Zusatztext Silence of the Lambs meets Marley & Me . . . edge-of-your-seat storytelling. People Compulsively readable . . . With a magician's expertise! Dean Koontz sets his multiple story lines spinning. The Boston Globe Koontz's books always thrill! and this one is no different. What makes The Darkest Evening of the Year special is that it tugs so effectively at the heartstrings. . . . Koontz is so good! he'll have readers holding their breath on one page and tearing up on the next. Chicago Sun-Times [A] top-notch thriller . . . with unabashed emotion and wit . . . the perfect book for thriller addicts who know the darkest hour is just before dawn. Publishers Weekly (starred review) Informationen zum Autor Dean Koontz , the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Elsa, and the enduring spirit of their goldens, Trixie and Anna. Klappentext NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER Who will be with you in the darkest hour? Amy Redwing has devoted her life to rescuing dogs. But the unique bond she shares with Nickie, a golden retriever she saves in the most dangerous encounter of her life, is deeper than any she has ever known. In one night, their loyalty will be put to the test, and each will prove to the other how far they will go-when the stakes turn deadly serious. Chapter One Behind the wheel of the Ford Expedition, Amy Redwing drove as if she were immortal and therefore safe at any speed. In the fitful breeze, a funnel of golden sycamore leaves spun along the post-midnight street. She blasted through them, crisp autumn scratching across the windshield. For some, the past is a chain, each day a link, raveling backward to one ringbolt or another, in one dark place or another, and tomorrow is a slave to yesterday. Amy Redwing did not know her origins. Abandoned at the age of two, she had no memory of her mother and father. She had been left in a church, her name pinned to her shirt. A nun had found her sleeping on a pew. Most likely, her surname had been invented to mislead. The police had failed to trace it to anyone. Redwing suggested a Native American heritage. Raven hair and dark eyes argued Cherokee, but her ancestors might as likely have come from Armenia or Sicily, or Spain. Amy's history remained incomplete, but the lack of roots did not set her free. She waschained to some ringbolt set in the stone of a distant year. Although she presented herself as such a blithe spirit that she appeared to be capable of flight, she was in fact as earthbound as anyone. Belted to the passenger seat, feet pressed against a phantom brake pedal, Brian McCarthy wanted to urge Amy to slow down. He said nothing, however, because he was afraid that she would look away from the street to reply to his call for caution. Besides, when she was launched upon a mission like this, any plea for prudence might perversely incite her to stand harder on the accelerator. I love October, she said, looking away from the street. Don't you love October? This is still September. I can love October in September. September doesn't care. Watch where you're going. I love San Francisco, but it's hundreds of miles away. The way you're driving, we'll be there in ten minutes. I'm a superb driver. No accidents, no traffic citations. He said, My entire life keeps flashing before my eyes. You should make an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Amy, please, don't keep looking at me. You look fine, sweetie. Bed hair becomes you. I mean, watch the road. This guy named Marcohe's blind but he drives a car. Marco who? Marco somethi...

ldquo;Silence of the Lambs meets Marley & Me . . . edge-of-your-seat storytelling.”—People
 
“Compulsively readable . . . With a magician’s expertise, Dean Koontz sets his multiple story lines spinning.”—The Boston Globe
 
“Koontz’s books always thrill, and this one is no different. What makes The Darkest Evening of the Year special is that it tugs so effectively at the heartstrings. . . . Koontz is so good, he’ll have readers holding their breath on one page and tearing up on the next.”—Chicago Sun-Times
 
“[A] top-notch thriller . . . with unabashed emotion and wit . . . the perfect book for thriller addicts who know the darkest hour is just before dawn.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Autorentext
Dean Koontz, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Elsa, and the enduring spirit of their goldens, Trixie and Anna.

Klappentext

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

Who will be with you in the darkest hour? Amy Redwing has devoted her life to rescuing dogs. But the unique bond she shares with Nickie, a golden retriever she saves in the most dangerous encounter of her life, is deeper than any she has ever known. In one night, their loyalty will be put to the test, and each will prove to the other how far they will go-when the stakes turn deadly serious.

Zusammenfassung
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
 
Who will be with you in the darkest hour? Amy Redwing has devoted her life to rescuing dogs. But the unique bond she shares with Nickie, a golden retriever she saves in the most dangerous encounter of her life, is deeper than any she has ever known. In one night, their loyalty will be put to the test, and each will prove to the other how far they will go—when the stakes turn deadly serious.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

Behind the wheel of the Ford Expedition, Amy Redwing drove as if she were immortal and therefore safe at any speed. In the fitful breeze, a funnel of golden sycamore leaves spun along the post-midnight street. She blasted through them, crisp autumn scratching across the windshield.

For some, the past is a chain, each day a link, raveling backward to one ringbolt or another, in one dark place or another, and tomorrow is a slave to yesterday.

Amy Redwing did not know her origins. Abandoned at the age of two, she had no memory of her mother and father. She had been left in a church, her name pinned to her shirt. A nun had found her sleeping on a pew.

Most likely, her surname had been invented to mislead. The police had failed to trace it to anyone.

Redwing suggested a Native American heritage. Raven hair and dark eyes argued Cherokee, but her ancestors might as likely have come from Armenia or Sicily, or Spain.

Amy’s history remained incomplete, but the lack of roots did not set her free. She waschained to some ringbolt set in the stone of a distant year.

Although she presented herself as such a blithe spirit that she appeared to be capable of flight, she was in fact as earthbound as anyone.

Belted to the passenger seat, feet pressed against a phantom brake pedal, Brian McCarthy wanted to urge Amy to slow down. He said nothing, however, because he was afraid that she would look away from the street to reply to his call for caution. Besides, when she was launched upon a mission like this, any plea for prudence might perversely incite her to stand harder on the accelerator.

“I love October,” she said, looking away from the street. “Don’t you love October?”

“This is still September.”

“I can love October in September. September doesn’t care.”

“Watch where you’re going.”

“I love San Francisco, but it’s hundreds of miles away.”

“The way you’re driving, we’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I’m a superb driver. No accidents, no traffic citations.”

He said, “My entire life keeps flashing before my eyes.”

“You should make an appointment with an ophthal…