A picturesque town. A woman on the run. An undercover agent. The first riveting novel in Catherine Coulter's #1 New York Times bestselling FBI Thriller series.
Sally Brainerd can't remember what happened the night her father was murdered. Maybe she did it. Or maybe it was her poor, traumatized mother. Either way, the safest place for her is far away from Washington, D.C.. But while her aunt's home in The Cove should be a quiet refuge, Sally can't shake the feeling that there's something not quite right about the postcard perfect little town.
Despite his target's checkered past and convenient memory loss, FBI Special Agent James Quinlan isn't convinced she's the killer—but maybe she knows who is. As he uses his cover to get close to Sally and unearth the memories her mind has hidden away, James can't deny his connection to the troubled woman. But as their lies and passions intertwine, Sally and James soon learn they aren't the only ones keeping deadly secrets in The Cove...
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
SOMEONE WAS WATCHING her. She tugged on the black
wig, flattening it against her ears, and quickly put on another
coat of deep-red lipstick, holding the mirror up so
she could see behind her.
The young Marine saw her face in the mirror and
grinned at her. She jumped as if she’d been shot. Just stop
it. He’s harmless, he’s just flirting. He couldn’t be more
than eighteen, his head all shaved, his cheeks as smooth
as hers. She tilted the mirror to see more. The woman
sitting beside him was reading a Dick Francis novel. In
the seat behind them a young couple were leaning into
each other, asleep.
The seat in front of her was empty. The Greyhound
driver was whistling Eric Clapton’s ‘‘Tears in Heaven,’’
a song that always twisted up her insides. The only one
who seemed to notice her was that young Marine, who’d
gotten on at the last stop in Portland. He was probably
going home to see his eighteen-year-old girlfriend. He
wasn’t after her, surely, but someone was. She wouldn’t
be fooled again. They’d taught her so much. No, she’d
never be fooled again.
She put the mirror back into her purse and fastened the
flap. She stared at her fingers, at the white line where the
wedding ring had been until three days ago. She’d tried
to pull it off for the past six months but hadn’t managed
to do it. She had been too out of it even to fasten the
Velcro on her sneakerswhen they allowed her sneakers
much less work off a tight ring.
Soon, she thought, soon she would be safe. Her mother
would be safe too. Oh, God, Noellesobbing in the middle
of the night when she didn’t know anyone could hear
her. But without her there, they couldn’t do a thing to
Noelle. Odd how she rarely thought of Noelle as her
mother anymore, not like she had ten years before, when
Noelle had listened to all her teenage problems, taken her
shopping, driven her to her soccer games. So much they’d
done together. Before. Yes, before that night when she’d
seen her father slam his fist into her mother’s chest and
she’d heard the cracking of at least two ribs.
She’d run in, screaming at him to leave her mother
alone, and jumped on his back. He was so surprised, so
shocked, that he didn’t strike her. He shook her off,
turned, and shouted down at her, ‘‘Mind your own business,
Susan! This doesn’t concern you.’’ She stared at
him, all the fear and hatred she felt for him at that moment
clear on her face.
‘‘Doesn’t concern me? She’s my mother, you bastard.
Don’t you dare hit her again!’’
He looked calm, but she wasn’t fooled; she saw the
pulse pounding madly in his neck. ‘‘It was her fault, Susan.
Mind your own damned business. Do you hear me?
It was her fault.’’ He took a step toward her mother, his
fist raised. She picked up the Waterford carafe off his
desk, yelling, ‘‘Touch her and I’ll bash your head in.’’
He was panting now, turning swiftly to face her again,
no more calm expression to fool her. His face was distorted
with rage. ‘‘Bitch! Damned interfering little bitch!
I’ll make you pay for this, Susan. No one goes against
me, particularly a spoiled little girl who’s never done a
thing in her life except spend her father’s money.’’ He
didn’t hit Noelle again. He looked at both of them with
naked fury, then strode out of the house, slamming the
door behind him.
‘‘Yeah, right,’’ she said and very carefully and slowly
set the Waterford carafe down before she dropped it.
She wanted to call an ambulance but her mother
wouldn’t allow it. ‘‘You can’t,’’ she said, her voice as
cracked as her ribs. ‘‘You can’t, Sally. Your father would
be ruined, if anyone believed us. I can’t allow that to
‘‘He deserves to be ruined,’’ Sally said, but she obeyed.
She was only sixteen years old, home for the weekend
from her private girls’ school in Laurelberg, Virginia.
