in the school jazz band and we have our winter performance tonight at the civic auditorium in downtown Danville.

Not when Jenny Lacouture and I are supposed to hang out together at lunch and I've been trying for weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out on a real date.

Just not ... not Cate.

My throat goes dry.

Is she the one who called last night?

"She wasn't supposed to get out until June," I say, and I instantly regret my tone. This isn't Angie and Malcolm's fault. This is not what they want, either. God knows.

"Your hands," Angie says. "I'll call your doctor."

"No, don't. Please. I can do that myself."

Her lips tighten to a line. "I'll get your gloves, then."

I give what I hope is a grateful nod, and as Angie hustles from the room, there's still a spring in her step. Taking care of me is what she does best.

I turn and look back at Malcolm. His gray hair. His stoic face. That damn silk tie.

"She got out early," he says, and I can sense he feels just as helpless as I do. "Two weeks ago. Good behavior or overcrowding or something."

"Why didn't someone tell us?"

"Cate's nineteen now. No one has to tell us anything."

"Then how'd you find out?"

Angie sweeps back in. She's preceded by the smell of gardenias, which is the perfume she always wears and the one that always gives me a headache. She's waving a pair of my dumb gloves around, but there's a look that passes between her and Malcolm — one forged from wide eyes and knowing nods. It's the one they share when they think I can't handle things and the one that means they're keeping secrets. I feel the urge to call them on it, to demand an answer, but I don't want to upset them, either. Not upsetting people is sort of the modus operandi around here.

After Cate, it's a welcome change.

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Far away," Angie says. She picks up my left hand and forces on the first leather shearling-lined glove. My fingers bend every which way with the effort. It's sort of sickening to watch, but I let her do it. Everyone says heat is good for circulation, only I've never been able to tell that it helps any.

"Far away," I echo, as Angie straightens up and brushes hair from my eyes. It used to be blond, my hair, but now it's aged into the same light brown as hers. Like a chameleon's trick — familial camouflage.

"She's got no reason to come back here, James. None. We've seen the last of her."

I nod again. This is a sentiment I'd like to believe, but I don't. There are things I know about my sister that no one else does. Bad things. Things I can't say. Not without hurting Angie and Malcolm or causing them grief, and I don't have it in me to do that. So instead, I lift my chin and smile warmly at my adoptive parents. This is good, reassuring. My actions send the message that I'm fine, totally fine.

I'm not fine, of course. Not even close.

But like I said, it's so rarely the thought that counts.


The last night I saw Cate, she was drunk. Or on drugs. Or just plain crazy.

Take your pick.

I snuck into her room on the eve of her sentencing. It was close to midnight. None of her lights were on, but a full moon spilled a silvery wash across the floorboards, the far wall.

I huddled at the foot of her bed, like a rodent in sawdust.

I was scared.

"You shouldn't be here," she told me.

My chest hiccupped, once, twice. I was filled not only with fear, but that unbearable sting of sadness and grief: I was losing my sister. In truth, she'd been lost for some time now, but I didn't want her to go. Only she'd caused so much pain, she didn't deserve to stay.

I knew that.

And it made me sad.

Forcing down the lump rising in my throat, I whispered, "Why'd you do it?"

Cate snorted. "Oh, so you think I did it now, do you? You think I'm guilty?"

"Well, I guess ... well, you pleaded guilty, didn't you? That's what the judge said."

"Fuck you, Jamie! Just fuck you! You're like all the rest of them!"

"Shhh!" Her anger scraped my nerves. "Stop screaming, all right!"

My sister leaped from her bed and spun herself toward the window. She wore hardly anything the way she always did. Just panties and some sheer top. I turned away and didn't look. I didn't dare. I was fourteen. She was sixteen. I knew better.

"If you didn't do it, then who did?" I asked, my face still staring at the wall. Actually I was staring at a poster of Anne Parillaud from La Femme Nikita. It was hard not to. Those lips. Those eyes.

That gun.

From across the room, I heard the sharp flick-whoosh and hiss of a butane lighter. The sound chilled me. It set my hands tingling. It reminded me of my own secret. The one I'd vowed not to tell, but knew I'd never forget. Cate took a deep inhale of whatever it was she was smoking, then blew it all back into the night like a promise. "Oh, right, little brother. You're real good, you know that?"

"Good at what?" I asked.

She laughed loudly, her throaty voice deeper and more cutting than it'd ever been. "Acting like you don't know anything."


