Zusatztext A thrill ride of a novel. Chicago Sun-Times Dean Koontz is a master of his craft. . . . He creates . . . one of his trademark good guys [and] one of the most interesting serial killers ever to grace the printed page. The Times-Picayune The suspense relentlessly mounts with each chapter. . . . Koontz writes thrillers that move so fast they make every other thriller writer seem to be standing still. The Denver Post A thriller so compelling many readers will race through the book in one sitting . . . The novel's breathless pacing! clever twists and adroit characterizations all add up to superior entertainment. 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 Timothy Carrier is an ordinary guy who enjoys a beer after work. But tonight is no ordinary night. Instead, Tim will face a terrifying decision: Help or run. For the jittery stranger sitting beside him at the bar has mistaken Tim for someone else-and passes him a manila envelope stuffed with cash and the photo of a pretty woman. "Ten thousand. The rest when she's gone." Now everything Tim thinks he knows-even about himself-will be challenged. For Tim Carrier is the one man who can save an innocent life and stop a killer as relentless as evil incarnate. But first he must discover resources within himself that will transform his idea of who he is and what it takes to be the good guy. BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Dean Koontz's The City.Sometimes a mayfly skates across a pond, leaving a brief wake as thin as spider silk, and by staying low avoids those birds and bats that feed in flight. At six feet three, weighing two hundred ten pounds, with big hands and bigger feet, Timothy Carrier could not maintain a profile as low as that of a skating mayfly, but he tried. Shod in heavy work boots, with a John Wayne walk that came naturally to him and that he could not change, he nevertheless entered the Lamplighter Tavern and proceeded to the farther end of the room without drawing attention to himself. None of the three men near the door, at the short length of the L-shaped bar, glanced at him. Neither did the couples in two of the booths. When he sat on the end stool, in shadows beyond the last of the downlights that polished the molasses-colored mahogany bar, he sighed with contentment. From the perspective of the front door, he was the smallest man in the room. If the forward end of the Lamplighter was the driver's deck of the locomotive, this was the caboose. Those who chose to sit here on a slow Monday evening would most likely be quiet company. Liam Rooneywho was the owner and, tonight, the only barkeepdrew a draft beer from the tap and put it in front of Tim. Some night you'll walk in here with a date, Rooney said, and the shock will kill me. Why would I bring a date to this dump? What else do you know but this dump? I've also got a favorite doughnut shop. Yeah. After the two of you scarf down a dozen glazed, you could take her to a big expensive restaurant in Newport Beach, sit on the curb, and watch the valets park all the fancy cars. Tim sipped his beer, and Rooney wiped the bar though it was clean, and Tim said, You got lucky, finding Michelle. They don't make them like her anymore. Michelle's thirty, same age as us. If they don't make 'em like her anymore, where'd she come from? It's a mystery. To be a winner, you gotta be in the game, Rooney said. I'm in the game. Shooting hoops alone isn't a game. Don't worry ...

“A thrill ride of a novel.”—Chicago Sun-Times
** **
“Dean Koontz is a master of his craft. . . . He creates . . . one of his trademark good guys [and] one of the most interesting serial killers ever to grace the printed page.”—The Times-Picayune
 
“The suspense relentlessly mounts with each chapter. . . . Koontz writes thrillers that move so fast they make every other thriller writer seem to be standing still.”—The Denver Post
 
“A thriller so compelling many readers will race through the book in one sitting . . . The novel’s breathless pacing, clever twists and adroit characterizations all add up to superior entertainment.”—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

Timothy Carrier is an ordinary guy who enjoys a beer after work. But tonight is no ordinary night. Instead, Tim will face a terrifying decision: Help or run. For the jittery stranger sitting beside him at the bar has mistaken Tim for someone else-and passes him a manila envelope stuffed with cash and the photo of a pretty woman. "Ten thousand. The rest when she's gone."

Now everything Tim thinks he knows-even about himself-will be challenged. For Tim Carrier is the one man who can save an innocent life and stop a killer as relentless as evil incarnate. But first he must discover resources within himself that will transform his idea of who he is and what it takes to be the good guy.

BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Dean Koontz's The City.

Leseprobe
Sometimes a mayfly skates across a pond, leaving a brief wake as thin as spider silk, and by staying low avoids those birds and bats that feed in flight.

At six feet three, weighing two hundred ten pounds, with big hands and bigger feet, Timothy Carrier could not maintain a profile as low as that of a skating mayfly, but he tried.

Shod in heavy work boots, with a John Wayne walk that came naturally to him and that he could not change, he nevertheless entered the Lamplighter Tavern and proceeded to the farther end of the room without drawing attention to himself. None of the three men near the door, at the short length of the “L”-shaped bar, glanced at him. Neither did the couples in two of the booths.

When he sat on the end stool, in shadows beyond the last of the downlights that polished the molasses-colored mahogany bar, he sighed with contentment. From the perspective of the front door, he was the smallest man in the room.

If the forward end of the Lamplighter was the driver’s deck of the locomotive, this was the caboose. Those who chose to sit here on a slow Monday evening would most likely be quiet company.

Liam Rooney–who was the owner and, tonight, the only barkeep–drew a draft beer from the tap and put it in front of Tim.

“Some night you’ll walk in here with a date,” Rooney said, “and the shock will kill me.”

“Why would I bring a date to this dump?”

“What else do you know but this dump?”

“I’ve also got a favorite doughnut shop.”

“Yeah. After the two of you scarf down a dozen glazed, you could take her to a big expensive restaurant in Newport Beach, sit on the curb, and watch the valets park all the fancy cars.”

Tim sipped his beer, and Rooney wiped the bar though it was clean, and Tim said, “You got lucky, finding Michelle. They don’t make them like her anymore.”

“Michelle’s thirty, same age as us. If they don’t make ’em like her anymore, where’d she come from?”

“It’s a mystery.”

“To be a winner, you gotta be in the game,” Rooney said.

“I’m in the game.”

“Shooting hoops alone isn’t a game.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got women beating on my door.”

“Yeah,&#822…