Why wouldn’t they be believed?
‘‘No, dearest,’’ her mother whispered, the pain bowing
her in on herself. ‘‘No. Get me that blue bottle of pills in
the medicine cabinet. Hurry, Sally. The blue bottle.’’
As she watched her mother swallow three of the pills,
groaning as she did so, she realized the pills were there
because her father had struck her mother before. Deep
down, Sally had known it. She hated herself because she’d
never asked, never said a word.
That night her mother became Noelle, and the next
week Sally left her girls’ school and moved back to her
parents’ home in Washington, D.C., in hopes of protecting
her mother. She read everything she could find on abuse
not that it helped.
That was ten years ago, though sometimes it seemed
like last week. Noelle had stayed with her husband, refusing
to seek counseling, refusing to read any of the
books Sally brought her. It made no sense to Sally, but
she’d stayed as close as possible, until she’d met Scott
Brainerd at the Whistler exhibition at the National Gallery
of Art and married him two months later.
She didn’t want to think about Scott or about her father
now. Despite her vigilance, she knew her father had hit
Noelle whenever she happened to be gone from the house.
She’d seen the bruises her mother had tried to hide from
her, seen her walking carefully, like an old woman. Once
he broke her mother’s arm, but Noelle refused to go to
the hospital, to the doctor, and ordered Susan to keep
quiet. Her father just looked at her, daring her, and she
did nothing. Nothing.
Her fingers rubbed unconsciously over the white line
where the ring had been. She could remember the past so
clearlyher first day at school, when she was on the seesaw
and a little boy pointed, laughing that he saw her
It was just the past week that was a near blank in her
mind. The week her father had been killed. The whole
week was like a very long dream that had almost dissolved
into nothing more than an occasional wisp of memory
with the coming of the morning.
Sally knew she’d been at her parents’ house that night,
but she couldn’t remember anything more, at least nothing
she could graspjust vague shadows that blurred, then
faded in and out. But they didn’t know that. They wanted
her badly, she’d realized that soon enough. If they
couldn’t use her to prove that Noelle had killed her husband,
why, then they’d take her and prove that she’d
killed her father. Why not? Other children had murdered
their fathers. Although there were plenty of times she’d
wanted to, she didn’t believe she’d killed him.
On the other hand, she just didn’t know. It was all a
blank, locked tightly away in her brain. She knew she was
capable of killing that bastard, but had she? There were
many people who could have wanted her father dead. Perhaps
they’d found out she’d been there after all. Yes, that
was it. She’d been a witness and they knew it. She probably
had been. She just didn’t remember.
She had to stay focused on the present. She looked out
the Greyhound window at the small town the bus was
going through. Ugly gray exhaust spewed out the back of
the bus. She bet the locals loved that.
They were driving along Highway 101 southwest. Just
another half hour, she thought, just thirty more minutes,
and she wouldn’t have to worry anymore, at least for a
while. She would take any safe time she could get. Soon
she wouldn’t have to be afraid of anyone who chanced to
look at her. No one knew about her aunt, no one.
She was terrified that the young Marine would get off
after her when she stepped down from the bus at the junction
of Highways 101 and 101A. But he didn’t. No one
did. She stood there with her one small bag, staring at the
young Marine, who’d turned around in his seat and was
looking back at her. She tamped down on her fear. He
just wanted to flirt, not hurt her. She thought he had lousy
taste in women. She watched for cars, but none were coming
from either direction.
She walked west along Highway 101A to The Cove.
Highway 101A didn’t go east.
She stared at the woman she’d seen once in her life
when she was no more than seven years old. She looked
like a hippie, a colorful scarf wrapped around her long,
curling, dark hair, huge gold hoops dangling from her
ears, her skirt ankle-length and painted all in dark blues
and browns. She was wearing blue sneakers. Her face was
strong, her cheekbones high and prominent, her chin
sharp, her eyes dark and intelligent. Actually, she was the
most beautiful woman Sally had ever seen.
‘‘What did you say?’’ Amabel stared at the young
woman who stood on her front doorstep, a young woman
who didn’t look cheap with all that makeup she’d piled
on her face, just exhausted and sickly pale. And frightened.
Then, of course, she knew. She had known deep
down that she would come. Yes, she’d known, but it still
‘‘I’m Sally,’’ she said and pulled off the black wig and
took out half a dozen hairpins. Thick, waving dark-blond
hair tumbled down to her shoulders. ‘‘Maybe you called
me Susan? Not many people do anymore.’’
