Table of Contents
Epigraph
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Teaser chapter
“ROBARDS IS ONE TERRIFIC STORYTELLER.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A DEFINITE MASTER OF SUSPENSE.”
—A Romance Review
Praise for the Novels of Karen Robards Obsession
"[A] creepily effective suspense novel. . . . The premise is a real gripper.”—The Seattle Times
"A psychological thriller that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.”
—The Stuart News/Port St. Lucie News (FL)
“Readers will love Obsession, a stunning and powerful tour-de-force thriller. . . . Karen Robards proves once again she is a stupendous storyteller.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Bestselling Robards adds psychological spice to a familiar love-on-the-run plot . . . a page-turner . . . spins satisfaction out of appealing characters who fall in love and bad guys who get justice.”—Publishers Weekly
“A well-done book, heavy on intrigue with interesting characters and a suspenseful plot.”
—The State (Columbia, SC)
“An intense romantic suspense novel that links an out-of-the -blue beginning with a dynamite ending in riveting and unexpected ways. With vibrant characters and a great plot, this is one of bestselling Robards’s best, and a must read for fans of Nora Roberts and Linda Howard.”—Booklist
“A real page-turner. Robards delivers romance and mystery in a unique story of memory and identity.”
—BookLoons
Vanished
“One of the best novels yet from the prolific Karen Robards ... with an ending that will keep readers up at night.”—The Seattle Times
"Romantic suspense is Karen Robards’s forte, and fans won’t be disappointed with Vanished. . . . The story opens with a literal bang. . . . This is an action-packed page-turner with an ending that is appropriately satisfying. Robards fans will devour this book.”
—The Roanoke Times (VA)
“There are plenty of thrills. . . .This is a great afternoon read!”—The Stuart News/Port St. Lucie News (FL)
“The mystery and suspense of the book are intriguing and keep you turning the pages.”
—The State (Columbia, SC)
“Exciting romantic suspense. . . . Sparks fly off the pages . . . a haunting tale that grips readers . . . and never slows down until the final twist.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Steamy sex and . . . suspense.”
—Myrtle Beach Sun-News
“Robards offers heartfelt insights into the agony and desperation experienced by adults whose children are abducted, and she delivers a knockout romantic thriller.”
—Booklist
“Bestseller Robards opens her latest romantic thriller with a bang ... will keep readers turning the pages.”
—Publishers Weekly
Superstition
“Fans of Tami Hoag, Iris Johansen, and Kay Hooper will love Superstition.” —Midwest Book Review
“[Superstition] is another winner from . . . Robards . . . a classic edge-of-the-seat read.”—Booklist
“When you see Karen Robards’s name on a new book, grab it! . . . [She] is . . . guaranteed to deliver an entertaining, must-read, can’t-put-down story. And she does it again with Superstition. This has all the earmarks of a Robards story: a compelling mystery, an engaging cast of characters, and a strong hero and heroine with amazing chemistry.”—The State (Columbia, SC)
Bait
“Romantic suspense at its absolute best. I didn’t want Bait to end.”—Janet Evanovich
“Veteran romance/crime bestseller Robards delivers another hold-your-breath drama, this time starring FBI agent Sam McCabe and advertising executive Maddie Fitzgerald. Her pacing is excellent, and regular infusions of humor keep the story bouncing along between trysts and attacks. This one is sure to please fans.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Robards returns once again with a pulse-pounding novel. Nonstop suspense amidst sensual romance heats up the pages of this captivating novel. Top-rate suspenseful action and sizzling romance form the backbone of this spectacular read, one of Robards’s all-time best.”
—The Best Reviews
ALSO BY KAREN ROBARDS
Vanished
Superstition
Bait
Beachcomber
Whispers at Midnight
Irresistible
To Trust a Stranger
Paradise County
Scandalous
Ghost Moon
The Midnight Hour
The Senator’s Wife
Heartbreaker
Hunter’s Moon
Walking After Midnight
Maggy’s Child
One Summer
This Side of Heaven
Dark of the Moon
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
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Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin
Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a G. P. Putnam’s Sons edition.