After breakfast, Angie drops me off at school. I hate it. The being dropped off, that is, not school. I got my real license last month when I turned seventeen, no more provisional, and the Henrys gave me my own car to mark the occasion. That's nice, I know. Beyond nice. I have a good life with them, and I try to remember that.

The car they bought me is a Jeep, black, this year's model, and I'm kind of in love with it. It's got a moon roof. Satellite radio. Leather seats and trim. Way more than I ever could've dreamed of. So much so, I feel a little like an impostor behind the wheel. But I've taken to calling the Jeep Dr. No, which pleases me in ways I wouldn't confess to under torture. The only thing I worry about is having one of my nerve attacks while driving. I'd probably fly off the road and into a tree if that happened. None of my doctors seem particularly concerned, though. I haven't had an episode this bad in over a year, and they signed off on my papers for the DMV and everything. Maybe that'll change now. I don't know. Maybe I just worry more than other people.

Today, obviously, Dr. No's been left sleeping in the Henrys' three-car garage on the other side of town, and instead of parking myself in the student lot and walking to class like everyone else, I'm getting helped out of Angie's Volvo and dumped onto the front lawn of Sayrebrook Academy like an invalid. People are staring and everything, which I resent, but what can you do?

Somehow we're running late, and I have to sprint through the halls to get to first period English on time. Angie heads to the main office to explain what's going on with my hands. She'll also let them know I'm going to need an aide for the day, which won't be too big a deal. Sayrebrook's an elite school. It costs like twenty grand a year to go here, so they're usually pretty accommodating when I need extra help. But I always feel awful for asking. Even though it doesn't have anything to do with me, my family doesn't have the greatest reputation around here.

I make it, barely, sliding my ass into my first-row seat at the exact moment the tardy bell rings. Mr. O'Meara nods at the class, and everyone takes out their laptops.

Except me.

"I'll need to use the voice recognition today," I say in my most apologetic voice, and if anyone's rolling their eyes behind my back or flipping me off, well, I wouldn't know because I've gotten used to tuning that kind of thing out. It's all about tunnel vision.

"That's fine, Jamie." Mr. O'Meara gestures toward the opposite side of the room. "Why don't you sit in the back where you won't disturb the other students. We'll be working on the theory papers this morning. You'll find a graded first draft in your folder."

"Sure thing," I say. One of the OT aides from the disability office comes in and helps me get set up. I relax a little. This is good. I need to work on this paper. It's the one I want to use so that I can apply to the cognitive science program over at Berkeley next summer. A whole four-week session, and I'd get to live in the dorms and everything. It'd sure be a nice escape from reality (and no, the irony of that thought is not lost on me), but to get in, I first have to write an essay on a philosophical issue. The one I've chosen to write about is fate, because it's something I believe in. You know, that our destiny lives inside of us. I think we're born with it, what we're meant to do with our lives. It's just up to us to find out what that is.

I look over Mr. O'Meara's notes. They're mostly positive, but he's telling me to go deeper, which is what he always tells us: Go deeper. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, I can't do anything with my hands right now, so his figure of speech falls flat for me today. I quickly read over the rest of what he's written. Most of my paper is on Plato and Aristotle, but my teacher's suggested a bunch of other reading, like Emerson. Nietzsche. Sartre. I open the links he's given me and browse the online library. The texts he wants me to read look seriously dense.

I can't deal.

Soon my mind wanders. I let my gaze drift out the window, at tree-dotted hills, at black crows and tule fog. My eyelids droop. That phone call in the middle of the night has exhausted me. Not only that, it's disturbed me.

I have no proof it was Cate who called, but what if? My sister's spent the last two years in a juvenile detention center in Southern California, locked up in a place where the sun always shines and there's not much else worth mentioning. Where would she go? Los Angeles? Vegas? I don't know. But I can definitely see her calling me on a throwaway phone in the dead of night. That'd be Cate all the way. I envision her standing on the side of the road, maybe outside some seedy truck stop in the middle of nowhere, thumb outstretched. Her jeans too tight. Her shirt too low. Her mood too black.

Just asking for trouble.

I take a deep breath. Not that Cate's ever done the right thing, but she wouldn't dare come back here. There's nothing for her in Danville. Well, nothing good. She knows that.

She has to.



My sister Cate and I come from humble beginnings.

