Beautiful Lies
Autor Lisa Ungeren Limba Engleză Paperback – 11 sep 2008
| Toate formatele și edițiile | Preț | Express |
|---|---|---|
| Paperback (2) | 106.82 lei 43-57 zile | |
| Three Rivers Press (CA) – 30 noi 2006 | 111.66 lei 22-36 zile | |
| CORNERSTONE – 11 sep 2008 | 106.82 lei 43-57 zile |
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780099522140
ISBN-10: 0099522144
Pagini: 496
Dimensiuni: 110 x 178 x 31 mm
Greutate: 0.27 kg
Editura: CORNERSTONE
Locul publicării:United Kingdom
ISBN-10: 0099522144
Pagini: 496
Dimensiuni: 110 x 178 x 31 mm
Greutate: 0.27 kg
Editura: CORNERSTONE
Locul publicării:United Kingdom
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Notă biografică
Lisa Unger is an award-winning New York Times and international bestselling author. Her novels have sold over 1 million copies in the U.S. and have been translated into 26 different languages.
From the Hardcover edition.
From the Hardcover edition.
Extras
Chapter One
It's dark in that awful way that allows you to make out objects but not the black spaces behind them. My breathing comes ragged from exertion and fear. The only person I trust in the world lies on the floor beside me. I lean into him and hear that he's still breathing but it's shallow and hard won. He's hurt, I know. But I can't see how badly. I whisper his name in his ear but he doesn't respond. I feel his body but there's no blood that I can tell. The sound of his body hitting the floor minutes before was the worst thing I've ever heard.
I feel the floor around him, looking for his gun. After a few seconds I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips and I almost weep with relief. But there's no time for that now.
I can hear the rain falling outside the burned-out building, its loud, heavy drops smacking on canvas. It's falling inside, too, trickling in through gaping holes in the roof down through floors of rotted wood and broken staircases. He moves and issues a low groan. I hear him say my name and I lean in close to him again.
"It's okay. We're going to be okay," I tell him, even though I don't have any reason to believe this is true. Somewhere outside or up above us a man I thought I loved, along with other men whom I couldn't identify, are trying to kill us, to protect an awful truth that I've discovered. I am hurt myself, in so much pain that I might pass out if I didn't know it meant dying here in this condemned building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. There's something embedded in my right thigh. It's possibly a bullet, or a large spike of wood, or maybe a nail. It's so dark I can just barely see the large hole in my jeans, and the denim is black with my blood. I'm dizzy, the world tilting, but I'm holding on.
I hear them up above us now, see the beams of their flashlights crossing in the dark through the holes in the floors. I try to control my breathing, which to my own ears sounds as loud as an oncoming train. I hear one of the men say to the others, "I think they fell through. They're on the bottom." There was no answer but I can hear them making their way down over creaking wood.
He stirs. "They're coming," he says, his voice little more than a rasp. "Get out of here, Ridley."
I don't answer him. We both know I'm not leaving. I pull at him and he tries to get up, but the pain registers on his face louder than the scream I know he suppressed to protect us for a few minutes more. If we're not walking out of here together, we're not walking out at all. I drag him, even though I know I shouldn't be moving him, over behind an old moldy couch that lies on its back by the wall. It's not far but I can see his face white and gritted in terrible pain. As I move him, he loses consciousness again and in an instant feels fifty pounds heavier. But I've seen all four of his limbs move and that's something. I realize that I'm praying as I pull him, my leg on fire, my strength waning. Please God, please God, please God, over and over again like a mantra.
The way the couch is lying, it forms a crawl space against the wall just big enough for the two of us. I pull him in there and lie on my belly beside him. I pull an old crate over toward the edge of the couch and look through the wooden slats. They're closer now and I'm sure they've heard us because they've stopped talking and turned their flashlights off. I hold the gun in both hands and wait. I've never fired a gun before and I don't know how many bullets are left in this one. I think we're going to die here.
"Ridley, please, don't do this." The voice echoes in the dark and comes from up above me. "We can work this out."
I don't answer. I know it's a trick. Nothing about this can be worked out now; we're all too far gone. There have been plenty of chances to close my eyes and go back to the sleep of my life as it was, but I haven't taken any of them. Do I wish now that I had? It's hard to answer that question, as the wraiths move closer.
"Six," he whispers.
"What?"
"You have six bullets left."
From the Hardcover edition.
It's dark in that awful way that allows you to make out objects but not the black spaces behind them. My breathing comes ragged from exertion and fear. The only person I trust in the world lies on the floor beside me. I lean into him and hear that he's still breathing but it's shallow and hard won. He's hurt, I know. But I can't see how badly. I whisper his name in his ear but he doesn't respond. I feel his body but there's no blood that I can tell. The sound of his body hitting the floor minutes before was the worst thing I've ever heard.
I feel the floor around him, looking for his gun. After a few seconds I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips and I almost weep with relief. But there's no time for that now.