6 Catherine Coulter
The woman was shaking her head back and forth, those
dazzling earrings slapping against her neck. ‘‘My God,
it’s really you, Sally?’’ She rocked back on her heels.
‘‘Oh, my,’’ Amabel said and quickly pulled her niece
against her, hugged her tightly, then pushed her back to
look at her. ‘‘Oh, my goodness. I’ve been so worried. I
finally heard the news about your papa, but I didn’t know
if I should call Noelle. You know how she is. I was going
to call her tonight when the rates go down, but you’re
here, Sally. I guess I hoped you’d come to me. What’s
happened? Is your mama all right?’’
‘‘Noelle is fine, I think,’’ Sally said. ‘‘I didn’t know
where else to go, so I came here. Can I stay here, Aunt
Amabel, just for a little while? Just until I can think of
something, make some plans?’’
‘‘Of course you can. Look at that black wig and all that
makeup on your face. Why, baby?’’
The endearment undid her. She’d not cried, not once,
until now, until this woman she didn’t really know called
her ‘‘baby.’’ Her aunt’s hands were stroking her back, her
voice was low and soothing. ‘‘It’s all right, lovey. I promise
you, everything will be all right now. Come in, Sally,
and I’ll take care of you. That’s what I told your mama
when I first saw you. You were the cutest little thing, so
skinny, your arms and legs wobbly like a colt’s, and the
biggest smile I’d ever seen. I wanted to take care of you
then. You’ll be safe here. Come on, baby.’’
The damnable tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept dripping
down her face, ruining the god-awful thick black
mascara. She even tasted it, and when she swiped her
hand over her face it came away with black streaks.
‘‘I look like a circus clown,’’ she said, swallowing hard
to stop the tears, to smile, to make herself smile. She took
out the green-colored contacts. With the crying, they hurt.
‘‘No, you look like a little girl trying on her mama’s
makeup. That’s right, take out those ugly contacts. Ah,
now you’ve got your pretty blue eyes again. Come to the
kitchen and I’ll make you some tea. I always put a drop
of brandy in mine. It wouldn’t hurt you one little bit. How
old are you now, Sally?’’
‘‘Twenty-six, I think.’’
‘‘What do you mean, you think?’’ her aunt said, cocking
her head to one side, making the gold hoop earring
hang straight down almost to her shoulder.
Sally couldn’t tell her that though she thought her birthday
had come and gone in that place, she couldn’t seem
to see the day in her mind, couldn’t dredge up anyone
saying anything to her, not that she could imagine it anyway.
She couldn’t even remember if her father had been
there. She prayed he hadn’t. She couldn’t tell Amabel
about that, she just couldn’t. She shook her head, smiled,
and said, not lying well, ‘‘It was just a way of speaking,
Aunt Amabel. I’d love some tea and a drop of brandy.’’
Amabel sat her niece down in the kitchen at her old
pine table that had three magazines under one leg to keep
it steady. At least she’d made cushions for the wooden
seats, so they were comfortable. She put the kettle on the
gas burner and turned it on. ‘‘There,’’ she said. ‘‘That
won’t take too long.’’
Sally watched her put a Lipton tea bag into each cup
and pour in the brandy. Amabel said, ‘‘I always pour the
brandy in first. It soaks into the tea bag and makes the
flavor stronger. Brandy’s expensive and I’ve got to make
it last. This bottle’’she lifted the Christian Brothers
‘‘is going on its third month. Not bad. You’ll see, you’ll
‘‘No one followed me, Aunt Amabel. I was really careful.
I imagine you know that everyone is after me. But I
managed to get away. As far as I know, no one knows
about you. Noelle never told a soul. Only Father knew
about you, and he’s dead.’’
Amabel just nodded. Sally sat quietly, watching Amabel
move around her small kitchen, each action smooth
8 Catherine Coulter
and efficient. She was graceful, this aunt of hers in her
hippie clothes. She looked at those strong hands, the long
fingers, the short, buffed nails painted an awesome bright
red. Amabel was an artist, she remembered that now. She
couldn’t see any resemblance at all to Noelle, Amabel’s
younger sister. Amabel was dark as a gypsy, while Noelle
was blond and fair-complexioned, blue-eyed and soft as
Like me, Sally thought. But Sally wasn’t soft anymore.
She was hard as a brick.
She waited, expecting Amabel to whip out a deck of
cards and tell her fortune. She wondered why none of
Noelle’s family ever spoke of Amabel. What had she done
that was so terrible?