Our real mother's name was Amy Nevin, and she grew up in the backwoods of Oregon in a town known for nothing but logging, devout Christianity, and abject poverty. I've never seen a picture of her, but sometimes it feels like I have, as if her memories and life experiences were transferred to me along with her DNA. At times, it's like I can close my eyes and soften my mind and see a tall girl with hollow shoulders and black hair sitting on the steps to a trailer. She's bored. She's restless. She's miserable. Cate told me Amy ran away from home when she was sixteen. This could be true. It could be something Cate made up.

I have no way of knowing.

Amy hitched her way to San Francisco. Cate thinks she got pregnant on the way down here, lifting her skirt as payment for miles, for comfort, for survival, I don't know. For my part, I don't like to think about that. It's just as likely she was already knocked up when she left, or maybe it happened when she got to California and discovered San Francisco was way too expensive for a teenage girl with no diploma and no money. She ended up across the Bay in Richmond's Iron Triangle with some guy named Albert who worked nights cleaning bathrooms at the local junior college. Albert deserted for points unknown on the day Cate was born, which doesn't prove he wasn't her father.

It only proves he didn't want to be.

My own paternity is equally a mystery. I don't like to think about that, either. For almost six years, I lived with my mom and my sister in the basement of a drafty house surrounded on three sides by railroad tracks and not-so-quiet desperation. My memories of my mother are faint and few and far between, but the ones I do have can wake me up at night with their strength. Out of nowhere they come to me, pure sensory overload blowing in like gale-force winds to shatter my bones and break my heart: the sweet, sweet scent of cigarettes on her clothes. The primal warmth of the bed we shared, me on one side of her, Cate snoring on the other. The soft way her long dark hair tickled my face when she wanted me to laugh. It's easier to remember the good than the bad, I guess, but sometimes I can't help but remember other things, too, like the drugs and the men and her moods and being hungry and not having jackets when the weather turned cold. I loved her, though.

Deeply. Madly.

She was mine.

What I don't remember is the day she died. We saw it all, I guess, but in an act of mercy, my brain has rejected those moments. Forever. I do know she was shot by an intruder. Multiple times. Blood gurgled out of her, and my twenty-four-year-old mother died slumped against the wall near the bed where we all slept. Cate says she held me in her arms until it was over. She didn't want me to see what she saw.

Then she called 911.

The time right after our mother's death is a blur for me. Malcolm and Angie and Cate have helped me piece it together after the fact, but all I can recall is darkness and sorrow and a deep, deep well of pain.

I wanted her back.

I cried.

And I wanted her back.

We were placed in emergency foster care. Then we were placed in a group home. We had case managers and new schools and new teachers and people who tried to track down relatives willing to take us. There were none. At the home I pined and ate nothing. I refused to go to school and got sick when I had to. My only attachments were to my sister and a filthy silk blanket square I'd taken to calling Pinky. Cate did what she could, but it wasn't enough. I grew bony and pale and picked up lice and a lisp and a bad habit of pulling out my eyebrows that made me look odd and somewhat slow. When the Henrys agreed to take both of us, no one was more surprised than our social worker.


Excerpted from Complicit by Stephanie Kuehn. Copyright © 2014 Stephanie Kuehn. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents


Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
I. Evidence,
II. Straight, No Chaser,
III. Played Twice,
IV. Epistrophy,
Also by Stephanie Kuehn,
About the Author,

