The Showcase is a special feature of the Author's Spotlight. It is designed to highlight Spotlight author's NEW releases and their soon to be released novels.
The HBS Author's Spotlight SHOWCASES Alan Jacobson's Book:
No Way Out
Today's Featured Book is
No Way Out
Karen Vail Series
Author: Alan Jacobson
When a potent firebomb destroys part of an art gallery in an exclusive London district, FBI Profiler Karen Vail is dispatched to England to work with Scotland Yard on drafting a threat assessment to head off future attacks. But Vail soon discovers that at the heart of the bombing lies a 440-year-old manuscript that holds clues to England's past—with dramatic political and social implications. The manuscript’s content is so explosive that a group of political radicals is bent on destroying it at all costs.
Or is it the work of someone else? The trail leads Vail to a notorious fugitive who has escaped law enforcement for decades, and who appears to be planning a major attack on London and the United States. When Hector DeSantos, banished from the US Department of Defense and now a rogue covert operative, turns up in England and takes actions that threaten Vail’s life, she finds herself on the run from the British security service, Scotland Yard, and a group of internationally-trained assassins—all determined to silence her…all tightening the net to ensure that she’s got no way out.
With his trademark spirited dialogue, page-turning scenes, and well-drawn characters, National Bestselling author Alan Jacobson (“My kind of writer,” per Michael Connelly) has once again crafted an intelligent, twisting thriller destined to be talked about long after the last page is turned.
“Jacobson mixes rocket-paced suspense with fascinating history in this thrill ride of a book.”
—Joseph Finder, New York Times Bestselling Author
“Alan Jacobson is a wonderfully vivid writer, with a sharp, dark eye for detail. No Way Out captures the vagaries of English society with humor, while not breaking stride from what is a thrilling and uniquely British story.”
—Peter James, International bestselling author
“No Way Out goes beyond being a great summer read, and may be one of, if not the best, thriller of 2013. Fans will love it, and brand new readers will also. Jacobson explains any necessary back-story, escorting the reader along on one wild ride that the reader wishes partly to never end, but at the same time wanting to find out how it all ends.”
“Alan Jacobson knows how to write suspense. What fun to read! ...Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
—New York Journal of Books
“The complexity of the plot mixed with the well-researched setting and Vail’s signature style, make for a fast-paced, thrilling read where Jacobson offers you the best ticket in town. No Way Out is explosive!”
"Jacobson has written the thriller of the year—fast plot, incredible character development, and chilling atmosphere. No Way Out has everything you can ask for in a thriller, plus the bonus of reading a book which you'll re-read and which will never turn up in a second hand bookstore."
—The Strand Magazine
“Could really do with a fag about now.”
A number of responses flooded Karen Vail’s thoughts—and not all of them politically correct.
The one she chose was borderline, yet biting.
“I don’t do fags,” Vail said, knowing full well that the British man was talking about bumming a cigarette off her.
The homicide detective squinted, unsure of what to make of the feisty redhead—let alone her comment.
After a moment, he rocked back on his heels and said, “Your theory of finding signature within MO was quite intriguing.”
FBI profiler Karen Vail, in Madrid as part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s effort to provide instruction on criminal investigative analysis to the world’s police force, held out her hand.
“Ingram Losner.” The thin man paused, then said, “You did know I was talking about a cigarette, a smoke. Not a back tickler.”
Back tickler? “I did,” she said. “But that wasn’t the first thing that crossed my mind. I don’t know a whole lot of British expressions, but isn’t that one outdated?”
“Old habits die hard. Kind of like smoking.”
Vail looked across the tourist-filled plaza at a mime who was clad in thick green metallic paint, standing rock still and holding a broom. “I stopped smoking a while ago. Shitty habit.” She faced Losner. “You do know what shitty is, right?”
“I’m just saying. You people say ‘pissed’ for drunk, ‘fag’ for cigarette, ‘football’ for soccer—personally, I think we Americans have improved the English language.”
“Agent Vail,” said a suited man with a thick Spanish accent.
Vail turned. “Oh, Detective—” She snapped her fingers. “Heredia.”
“Very good, yes. I found your discussion of sexual homicide fascinating. It reminded me of a case I had four years—” His two-way radio chirped and he frowned. “Excuse me.” He yanked it from his belt. “Estoy fuera de servicio.” I’m off-duty. But a woman’s staccato speech erupted from the speaker, and Heredia’s expression hardened. He responded, “Sí, sí, estoy aquí.” Yes, yes, I’m here.
Vail struggled to follow the exchange. Her conversational Spanish was poor and the brushup audio course she listened to in the weeks before her departure required more time than she had to give.