Her fingers rubbed over the white band where the ring
had been. She said as she looked around the old kitchen
with its ancient refrigerator and porcelain sink, ‘‘You
don’t mind that I’m here, Aunt Amabel?’’
‘‘Call me Amabel, honey, that’ll be just fine. I don’t
mind at all. Both of us will protect your mama. As for
you, why, I don’t think you could hurt that little bug that’s
scurrying across the kitchen floor.’’
Sally shook her head, got out of her seat, and squashed
the bug beneath her heel. She sat down again. ‘‘I just want
you to see me as I really am,’’ she said.
Amabel only shrugged, turned back to the stove when
the teakettle whistled, and poured the water into the teacups.
She said, not turning around, ‘‘Things happen to
people, change them. Take your mama. Everyone always
protected your mama, including me. Why wouldn’t her
daughter do the same? You are protecting her, aren’t you,
She handed Sally her cup of tea. She pulled the tea bag
back and forth, making the tea darker and darker. Finally,
she lifted the bag and placed it carefully on the saucer.
She’d swished that tea bag just the way her mother always
had when she’d been young. She took a drink, held the
brandied tea in her mouth a moment, then swallowed. The
tea was wonderful, thick, rich, and sinful. She felt less on
edge almost immediately. That brandy was something.
Surely she’d be safe here. Surely Amabel would take her
in just for a little while until she figured out what to do.
She imagined her aunt wanted to hear everything, but
she wasn’t pushing. Sally was immensely grateful for that.
‘‘I’ve often wondered what kind of woman you’d become,’’
Amabel said. ‘‘Looks to me like you’ve become
a fine one. This messand that’s what it isit will pass.
Everything will be resolved, you’ll see.’’ She was silent
a moment, remembering the affection she’d felt for the
little girl, that bone-deep desire to keep her close, to hug
her until she squeaked. It surprised her that it was still
there. She didn’t like it, nor did she want it.
‘‘Careful of leaning on that end of the table, Sally. Purn
Davies wanted to fix it for me, but I wouldn’t let him.’’
She knew Sally wasn’t hearing her, but it didn’t matter,
Amabel was just making noise until Sally got some of
that brandy in her belly.
‘‘This tea’s something else, Amabel. Strange, but
good.’’ She took another drink, then another. She felt
warmth pooling in her stomach. She realized she hadn’t
felt this warm in more than five days.
‘‘You might as well tell me now, Sally. You came here
so you could protect your mama, didn’t you, baby?’’
Sally took another big drink of the tea. What could she
say? She said nothing.
‘‘Did your mama kill your papa?’’
Sally set down her cup and stared into it, wishing she
knew the truth of things, but that night was as murky in
her mind as the tea in the bottom of her cup. ‘‘I don’t
know,’’ she said finally. ‘‘I just don’t know, but they think
I do. They think I’m either protecting Noelle or running
because I did it. They’re trying to find me. I didn’t want
to take a chance, so that’s why I’m here.’’
Was she lying? Amabel didn’t say anything. She
10 Catherine Coulter
merely smiled at her niece, who looked exhausted, her
face white and pinched, her lovely blue eyes as faded and
worn as an old dress. She was too thin; her sweater and
slacks hung on her. In that moment her niece looked very
old, as if she had seen too much of the wicked side of
life. Well, it was too bad, but there was more wickedness
in the world than anyone cared to admit.
She said quietly as she stared down into her teacup, ‘‘If
your mama did kill her husband, I’ll bet the bastard deserved
Excerpted from "The Cove"
Copyright © 1996 Catherine Coulter.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
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
What People are Saying About This
"Fantastic...Action-packed...Spine-tingling." —Affaire De Coeur
A Message from Catherine Coulter
In November 2003, Putnam released Catherine Coulter's very first FBI thriller -- originally published only in paperback -- in a hardcover edition. To celebrate, Ransom Notes asked Coulter about the origins of her endlessly popular series and her plans for the future:
My brain has always worked in a mystery sort of way. I'd say that regardless of the genre I'm writing, a good 80 percent of my books have mysteries in them. With Beyond Eden, Impulse, and False Pretenses -- my first contemporaries -- the mysteries were an integral part from the beginning. But, with The Cove, I moved beyond using mystery and suspense around a central story of a romantic relationship, to a nearly pure suspense thriller.