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Complicit 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 7 reviews.
JessicaCoffee More than 1 year ago
3.75 stars* This is my first Stephanie Kuehn book, and it definitely won’t be my last. It’s a quick read, but by no means is it “light”. COMPLICIT reminds me a lot of Emiko Jean’s WE’LL NEVER BE APART. Execution-wise, however, I think Emiko’s book was slightly better, for two reasons: One, by the time I reached the end of COMPLICIT, not only did I already know what *really* happened (sadly, not the norm for me—I tend to get all wrapped up in a story, and don’t think to look very much ahead); and two, the reader’s perception of one of the main characters, in my opinion, was purposefully too vague. (Obviously, in any thriller there’s got to be varying degrees of vague, but to me, this vagueness was almost like a... betrayal. Like, okay, I get it, there needs to be an element of surprise, but... I’d say more, but *spoilers*.) If you like psychological thrillers and the dynamics of sibling relationships, this’ll likely be right up your alley. (Or if you are new to the psychological thriller genre, and are wanting to try it out, this would be a great place to start. As well as any other book on my What Just Happened shelf.) *I’d say this is for the upper YA crowd due to drug use (there’s also occasional profanity, FYI)
Books4Tomorrow More than 1 year ago
A true page turner, Complicit is one of those books that I simply could not put down. When Jamie Henry finds out that his sister had been released from juvenile detention, his hands go numb and he changes from a dedicated student to a person who is suddenly driven by an urgency to find out the truth about his past and his birth mother. When his sister, Cate, starts to drop hints and pointers during phone conversations, his need to know becomes an obsession. This is the kind of review where it is better to say as little as possible in order to avoid giving spoilers. For me, the three things that truly make this book outstanding, are the characters, the dark atmosphere created by the prose, and the highly disturbing and wonderfully twisted end.  The author truly gets into her main character's mind. Nervous, easily distracted by negative things, insecure and often very confused, Jamie is a complicated person and, clearly, mentally unstable. His sister, Cate, comes across as manipulative, spiteful and mostly insane, yet, we are told that she used to be a clever, outgoing and kind person.  The third important character, Jenny, Jamie's girlfriend, is such a cleverly flawed person that it made me ask serious questions about Jamie's ability to make healthy choices.  Often dark and depressing, this book gives the reader a look into the confusion of two thoroughly troubled minds. The negative reaction of the community towards the brother of an arsonist augments the morose atmosphere of the book. If psychological thrillers and surprising endings are your thing, I recommend Complicit as an absolute must read. (Ellen Fritz) 
quibecca More than 1 year ago
I bought this book a while back after reading some pretty great reviews on it.  I had heard it was a "scary" book, and that made it even more intriguing to me.  I just want to reiterate before I go on, not all books are for all people. I really had a hard time getting into this book.  I don't usually trudge through books...I mean I really don't, BUT I had heard so many great things about this book, I kept reading to see what all the hype was about. I am sad to say it took till almost the middle of the book when I was finally like, "Oh, here it goes".   Jamie and Cate's story was messed up.  I don't know how else to put it other than "messed up".  Damaged maybe?  Cate seems to be a vengeful girl taking advantage of other and having a fiery temper.  Jamie, seems kind of normal at the beginning other than his hands going dead all the time.  Something to do with trauma.   When the story unravels I understand why Jamie is the way he is, but I DID NOT see the ending coming.  That was a great surprise.   I wish I would have LOVED this one but I didn't.  The ending was FANTASTIC...but I still never connected with any of the characters.  The writing was beautiful, and interesting to read.  I can see where the author was going with this, but unfortunately I didn't connect until the end....and then it was over.  It's an interesting psychological mind trip, I can tell you that. I liked it well enough to finish, so that is a good thing.  I loved the end of the book.  I loved the writing.  I just didn't love that I personally couldn't connect with the book.
Sandy5 More than 1 year ago
Wow, this book was not what I expected or wanted it to be. I got this bad vibe about Jamie the minute I started to read about him. I don’t know what it was; I just didn’t trust the guy. When he gets word that his sister Cate is getting released, he becomes anxious and intense. Her two years in the detention center went by quickly and why no one told him she was getting released, has him stressed. His cataplexy starts to kick in and he starts to lose control again. Flashbacks to what happened two years ago filtered throughout the book and kept me up-to-date with what is flooding through Jamie’s mind as he tries to handle his life now that his world is turning on its axis. Phone calls from his sister inform him that she’s coming and that puts him on edge. As I am reeled back in time, I was captivated more with the life of the teens back in the day then what is happening now. I wished I could read more about the life they led then, as Cate seems to have some twisted power that she unleashes on her peers that they succumb to. She is powerful, above all of them and they are her lackeys. Its Jamie’s medical condition that makes him stand out as I read about him, it’s his trance-like symptoms that make him seems so mysterious and put me on edge. As Cate makes her appearance, Jamie and Cate confront their past and their future, as something’s never change. There really wasn’t any intensity, nor was there any fire that kept me going me though his book and I thought the first half of the book was rather mundane. Had there been another issue to contend with or other relationships in the book, it might have held my attention more, but again that is my own opinion.