Vail picked up a few words and missed several others, but she got this much:
Two murder suspects. Your location. Gray and blue backpacks.
Heredia’s head moved left and right as he scanned the crowd in front of him. “There!” He brought the radio to his mouth. “Los veo.” I see them.
Vail followed his gaze to two men a dozen feet away. They were carrying colored rucksacks like the ones the dispatcher had described.
“Policia,” Heredia called out. “Necesito hablar contigo.” I need to talk with you.
They turned to look, saw Heredia moving toward them, and took off.
Heredia followed, as did Vail. Losner’s voice receded behind her as she charged into the throng: “You’ve got no jurisdiction—you’re just a citizen!”
No, I’m a cop. And those are fleeing murder suspects.
Navigating through the dense horde of tourists and college students crowding the massive square, Vail saw the men running toward a side street. She did likewise, headed in their direction through the plaza’s archway exit onto Calle del Siete de Julio.
“You see them?”
Heredia. Behind her, slightly to her left—and suddenly blocked by a heavyset woman with a stroller.
“Got a visual!” she said without taking her eyes off the fleeing men.
Whether or not this was her jurisdiction, Vail was an officer of the law down to her bones.
True, she was unarmed, and in Spain her FBI creds were worth less than the brass alloy her badge was made from—but none of that mattered as she sprinted ahead, darting around, and into, passersby.
Something deep down—the inner voice she sometimes ignored—Come on, Karen, admit it: you ignore me all the time!—told her to back off, to remember what she was here for. No matter how she parsed it, she was not in Spain to engage murder suspects in a foot race through the streets of Madrid.
Yet here she was, pushing forward, hurtling toward…who knew what.
She followed the men as they turned left onto Calle Mayor, through the flow of tourists and city dwellers, although the crowd had thinned considerably as she and Heredia put distance between them and the plaza.
As she crossed Calle del Duque de Najera, one of the men peeled left down the side street.
“I got him,” Heredia shouted.
Vail took the gray-backpacked man who continued straight. He slowed along Calle del Factor to dodge a passing taxi, its angry horn blaring.
On her left stood the imposing, brick Pallacio de Uceda. A soldier was stationed at one of the main entrances, a fully automatic machine gun slung over his shoulder. Asking him for assistance was out of the question; she had walked by the building two days ago and tried to chat him up about the best place to grab a taxi. He would not divert his attention to even talk with her, let alone join a harebrained chase.
Vail passed a Museo del Jamon restaurant on her left—with wrapped pig parts hanging in the window—and a cell phone store to her right.
The suspect dodged traffic and crossed the large avenue, Calle de Bailén. Slightly to the right and down the street was the massive complex of the Palacio Real de Madrid—the Royal
Palace of Madrid.
But the guy toting the gray backpack was not headed toward the royal’s home—too much security there.
He swung left toward a sizable gray and tan structure, sharply spiked wrought iron fencing rising behind what appeared to be a statue of Pope John Paul II. A dozen crosses sat atop spires of varying heights, the most prominent being the building’s bell tower.
Vail’s suspect turned left down the steeply sloped side street, then ran up some stone stairs and through the church’s side door, the entrance to the Crypt of the Almudena Cathedral—a place one of the detectives had told her she “had to visit.”
This didn’t really qualify as a visit, but what the hell—she wasn’t going to have time to see the place otherwise.
As she entered the cathedral, a short man with frizzled gray hair was on his feet, looking to his right, pointing beyond the entryway. He turned to Vail and yelled, “Él no pagó!”
“Yeah, and I’m not paying either, buddy,” she said as she shouldered past him into the crypt.
But the view immediately stopped her. “Holy shit—er, holy mother of God.” Please, God, don’t strike me down. I meant no disrespect. But the view is kind of breathtaking.
Charcoal-veined ivory marble tiles stretched a hundred yards down a long corridor lined with dozens of ornate columns and gold light fixtures. Strategic spotlights buried in the floor and accent lighting atop the columns lit the arching, atriumed ceiling, providing a dramatic aura in the dimly illuminated interior.
Vail couldn’t decide if the place was exquisite or gaudy.
But one thing was clear: her suspect was nowhere in sight.
She moved forward cautiously, down the corridor, passing open rooms to her right—private crypts with carved mantles, religious figurines and some of the most complex stained glass windows Vail had ever seen. Angel-themed murals made of inlaid tile formed the backdrop for works of ancient porcelain pottery set on elaborate pedestals.
“Yo sé que estás aquí,” Vail shouted. I know you’re here. “Policía! ¡Salga!” Police! Come out!