When I started work on The Cove I was really frazzled, having just finished nine historical romances in a row for Putnam (three trilogies). The Cove was a real departure for me. Initially, Putnam wanted to bring it out in hardcover. But I squawked -- we were trying something completely new, and I didn't want to risk failing in hardcover. So The Cove came out as a mass market paperback original. As it turns out, it was the only one of the FBI series to come out in paperback first. Readers have been asking for a hardcover edition ever since, and now it's finally coming!
I've always gravitated to recurring characters. Still, when my sister gave me the idea for The Cove, I had not a single thought about a series. It was serendipity that James Quinlan was an FBI agent and worked with other agents. Then, when I got the idea for The Maze, I still wasn't thinking about a series as such, but the FBI was a natural fit to the story, and I couldn't resist using Savich (introduced as a secondary character in The Cove) again. By the third book, The Target, it all came together as a series.
Right now I'm writing another FBI thriller, Blowout, for the summer of 2004. This one is focused on Sherlock & Savich, with the return of Detective Ben Raven (from Blindside) of the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, D.C.
If readers want to contact me, my email address is email@example.com and my mailing address is P.O. Box 17, Mill Valley, CA. 94942. I answer all messages myself. It might take me a while, but I do get to them all.
My web site (www.catherinecoulter.com) is very user friendly, and I hope the newsletters there entertain. They come complete with monthly photos of Corky and Cleo (my two cats, who think of me as Motherfood), and feature news of other events in my life, like a real honor I had recently: I was invited to the National Book Festival. Not only did I meet the president and the cabinet at the gala at the Library of Congress; I was asked to be one of three speakers at the opening ceremonies at the White House. It was like a dream come true. Catherine Coulter
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I read the Eleventh Hour and Blow Out - they were great. I had this notion to start with her very first FBI Series and work my way up - The Cove was at best, a horrible and painful read. But oh no, I thought, I just had to read The Target after that, MAYBE it would get better, but it didn't. Then I read the next book - what WAS I thinking. The characters are just plain stupid and then what's worse, the characters even communicate with each other in dialog that is just plain corny (which is what I've found in the other books as well). The plot could have been good if it was just better written and developed and not so contrite.
I am fortunate to get B@N gift cards so I decided to try an author new to me, and have gotten several of her books. The only one of her FBI series worth reading is this one. The rest of the series reads like a teenager wrote the love scenes, the women and most of the fictional agents are all similar in looks,temperment and actions-in other words-boring.
Coulter is a romance writer that has broken out into the mainstream; this book was found in the mystery section. Blessedly, the book lacked the romance genre's purple prose descriptions of the protagonists, but it did have a bad habit of head-hopping that by Chapter Four was seriously getting on my nerves. However, the book also had an intriguing mystery that was pulling me in and had me firmly hooked by Chapter Ten. Unfortunately, the plot holes kept growing until they became a yawing plot gorge. To give one example not a spoiler, the hero, an FBI agent, more than once talked about how his gun was on a hair-trigger. Then, without any mention of unloading it after taking it away from someone, he "tosses" it into the car. Time and time again he and his partner ignore the law and act recklessly and irresponsibly. Eventually little and not so little things like that piled up, the story lost credibility with me, and I stopped reading about half way through and skipped to the end--the resolution of the mystery was silly. This is also the second novel out of six read so far on a romance novel recommendation list where the heroine was involuntarily committed for mental illness by her husband and is on the run to avoid being sent back. Is this something common in the romance genre or what? Part of the FBI Thriller series--I'm going to pass on the rest.
This is the first Coulter I've read, based on a friend's recommendation, and I was disappointed. The overall plot concept is marginally OK, but the big surprise really isn't. The Cove could be made into a viewable TV movie -- and maybe it already has been? But the book would be too long at half the length. The writing is sloppy, amateurish and repetitive. Parts of the plot suspend belief -- how many times can the heroine get recaptured? 3? 4? Avoid THe Cove or your stay might be as painful as some of the missing visitors.
Save yourself some time and money and move on. If you are looking for romance you are not going to find it here. This series is pure mystery.
I can't believe I spent time reading this book! Fortunately I took it out of the library and didn't pay for it! While the plot had great potential, the choppy, conversational writing style was extremely painful to read. I kept reading thinking that it HAD to get better...boy was I wrong!!!
I was excited about this book till I started reading it. Very predictable and very boring.
The Cove was a great disappointment and not worth my time. But.....I'd purchased the ebook and my mother taught me to never NOT finish a book ---- but this one was a waste of time.