First Signet Printing, June 2008
Copyright © Karen Robards, 2007
eISBN : 978-0-451-22273-2
All rights reserved
Stepback photo by Steve Gosling, Trevillion ImagesREGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Peter, this book is for you, in honor of your graduation from Washington University in Saint Louis.
Christopher, this book is for you, in honor of your being named a National Merit Semifinalist.
Jack, this book is for you, for being, as always, an absolutely great kid.
Congratulations, gentlemen, and way to go.
You make your mother proud.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank everyone who made this book possible: my husband, Doug, who is always there and does mean carry-out in support of the creative process; my boys, who provide lots of comic (and sometimes not so comic) relief; my agent, Robert Gottlieb, for his indefatigable efforts on my behalf; my wonderful editor, Christine Pepe, who is the soul of patience and good advice; Leslie Gelbman and Kara Welsh and all my friends at Berkley; Stephanie Sorensen, who does great publicity; and Ivan Held and the rest of the Putnam family, with many thanks for your kind words and constant support.
In the beginning . . .
June 8, 2005
"Nick. Nick-ee. Are you there? I’m in trouble. Real bad trouble.”
Special Agent Nick Houston, FBI, stood in the kitchen of his small house in Alexandria, Virginia, head bowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he listened to the answering machine message. It was a little after eleven p.m. on a muggy Wednesday night, and he was dead beat. He’d already had the day from hell, testifying at the sentencing hearing for a man who had acted as his informant for more than a year, and then watching the guy’s daughter practically collapse in the courtroom as the tough-on-crime judge handed her father ten years in federal prison, despite Nick’s promises and the old guy’s cooperation. Then he’d spent what was left of the day sparring with high-priced lawyers who were trying to paint him as a whack job as he’d testified in a related case, giving depositions, filling out the mountains of paperwork that followed the conclusion of every case like a tail follows a dog, and then, finally, on his way home, getting called in as an adviser to a hostage situation that had resulted in one of the hostages, a woman, being killed.
Just another day in the life of one of America’s overworked, underpaid ersatz national police force, he knew. But still, the last thing he needed was to come in and hear his sister’s voice on his answering machine.
“Some man called me tonight and said Keith’s going to lose his job because of me. He said if I don’t bring him copies of everything Keith has on some federal judge you guys are investigating, he’ll tell the people in charge of security clearances that I’m a”—and here his sister’s voice broke—“druggie.”
“Oh, shit,” Nick said, and dropped his hand to frown at the phone. That was their dirty little family secret, the one that he and Allison and her husband, Keith Clark—who also happened to be Nick’s boss, head of the FBI’s White Collar Crime Program—guarded like a leprechaun ’s pot of gold. If word of his sister’s proclivities—she was an alcoholic who never met a drug she didn’t like, although her high of choice was cocaine—got out, Keith would probably be fired. Can’t have a federal law enforcement officer whose wife made him vulnerable to blackmail, after all.
Oh, wait, here was the blackmail.
“Can you come? As soon as you get this message. I need you so much. I don’t know what to do. I know I shouldn’t be so weak about . . . about things, but . . . you know, I can’t help it. I’m scared, Nick. I’m so scared.”
The beep ending the message interrupted the sound of her quietly weeping into the phone.
“Goddamn it, Allie.” Nick slammed his hand down on the fake butcher-block counter. The counter wasn’t all that sturdy—he’d been meaning to redo the kitchen since he’d bought the house five years earlier, but so far had never found the time—and everything on it jumped, including the water in the fishbowl. His two goldfish, Bill and Ted, gave him reproachful looks. Of course, the reproach in their little bulbous eyes could be because the box of fish food was sitting right there beside his hand, and he hadn’t yet made a move to feed them. Bill and Ted—who were still on the excellent adventure that had begun two years ago, when he had met them at a carnival where he’d very misguidedly taken a woman and her six-year-old son on a date, only to have the kid beg for the fish, which Nick had won after spending about forty dollars on Ping-Pong balls to throw at their bowl, after which his date (the mother) had said she wasn’t having nasty, smelly fish in her house and given them back to him, his lucky day—were sticklers like that. They wanted their two squares and a clean fishbowl. Other than that, they were dream roommates. They were quiet, they never had a bad day, and when he needed a listening ear, they were there.