jeneaw34 More than 1 year ago
This is a book that has you guessing from the beginning, trying to figure out what is happening. And I am sucker for the mind-f*ck kinda reads and before I knew it, I was at the end. Loooved it.   Jamie and his sister were witness to their mothers death, after they were placed in the system. Both ended up being placed in a home together and were adopted. They both are troubled, Jamie with his issues and Cate with her wildness. When Cate ends up going to juvenile detention, things start to get a little better for Jamie. He goes to school, has friends, and act like a typical teenage boy even liking a girl named Jenny. Now that Cate is out of juvie, everything turns into a big mess for him.   Jamie is a character you can’t figure out. He is the type of character that I find intriguing. I know he has been through so much and was so broken, physically, emotionally and mentally. His struggles were ever present, and he had to deal with some serious issues and I felt for him. But at the same time, I wondered if I could really trust his version of everything. Is he really who I think he is? What can I say, I like the unreliable type characters. Cate was a hot mess of a character. No matter what, I don’t think anyone is going to tame her wildness anytime soon. But one thing was clear with her, she cared about her brother, maybe a little possessive.   Jaime narrations takes us on this fast paced thriller that keeps you guessing till the end. We get glimpses of the past mixed with the present, showing that Jamie doesn’t really know what happened in his past. But we get to piece it all together right along with him. His sister Cate, seems to have some kinda of a hold on Jamie, and it frustrating not only for him but for the reader. Why did she come back to the town that doesn’t like her? What does she want from Jamie? The pieces start to fall into place and then I was changing my mind back and forth about the whole idea I had at the beginning of what was really going on. Was Cate crazy, or was Jamie crazy, or maybe I even the crazy one for trying to figure it all out. It was all thrilling and creepy. The big reveal answered it all for me, and I was happy with the way this ended. And just what I want from these types of books.   If I could give any advice in reading this, don’t read the blurb, go in not know what to expect and you will have one twisty, intense and somewhat disturbing ride to Jamie’s truth. Complicit is another freaking awesome book from Kuehn, and I would say pick this up for sure. 
ABookVacation More than 1 year ago
The synopsis of Complicit drew me in from the get go, and I knew I had to read this novel. With a premise like this one, you just know it’s got to be good, and it was. Very good, especially with its ending that completely knocked me on my butt. I mean, WOW. According to her confession and the evidence her brother Jamie found in the woods, Cate Henry set alight a horse barn with the horses still inside in hopes of drawing out their riders and doing as much damage to both them and the horses as possible. Sent to juvie for two years, the novel begins as Jamie learns that his sister, Cate, has been set free, sending him spiraling down as she taunts him with statements about their deceased mother and the fact that Cate’s now coming for Jamie. Determined to find the truth at any cost, Jamie begins to stir up the past, including that surrounding his mother’s murder when he was a young child; an event that not only left him emotionally scarred, but also suffering from blackouts and seemingly sporadic loss of his hands mobility. Unable to remember the events of his past, or even his mother’s features, though certain that they hold the key to Cate’s odd, cultish behavior, Jamie sets off on a journey of self-discovery, and what he finds is beyond alarming. Told through both past and present revelations, readers begin to put together the puzzling pieces of Jamie and Cate’s existence, understanding that not everything is as it seems, and that the cost of protecting the fragile mind of the young can indeed turn deadly. I highly enjoyed this novel, especially with this ending that left me mystified and chilled to my core. While I was able to pinpoint the truth behind Cate’s actions fairly early on, the events that readers are left with at the very end were still shocking and, in a way, more appalling than that of the horse barn burning in the first place. Jamie’s attempts to placate his sister while maintaining the semblance of his life, including his very first crush, sends readers on an intense psychological ride as Cate gets ever closed to Jamie, and as everything comes to a head, it’s beyond mind blowing. If you’re looking for something completely different, I suggest picking up Complicit—be prepared for a chilling conclusion.
Miss_Meck More than 1 year ago
Complicit By Stephanie Kuehn St. Martin’s Griffin, NY Kindle edition “Complicit,” a mind-bending YA novel, is one of the best I’ve read this summer. Stephanie Kuehn progressively unfolds an edgy coming-of-age tale to intrigue the reader right up to the last page. Adoptive parents, Angie and Malcolm, have done all they could to provide for and bring healing to Jamie and his sister, Cate. With so many deep, dark secrets, psychological trauma, and defense mechanisms, present in parents and children, is that enough? Reacting to trauma triggers, Jamie mercifully and periodically loses memory and control of his hands. Hearing that Cate is being released from a detention facility after only 2 short years is just such a trigger. Her threatening phone calls propel the story as Jamie’s life frantically spins out of control. Mystery unravels in perfect timing to heighten suspense. This quick-read page-turner will certainly find its place at the top of many YA lists. I received this Kindle formatted ARC from St. Martin’s Griffin Press through Net Galley, in exchange for my honest review.