In the second book of this "remarkable, mesmerizing series" (Library Journal starred review), "The plot's twists and turns are handled with a positively Hitchcockian touch, while the brilliantly etched characters, polished writing, and unexpected flashes of sharp humor are pure Dodd." (Booklist starred review.)
Taylor Summers witnesses the death threat to a young boy, and does the only thing she can do--she sacrifices herself to distract the killers. Her reward is a life in ruins, on the run in the wilderness, barely surviving a bitter winter and the even more bitter knowledge she has lost everything: her career, her reputation, her identity. She finds refuge in Virtue Falls, and there comes face to face with the knowledge that, to live her life again, she must enlist the help of the man who does not trust her to defeat the man who would destroy her. She's being hunted, but it's time to turn the tables....
* From Bookbub: Books to Read If You Love Nora Roberts. "If you're a fan of Nora's In Death series, you'll delight in this tale of suspense by another master of the genre."
* Amazon editor's choice for Best Book of September!
* Library Journal: Best of the Year. "A remarkable mesmerizing series."
* BookPage: Best of the Year. "A spooky, nerve-stretching read that is sure to please Dodd's many fans."
* Starred BookList review."The plot's twists and turns are handled with a positively Hitchcockian touch, while the brilliantly etched characters, polished writing, and unexpected flashes of sharp humor are pure Dodd."
* RT Reviews Top Pick. "The evolution of this heroine from everyday individual to relentless survivor adds an intensity that will keep you on the edge of your seat."
Visit christinadodd.com to download the OBSESSION FALLS Readers' Group Discussion Questions and to join Christina's free mailing list!
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Visit christinadodd.com to download the OBSESSION FALLS readers' group questions and to join Christina's free mailing list!From the Back Cover:
Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho
In high school, Taylor's art teacher had told her anyone could draw a mountain, but a true artist depicted the soul of the mountain, gave the viewer a sense of glorious austerity or forbidding heights or searing cold. A true artist created not art, but feelings: homesickness, longing, terror, love. Most of all, Taylor's art teacher warned her against making mountains look like ice cream cones.
Taylor could state with great assurance the mountains she had sketched did not look like ice cream cones. They looked like ingrown toenails.
She rifled through her sketch pad, looking at each and every one of her drawings. How had she reduced the imperious majesty of the Idaho mountains to such a disgusting human condition?
She had dreamed of and planned for this, imagined her artistic talent would blossom in the light of a place and time so long cherished in her childhood memories. Instead, here she sat alone at the edge of a wide mountain meadow, and she was earthbound, her soul firmly chained to a drawing pad and a pack of pencils. She was almost relieved when she heard a car bouncing along the washboard gravel road behind her. She shut her drawing tablet, stowed her pencil, slid off the rock and headed into the stand of pines.
Not that she needed to hide. This was a national forest. But she was a woman alone. Sure, the car probably contained a rancher or some tourists. But wild game attracted out-of-season hunters, old gold claims dotted the creeks, and longtime residents carried guns. Up here in this wilderness, it was better to be safe than sorry.
She wound her way into the shadows of the trees, watching to see who had trekked so far into the backcountry.
When a black Mercedes came around the bend, hitting every rut as if it was a personal challenge, she grinned.
Tourists. Rich tourists. She wondered how far they would make it before they destroyed their car's oil pan on an inconveniently placed rock. They probably didn't have a clue where they were or where the road was headed, which was nowhere. Anyway, they didn't go much further. They passed out of sight behind a boulder as big as a house, and there the sound of the engine cut out.
She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. Pretty soon, she needed to return to her rental Cherokee, too. It was a good two hours back to Sun Valley. She started deeper into the woods, looking for something less imposing to sketch. A tree, maybe. Or a bug.
On the road, two doors slammed.
One man spoke, coldly, clearly. "Get him out of the trunk."
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