As a reward for their patience, he pinched off some fish food, sprinkled it on top of the water, and as they greedily attacked the white flakes, he went back to the problem of his sister.
The first thing he did was try her cell phone. No answer. He considered calling her house, or his brother-in-law ’s cell, but if Allie hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell Keith yet, that could be problematic. The message was less than half an hour old, which was about right because his cell had fallen out of his pocket and gotten crushed in the surge to subdue the hostage taker about an hour ago. A night owl, Allie never went to bed before one at the earliest, which meant she was almost certainly still up—somewhere. Doing something. The possibilities sent a shiver down his spine.
Shit.
“You are a pain in my ass,” he said to the absent Allie, and turned on his heel, heading back out of the house and getting into his car. He would drive to her house in Arlington, some fifteen minutes away, and if she hadn’t yet broken the bad news to Keith, he would stand by her while she did. If she had, if Keith was as livid as he was pretty sure Keith was going to be, he would stand by her through that, too.
Whatever it took. She was his sister.
Blood’s thicker than water. He could almost hear his mother saying it as she stood swaying from too much booze in the doorway of one of the succession of trailers that had been their home when he and Allie were growing up. Usually when she said it she was sending him out after Allie, his beautiful, unstable, four-years-older sister whose own weakness for all kinds of chemical highs had manifested itself as early as middle school. He had been the stable one of the trio, the one who took a good, hard look at his hardscrabble life and vowed to do better, to circumvent an apparent family weakness for drugs and alcohol by not drinking, not getting high, not doing anything but working really hard, first for grades and later for money, so they could all have a better life. Unfortunately, his mother died while he was in college. But when he graduated, he kept his promise to himself: He took Allie, who’d already been through one husband, away from the squalid Georgia town in which they’d grown up, and moved her with him to Virginia, where he was just starting his career with the FBI.
For a while, things had been good for both of them. Buoyed by this opportunity for a new start, Allie had gotten a job and—as far as Nick knew, anyway—stayed clean. The thing about Allie was, when she wasn ’t high, she was a joy to be around, with a bright, effervescent personality that drew people to her like metal shavings to a magnet. She was also beautiful, a tall, slender, blue-eyed blonde with the delicate, elegant features of a model.
It was through Nick that Allie had met Keith, a
fellow agent some years above Nick in the Bureau hierarchy. Nick had really, really hoped that their romance would be the saving of her. That because of her love for Keith, she would be able to leave her weaknesses behind. To his everlasting shame, he hadn’t told Keith a word about her problems. How could he? She was his sister.
That was some fifteen years ago. Keith was family now, and to his credit had never once said to Nick, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Because of course Allie, beautiful, fragile Allie, had worn down over the years. She had not been able to take the stresses of everyday life without what she called “a little help.” Sometimes she went on an alcohol binge, sometimes she went on a drug binge, sometimes she did both. But between them, Nick and Keith had always managed to get her straightened out, to keep things hushed up.
Just like he hoped—no, prayed—they would be able to do this time.
When he reached the upscale Washington, D.C., bedroom community of Arlington, it was nearing midnight. His sister lived on a quiet street with big houses and well-kept yards, overhung with hundred-year-old oaks. When Allie and Keith had bought the house, they’d planned on filling it with children. The children hadn’t happened so far, but Allie, at forty-one, had not quite given up hope.
At that time of night, the whole area should have been quiet and dark. But as soon as he turned into Allie’s street, he was struck by the lights, the sounds, the hubbub of activity that, he realized as he drove closer, was centered around his sister’s house.
“Oh, Jesus,” he breathed, as the lights resolved themselves into the flashing strobes of emergency vehicles—cop cars and an ambulance and even a fire truck parked with its wheels on the lawn, which his sister would consider a big no-no—and the sounds turned into sirens and the activity to emergency personnel and neighbors and God knew who else swarming in and around the house.
Which had every single light in the place on.
His mouth went dry. His pulse raced. His heart started slamming in his chest.
He parked on the lawn because it was the only space available, and never mind that it would piss Allie off, then jogged toward the front door. Just the glass storm door was closed. The imposing carved-wood front door was wide open, allowing access to anyone who chose to enter.
Obsession Page 1