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Authors: Lisa Unger

Tags: #East Village (New York; N.Y.), #Psychological Fiction, #Large Type Books, #Fiction, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Women Journalists, #Suspense Fiction

Sliver of Truth

BOOK: Sliver of Truth
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Table of Contents
 
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409066910
  
Published by Arrow Books 2009
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Lisa Unger 2007
Excerpt from
Black Out
Copyright © Lisa Unger 2008
Lisa Unger has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in Great Britain in 2008 by
Arrow Books
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road
London SW1V 2SA
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099522225
The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship
Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our
titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at
www.rbooks.co.uk/environment
Typeset in AGaramond by Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Grangemouth, Stirlingshire
Printed in Great Britain by
CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG1 8EX
About the Author
Lisa Unger is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Beautiful Lies
and
Sliver of Truth
. Her novels have been published in more than twenty-five languages. Lisa lives in Florida with her husband and daughter. Read more at
www.lisaunger.com
Praise for Lisa Unger
‘Suspenseful, sensitive, sexy, subtle . . . The best nail-biter I have read for ages. Highly recommended’ Lee Child
‘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
‘In this tantalizing tale of family suspense, beware of who you trust and be forewarned about what might happen next’ Lisa Gardner
‘Unger grabs the reader by the throat and doesn’t let go . . . her gifts for dialogue and pacing set this far above the standard novel of suspense and will leave many anxiously awaiting her third book’
Publishers Weekly
‘A tightly written thriller . . . maintains a high adrenaline level throughout’
San Francisco Chronicle
Also by Lisa Unger
Beautiful Lies
F
OR
O
CEAN
R
AE
Who, even before her arrival, changed me in ways I never could have imagined . . .
Who has brought more love and joy to Jeffrey and me than we knew existed.
Just the anticipation of her was the most magnificent gift
. . . even when she was just the glow of sunshine on the water.
We are blessed by her presence in our lives.
D
ECEMBER
25, 2005
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It might be true that writers work in isolation. But the work I do would surely stay behind closed doors without the network of believers and supporters I am so blessed to have in my life. I’ll list them here with a glowing catalog of their many qualities:
My husband, Jeffrey, has heard me give the same talks and answer the same questions for years—and not just at home. I have yet to appear at a bookstore, conference, or writers’ or readers’ group without my husband in the audience. And, frankly, that’s the least of what he does. He’s the best husband, friend, publicist, reader, event coordinator, and—most recently—the best father I have ever known. And he cooks! I thank my lucky stars every day for him.
My agent, Elaine Markson, and her assistant, Gary Johnson, are positively my lifeline in this business. From the time I was signed on at the Elaine Markson Literary Agency almost seven years ago, Elaine has been my first reader, my champion, and my friend. Gary keeps me organized, keeps me laughing, and keeps me up on all the industry gossip. Every year I try to think of something new to say, but the unchanging truth is this: I’d be lost without them.
If I could build a shrine to my editor, Sally Kim, and worship at it, I would. Seriously. The author-editor relationship is so delicate, so crucial. Authors are such quirky, fragile people; in the wrong hands they can be bruised and demoralized. In the right hands, they grow and get better at their craft. Sally has the loveliest way of guiding without pushing, suggesting without dictating, making me a better writer, and letting me think it was all my doing. She’s a co-conspirator, therapist, champion, and friend.
A publisher like Crown/Shaye Areheart Books is every writer’s dream. I can’t imagine a more wonderful, supportive, and loving home. My heartfelt thanks to Jenny Frost, Shaye Areheart, Tina Constable, Philip Patrick, Jill Flaxman, Whitney Cookman, Jacqui LeBow, Kim Shannon, Kira Stevens, Roseann Warren, Tara Gilbride, Christine Aronson, Linda Kaplan, Karin Schulze, and Kate Kennedy . . . to name just a few. Every one of these people has brought their unique skills and talents to bear on my work and I can’t thank them enough.
Special Agent Paul Bouffard understands the way I think. We are of one mind. He is my source for all things legal and illegal. With his vast experience in federal law enforcement, he is a wealth of information, a wellspring of details and thrilling anecdotes that never cease to capture my imagination, a tireless sounding board, and along with his wife, Wendy, a great friend.