I can hear the rain falling outside the burned-out building, its loud, heavy drops smacking on canvas. It's falling inside, too, trickling in through gaping holes in the roof down through floors of rotted wood and broken staircases. He moves and issues a low groan. I hear him say my name and I lean in close to him again.
"It's okay. We're going to be okay," I tell him, even though I don't have any reason to believe this is true. Somewhere outside or up above us a man I thought I loved, along with other men whom I couldn't identify, are trying to kill us, to protect an awful truth that I've discovered. I am hurt myself, in so much pain that I might pass out if I didn't know it meant dying here in this condemned building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. There's something embedded in my right thigh. It's possibly a bullet, or a large spike of wood, or maybe a nail. It's so dark I can just barely see the large hole in my jeans, and the denim is black with my blood. I'm dizzy, the world tilting, but I'm holding on.
I hear them up above us now, see the beams of their flashlights crossing in the dark through the holes in the floors. I try to control my breathing, which to my own ears sounds as loud as an oncoming train. I hear one of the men say to the others, "I think they fell through. They're on the bottom." There was no answer but I can hear them making their way down over creaking wood.
He stirs. "They're coming," he says, his voice little more than a rasp. "Get out of here, Ridley."
I don't answer him. We both know I'm not leaving. I pull at him and he tries to get up, but the pain registers on his face louder than the scream I know he suppressed to protect us for a few minutes more. If we're not walking out of here together, we're not walking out at all. I drag him, even though I know I shouldn't be moving him, over behind an old moldy couch that lies on its back by the wall. It's not far but I can see his face white and gritted in terrible pain. As I move him, he loses consciousness again and in an instant feels fifty pounds heavier. But I've seen all four of his limbs move and that's something. I realize that I'm praying as I pull him, my leg on fire, my strength waning. Please God, please God, please God, over and over again like a mantra.
The way the couch is lying, it forms a crawl space against the wall just big enough for the two of us. I pull him in there and lie on my belly beside him. I pull an old crate over toward the edge of the couch and look through the wooden slats. They're closer now and I'm sure they've heard us because they've stopped talking and turned their flashlights off. I hold the gun in both hands and wait. I've never fired a gun before and I don't know how many bullets are left in this one. I think we're going to die here.
"Ridley, please, don't do this." The voice echoes in the dark and comes from up above me. "We can work this out."
I don't answer. I know it's a trick. Nothing about this can be worked out now; we're all too far gone. There have been plenty of chances to close my eyes and go back to the sleep of my life as it was, but I haven't taken any of them. Do I wish now that I had? It's hard to answer that question, as the wraiths move closer.
"Six," he whispers.
"What?"
"You have six bullets left."
From the Hardcover edition.
Recenzii
“A stunning, powerful novel! Lisa Unger’s taut prose grabs the reader from word one and never lets go. In this tantalizing tale of family suspense, beware of who you trust and be forewarned about what might happen next.” —Lisa Gardner, author of Alone
“A tense exploration of what lies beneath the white picket fence of ordinary life. Harlan Coben has a new rival for his thriller crown.” —John Connolly, author of The Black Angel
“Beautiful Lies is a heartfelt thriller full of twists, turns, and truths. . . . Lisa Unger writes with precision and insight—she’s a welcome new voice in suspense fiction.” —Jeff Abbott, author of Panic
“At last, a riveting suspense novel filled with psychological insight and amazing wisdom. Lisa Unger is a literate, savvy writer, and Beautiful Lies is a find! Read it now!” —Margaret coel, author of Eye of the Wolf
“Suspenseful, sensitive, sexy, subtle . . . The best nail-biter I have read for ages. Highly recommended.” —Lee Child, author of One Shot
From the Hardcover edition.
“A tense exploration of what lies beneath the white picket fence of ordinary life. Harlan Coben has a new rival for his thriller crown.” —John Connolly, author of The Black Angel
“Beautiful Lies is a heartfelt thriller full of twists, turns, and truths. . . . Lisa Unger writes with precision and insight—she’s a welcome new voice in suspense fiction.” —Jeff Abbott, author of Panic
“At last, a riveting suspense novel filled with psychological insight and amazing wisdom. Lisa Unger is a literate, savvy writer, and Beautiful Lies is a find! Read it now!” —Margaret coel, author of Eye of the Wolf
“Suspenseful, sensitive, sexy, subtle . . . The best nail-biter I have read for ages. Highly recommended.” —Lee Child, author of One Shot
From the Hardcover edition.
Descriere
Descriere de la o altă ediție sau format:
In this sexy, fast-paced literary thriller, Unger takes readers on a breathtaking ride in which a young New York writer's good deed has terrible consequences and leaves her running for her life.
In this sexy, fast-paced literary thriller, Unger takes readers on a breathtaking ride in which a young New York writer's good deed has terrible consequences and leaves her running for her life.