Catherine excels at helping desperate people disappear. But now she must use her unique skill set to find a missing woman in this electrifying novel from the author of The Burial Society . Eva Lombard is being followed. Or so she suspects. . . . Eva and her husband, Peter, are in Hong Kong on a romantic getaway from London when Peter wakes up in their hotel room to an empty bed, his wife gone without a trace. His worst fears are confirmed: Eva wasn’t imagining things. Suddenly, he finds himself the number one suspect in his wife’s disappearance, trapped in a foreign country with no one to turn to. He calls his boss, Forrest “Holly” Holcomb, who enlists the help of Catherine, his ex-flame and the enigmatic operator behind the darknet witness-protection program known as the Burial Society. As a favor to Holly, Catherine sends her team of highly trained Society members on a dangerous chase through Hong Kong to find Eva--while Catherine takes care of pressing business at home. Not only is she tasked with a mission in Mexico City, protecting a family that knows too much from a vengeful pharmaceutical company, but an FBI agent tracking down the missing wife and child of a charismatic businessman is about to come dangerously close to exposing the Society’s secrets. In these intertwining story lines that converge in unexpected ways, not everyone is who they appear to be--and not everyone who is lost wants to be found.

“There’s a definite cinematic vibe to [Nina] Sadowsky’s novel, especially as the characters rush around Hong Kong in Jason Bourne–type chase scenes. Catherine and her mysterious network are impressively connected and intriguingly motivated, and the woman herself is a fascinating study of power, empathy, and efficiency. . . . Surrender to the action and intrigue . . . and enjoy this whirlwind adventure in Hong Kong.”—Kirkus Reviews
 
“Entertaining.”—Publishers Weekly
 
“A sly, wry look at privilege and the price it can exact . . . a globe-trotting, jet-setting quest to avenge some of society’s most pressing ills . . . Nina Sadowsky thrills again with her filmic vision of a troupe of unlikely superheroes.”—Jenny Milchman, USA Today bestselling author of Cover of Snow and Wicked River
 
“Who better to find a missing woman than an expert in making people disappear? This unputdownable novel has flawless prose, a compelling premise, and textured settings that become characters in their own right. There is no more sleep once you crawl into The Empty Bed.”—K. J. Howe, internationally bestselling author of Skyjack
 
“Nina Sadowsky weaves another thrilling chapter of the Burial Society series, mixing classic Hitchcock conspiracy with the sexual tension of a modern noir. Sadowsky’s characters exude a razor-sharp wit that yanks you along on an adventure that keeps you guessing until the glorious conclusion.”—Ted Sullivan, producer and writer of Riverdale

Autorentext
Nina Sadowsky has written numerous original screenplays and adaptations for such companies as The Walt Disney Company, Working Title Films, and Lifetime Television. She was the executive producer of The Wedding Planner, has produced many other films, and was president of Meg Ryan’s Prufrock Pictures. Sadowsky is the program director for NYU Los Angeles, a Global Programs initiative that provides an experiential learning environment for students preparing for careers in the entertainment and media industries. This is her third novel, following Just Fall and The Burial Society. She is at work on her next novel.

Leseprobe
How things begin . . .

I could tell the story differently; of course I could. Every storyteller twists his or her lens to suit an agenda. Or protect the heart.

This impulse to shape the truth is universal, one of the many traits that serve to remind us that we are more alike than we are different.

I find it useful to focus on where we align even as our differences threaten to tear us apart. After all, in order to do what I do, you have to not just learn to see the world through others’ eyes, but to live, to breathe, to act, to be another.

Welcome to the Burial Society. Peer into the lens and see what I see.

RISING

Catherine, Phoenix, Arizona

I shut the door of my rental van but don’t lock it. It’s not only that I don’t fear it will be stolen in this exclusive neighborhood; it’s that we will need to make a fast exit. The computer geeque decals I’ve slapped on its side panels are eye-­catching and distinctive (what any witness will remember)—­and easily disposable.

The sunbaked asphalt is spongy under the hard soles of my boots. The air is dry as bleached bones, hot and still. The sun, relentless and blinding, hangs directly overhead in a serene blue sky free of any clouds.

I open the passenger door to let Stephanie out and make a mental note to talk to her later about some refinements in her appearance. In her usual uniform of skintight shredded black jeans, rock ’n’ roll T-­shirt, and leather jacket, bright blue eyes rimmed with kohl, she stands out here in the Arizona suburbs. You can take the girl out of Jersey, but still, she needs to learn to blend in.

I’m also worried she might pass out from the heat in that leather jacket and, purely selfishly, that’s the last thing I need right now.

Holding up one hand to signal she should stay put, I pull out a pale pink polo shirt that matches my own and toss it to her.

“Lose the jacket. Put this over your T-­shirt.”

She complies. It’s time to move.

The villa we are targeting sits in a cul-­de-­sac in a pricey community anchored around a golf course and also featuring a clubhouse, tennis courts, and swimming pools. The monochromatic soft beiges and muted greens of true sunbaked desert should color the landscape here, so the deceptive emerald of the man-­made lawns and rolling hills of the golf course give this development a disingenuous feel, temporary, like it could be just a stage set, struck at any moment.

Despite this, the harsh sun reminds us where we really are.

It’s why we came at noon; everyone is inside, shades drawn against the blazing sun, air conditioners pumping.

We have a cover story ready if we’re stopped, of course, but I’d prefer it if we just slid in and out without anyone noticing. My plan is to get inside her house and then get Leslie Virgenes out of there as quickly and cleanly as possible. If she’s there. If not, I’ll have to improvise.

We steal across the lawn and past a silver Audi TTS Coupe parked in the driveway of the “Spanish­inspired” villa, a good first sign. We turn the corner and edge along the house to the back door. We did a trial run last night at a sister complex across the road built by the same developer. Under Stephanie’s expert tutelage, I picked three kitchen-­door locks to get my rhythm down, each one taking progressively less time. Stephanie may need refinements in certain areas, but she has skills and is willing to teach them.

Stephanie joined the Burial Society seventeen months ago. Like most of my recruits, she was a rescue in whom I saw potential. (Her stories, along with those of my other recruits, are tales for another time.)

We snap on latex gloves. I conquer Leslie’s lock in less than twenty seconds. As the tumbler clicks over, Stephanie gives me a pleased grin, a teacher proud of her pupil.

We’re in. Steph closes the door softly behind us and lifts her shaggy mane of black hair away from her damp neck. …