At least, I think that’s what I said. Should’ve paid more attention to that audio course.
Footsteps, twenty feet away, in the crypt off to her right.
Vail moved in the direction of the sound, reaching for her absent Glock. Shit. What am I going to do, spit on him? Yell at him? Well, I’ll definitely yell at him, but what’s that gonna get me?
As she passed the area where she had heard the noise, the clunk of something heavy striking the wall off to her left echoed in the corridor. She flinched and swung her head in that direction—but someone grabbed her from behind, locking the crook of his elbow into her larynx and yanking her backward. Vail pried at the man’s wrist, attempting to leverage his arm off her windpipe, but the pressure against her neck only increased.
She slammed her heel into his foot— and he released his hold enough for her to turn her head to the side and squirm down, out from under his grip. But then he brought his left knee up and swung it around, slamming into her side and sending her sprawling deeper into the crypt.
She landed face down on the slick tile floor and was trying to get up when he grabbed the back of her shirt and flung her into the stone wall. Her shoulder absorbed most of the impact, and she bounced back enough to give her the momentum to stumble forward, toward the opening that led to the corridor.
But he fisted her blouse and yanked her back toward him, then cupped a hand across her mouth. She wind-milled her elbows, striking him sharply in the nose and cheek—yet his grip remained firm.
He clamped a hand over her eyes and tried to force her to the ground.
Vail reached out blindly and grabbed for something—anything—and felt two objects. She took one in each hand and heaved them behind her, above her head.
They struck her attacker in the face.
He froze on impact—and she drove the point of her elbow into his abdomen. As he released his grip, she spun around, put her head down and struck him in the stomach, driving him backward like a linebacker doing tackling drills.
He grabbed her hair and pulled—but momentum and adrenaline propelled her forward several steps until they both struck the wall. It knocked the wind out of him and he lost his hold on her. She fell to the floor, landing on her bottom.
Vail got on her feet, ready to strike if he came at her again. And that’s when she realized that it was not the wall that had taken away his breath, but the wrought iron gate.
That, and the curved, razor-sharp pointed arrows atop the metal fencing.
As she advanced on him, it became clear that the murder suspect with the gray backpack was no longer a threat: the prongs had punctured the back of his skull, killing him instantly.
Footsteps. Running, echoing.
Shouting voices: “Policia! ¡Salga ahora!” Police! Come out now!
Now there’s a new one. Wish I’d thought of that.
Two cops appeared with handguns, pointed not at their dead suspect, but at her.
Vail did what all people are supposed to do when armed law enforcement personnel yell at you: she lifted both hands above her head. The universal sign for “I am so screwed.”
“FBI,” she said, not knowing if they understood English. And there was no way she’d be able to translate Federal Bureau of Investigation into Spanish. But she tried anyway. “Bureau
Federale de Investigación.”
They looked at one another, hesitated—and then handcuffed her.
Typical cops. Don’t like fibbies.
As they led her away, she realized she had a problem. Murder suspect or not, she had killed
a man in a foreign country. She was, as a buddy of hers liked to say, “in the shit.”
Lucy, you got some ’splaining to do.
VAIL FORCED A SMILE. She had been in the police interview room for thirty minutes, doing her best to explain her actions. But her piss-poor Spanish and their piss-poor English made for a lot of confusion and misunderstood hand gestures. Unfortunately, the one hand gesture Vail preferred to use would not have done her much good.
They finally summoned a translator.
“As I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m a Supervisory Special Agent for the FBI in the United States. I’m teaching a conference on behavioral analysis to your detectives.” She stopped and waited for the man to finish turning her English into Spanish. Accurately, she hoped.
A few exchanges later, she wondered if the interpreter understood English either. As he and the police official discussed the score of the soccer game between Real Madrid and
Barcelona—they couldn’t have been talking about what she had just said because she had only uttered three sentences—Vail realized that her do-it-yourself attempt to save her ass was falling short.
“Find Detective Heredia. He’ll tell you. There was a call over his radio about two murder suspects.” She finished the story, and then the interpreter stopped and waited for her to continue. But she felt she’d already provided the police enough information for him to laugh,
slap her on the back, apologize for putting her through the embarrassment of getting arrested—and then offer to take her out for tapas and beer.
He did none of that. Instead, he turned to face her and said, through the interpreter, “The Almudena Cathedral is the seat of the Madrid archdiocese. You disrespected our national treasure and destroyed valuable artifacts.”
Yikes, the archdiocese? For sure I’m gonna burn in hell. “It’s a really beautiful church.” Over the top gaudy, if you must know. “I’m truly sorry. I should’ve let the murder suspect get away.”