My family and friends cheer me through the great days and drag me through the bad ones. My mom and dad, Virginia and Joseph Miscione (aka Team Houston), are tireless promoters and cheerleaders. At every store I visited in Houston, a clerk or manager said to me, “Oh, yeah! Your mom was in here moving your books to the front table!” My brother, Joe Miscione, takes pictures with his cell phone whenever he sees my books in stores and e-mails them to me. My friend Heather Mikesell has read every word I have written since we met almost thirteen years ago. I count on her insights—and her eagle-eye editing. My oldest friends, Marion Chartoff and Tara Popick, each offer their own special brand of wisdom, support, and humor. I am grateful to them for more reasons than I can count here.
PROLOGUE
She wondered, Is it possible, maybe even normal, to spend twenty years of your life with someone, to love that person more than you love yourself sometimes and then sometimes to truly hate him, so much that you think about taking your new cast-iron grill pan and bringing it down on the top of his head? Or maybe these thoughts were just a result of one of her random yet tempestuous perimenopausal moments. Or the fact that the piece-of-crap air conditioner she’d been begging him to replace for two summers was no competition for a kitchen where there were three pans on the stove and a pork roast in the oven.
The heat didn’t seem to bother him as he sat directly in front of the unit with a copy of the
Times
in his hands, his feet on the hassock, a glass of merlot on the table beside him. He’d offered to help; it was true. But in that kind of non-offer way he had: “Do you need some help?” (without looking up from the sports section), not “What can I do?” (as he rolled up his sleeves) or “You sit down a minute; let me mince the garlic” (as he poured her a glass of wine). Those were what she considered true offers of help. She wanted him to
insist.
Especially since she knew that she could never sit reading with a glass of wine while he slaved away at some annoying task like cooking for friends (friends of
his,
by the way), regardless of whether he’d rebuffed her offers of help or not.
She glanced at the clock and felt her stress level rise. Just an hour before their guests arrived and she hadn’t even showered. She released a sigh and banged a pot down in the sink, which caused her husband to look up from his paper.
“Everything all right?” Allen asked, rising.
“No,” she said sullenly. “It’s hot in here and I need to take a shower.”
“Okay,” he said, coming over to her and taking the slotted spoon from her hand. He wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled that devilish smile he had, the one that always made her smile, too, no matter how angry she was.
“Take it easy,” he said, kissing her neck. She leaned back from him a second, playing mad and hard to get, but soon enough she melted.
“If you need help, why don’t you ask for it?” he whispered in her ear, raising erogenous goose bumps on her neck.
“You should just
know,
” she said, still pouting.
“You’re right,” he said into the space between her throat and her collarbone. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Well,” she said, suddenly feeling silly, “I guess it’s mostly done.”
He pulled away from her, took a glass from the cabinet, and poured her some wine. “How about this, then? You go take a shower and I’ll get a head start on the cleaning, take care of some of these pans.”
She took the glass from his hand, gave him a kiss on the mouth. After twenty years, she still loved the taste of him (when she wasn’t imagining clocking him with a grill pan). She looked around their West Village apartment, most of which could be seen from the space over the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining and living area. It was small and cramped but filled with the chic clutter of objects and books and photographs they’d collected over their life together. The couch and matching love seat were old and worn, but good quality and as comfortable as an embrace. The cocktail table was an old door from an antique shop in New Hope, Pennsylvania. Their television, like the window air-conditioning unit, was a dinosaur that badly needed replacing. Their bedroom was so small that there was barely room for their queen-size bed and two bedside tables piled high with books. They could afford something better, something much bigger . . . maybe in Brooklyn or out in Hoboken. But they were Manhattanites to the bone and couldn’t bear to be separated from the city by a bridge or a tunnel. Maybe it was silly, but between that and the fact that the rent was just six hundred dollars a month (as it had been since 1970), because the apartment had been grandfathered to Allen by his brother when his brother had moved to a lovely carriage house in Park Slope, they’d just stayed on there. The children they’d hoped for had never come; they’d never had a reason to expand. Only recently had things become uncomfortable for them.
BOOK: Sliver of Truth
3.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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