I have thoroughly enjoyed all of the FBI series. I replaced my first CD audio "The Cove" with the MP3 CD format. I believe it is safer when listening while traveling. The MP3 CD has the entire book on one CD (11 hours) so you aren't distracted by changing regular CDs while traveling at 65-70 mph.
This was a great book! The action never stopped and I fell in the love with the characters... My only hope is that I love the rest of the series as much as I loved The Cove and The Maze! Catherine Coulter has definitely made it to my top favorite author list!
One of the very worst books I've ever tried to read. The plot and characters were unrealistic, stilted and juvenile. It was a waste of time. I gave up and skipped to the last chapter but the ending was as bad, or worse. Certainly NOT recommended.
I have just finished reading The Cove. I found the first 100 or so pages of the book uneventful and boring but I kept reading hoping the story would get better which it does, so if you find yourself in a similar situation reading this book, take my advice and keep reading! The ending is worth it.
I'm sorry I wasted my time reading this book! I gave it one star because I had to to finish rating it. Also, it deserves a star for the time and effort to produce it.
I have read many of Ms. Coulter's books and really liked most of them. However, I really hated The Cove. It had a contrived plot,stilted dialogue,and unlikely characters and behaviors. I threw the book in the trash when I finished, because I didn't want anyone else to suffer through it.
This was my first Coulter book and will be my last. Given that fiction should have some lattitude in believability, this book was so far off the edge of reality to the point of distraction and frustration. Not that the basic plot couldn't hold some water, but it was mostly in the way the characters interacted and the manner of speech that drove me to continually toss the book aside only to force myself to pick it up again for one reason, I paid for it. There was an obvious lack of research into the FBI and the basic ways in which the bureau operates which made one of the lead characters simply non-believable and therefore I, as the reader, could hold no connection to him or accept the story as it unfolded (and it was very slow to unfold). The only way I can describe this is that it is so underdeveloped that its as if the author did this as a high school assignment and I felt as though I wanted to pull out a pen and bleed red all over it.
I had high hopes for this book. The plot is great, and the twists and turns are creative and will keep you guessing. Unfortunately, the character dialogue is stilted and unnatural. The characters do not interact like any humans I've ever heard of. The vocabulary is odd, the colloquialisms are on the side of ridiculous, and the "jokes" between the characters (and in their own heads) are overly PG. If you skip the parts of the book where you see quotations marks, then it goes pretty well. Otherwise, I'd recommend Iris Johansen.
I have not read this author before. I found the story totally implausible and the characters one dimensional. The writing style is amateurish at best. I will not read anything else by this author.
There are more twists and turns in this plot than a mountain road. I was hooked at the very beginning. This will make a great movie.
I HATED THIS BOOK! IF YOU WANT WRITING AT A 8TH GRADE LEVEL THIS WRITER IS FOR YOU. THE PLOT HAD POTENTIAL...REMINDED ME OF A DEAN KOONTZ PLOT... BUT THE WRITING WAS SO JUVENILE AND REPETITIVE THAT I SCANNED THROUGH THE LAST HALF. I COULDN'T WAIT TO GET TO THE END SO I CAN DELETE IT FROM MY LIBRARY! IF YOU WANT "ADULT" WRITING SKIP THIS AUTHOR. IF YOU LIKE SILLY COMMENTS FROM FBI AGENTS LIKE "WHEN THINGS GET TOUGH, THE TOUGH GET MOVING" THEN YOU MAY LIKE IT.
I found this book to have an interesting twist, but the writing was inconsistent in spots. The first third of the book flowed nicely and the writing was solid. Suddenly it felt as if the writer lost focus or wasn't quite sure how to proceed and the writing began to wander. The last third of the book was quite tedious in this regard but wrapped up nicely and still held my attention. Overall, the story was interesting enough that I will look for book two in the series.
first book I read by this author and really enjoyed it. I thought I had it figured out several times then a twist and another and another. I can't wait to continue the series!
This is a great book. Keeps you guessing and at the end, you get totally blown away. Bits of romantic and humor. Very suspenseful. I already read blow out and that was so good that I decided to start reading her books from the beginning which is the cove. You just can't put the book down. It keeps calling you back to read it. Can't wait to read her next one, the maze. Thanks Catherine, you are a wonderful storyteller. Keep them coming as you are now on my favorite author list.
I read this book when it was new, and I was instantly hooked with this author! I have every book she has written since and I defenately recommend it!
I really love this book it's much better than any suspense movie I've ever seen. James Quinlan makes you fall in love with him and Sally makes you want to be in her place with James. It's an awesome book
Too much repetition of plot