Some rapid-fire Spanish, and then the translation. “You have no jurisdiction here. Why did you initiate foot pursuit?”
I’m sure my boss will be asking me that same question.
“Instinct,” she said with a shrug. “I’m a cop. No matter what country I’m in, I live to catch the bad guys.”
The man frowned and shook his head.
Really? Not even a thank-you?
He walked to a phone, babbled something into the receiver, waited, then babbled some more. He finally returned and said, “Your FBI will be handling this.”
I can’t wait.
VAIL SAT IN THE STATION for another forty minutes, waiting for things to get sorted out.
Because of the time difference, she was sure the delay was due to an inability to reach someone at the Bureau. She didn’t even know the protocol for a situation like this. It probably involved the Madrid FBI Legat, or legal attaché, calling his contact in the States, who would then alert an assistant director in charge, who would then call her boss. If that scenario was correct, she was not looking forward to hearing her name tossed about in hushed curses—not only for what she had done but because she did it at an “inconvenient” hour.
Finally Vail was led into a large room where the detectives had their desks, computers, and files. She was put in a chair and handed a phone. A line button was pushed and she said, “This is Vail.”
It was the voice of the Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge of the behavioral analysis units,
“You can imagine my surprise when I got a call from Director Knox about some trouble one of my agents got herself into. And the first thing I thought was, ‘Must be Karen.’ Now why is that?”
“I’m sorry they got you out of bed for this, sir.”
“I wasn’t in bed.”
Vail did a quick calculation—but before she could arrive at the answer, Gifford said, “I sent you to Madrid because I thought you’d do a good job representing the Bureau. But maybe that’s my fault for having unreasonable expectations.”
Ow. Did I deserve that? “You realize, sir, that none of this was my fault.”
“I’ll withhold judgment for the moment. But only because something’s come up. I need you to go to London.”
“London.” She looked around for a hidden camera crew capturing her surprise. “What’s in London?”
“There’s been a bombing and we were asked to provide support and analysis. Threat assessment.”
“What about my conference?”
“Postponed. If you wrap up your assignment in London quickly, you can go back to Madrid.
But we’re also discussing a way of finishing it on Skype. Not ideal, but right now the priority is helping New Scotland Yard with this case. And—I can’t stress this enough, Karen—I want you to make like a good soldier and get along with others. Show respect to the other law enforcement personnel you come into contact with, especially the London Legat. Okay?”
“That’s extremely important. I don’t want anymore phone calls.”
“No more phone calls. Got it.”
“Karen, I’m serious.”
“I am, too, sir. Phone calls are bad. I don’t want any phone calls either.”
“No worries. Sarcasm’s in check. No insubordination. I will be a good soldier.”
“I’m not going to hold my breath.”
“Probably smart, sir.”
“Lenka worked with the travel office,” Gifford said, ignoring her comment, “to get you a room. London’s usually 80 percent occupied, and it’s particularly busy now, so it wasn’t easy. You’re booked into The Horatio Nelson at Charing Cross. It’s by Trafalgar Square, centrally located and very expensive. The British government is footing the bill. Please be courteous to the staff. Got it?”
“Courteous. Got it.”
“That means no attitude. That’s an order.”
“Yes sir. Got your order. A side of courteous, hold the attitude. When do I leave?”
Gifford groaned. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Sir, have I ever let you down?”
Gifford chortled. “Plenty of times.”
Vail furrowed her brow. This is a new leaf. No argument. Go with it. “Yeah, but here’s the thing: all that stuff’s behind me. I’m not gonna let you down. Clean slate.”
Gifford was quiet, no doubt wondering if she was serious—but hoping that she was. He said,
“I’m going to hold you to that. Because I don’t have a choice and I’ve got someone from the
Madrid Legat packing up your stuff as we speak. Head directly to Madrid-Barajas Airport. Your
Lufthansa flight leaves in two hours.”
Mystery & Thrillers
Alan Jacobson Newsletter
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My literary career has been marked by a number of events, but none more significant than an accidental meeting nearly 20 years ago. While researching "False Accusations" at the Department of Justice's crime lab, I met FBI agent Mark Safarik, who was awaiting promotion to the FBI's Behavioral Analysis (profiling) Unit--the one popularized by TV's Criminal Minds. We hit it off, stayed in touch, and Agent Safarik invited me out to Quantico to tour the FBI Academy and profiling unit. Thus began my immersion in the world of serial killers, rapists, bombers and arsonists.
Seven years later, my education had reached critical mass: I'd made numerous trips to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, had countless hours of conversations with Agent Safarik and his partner, Agent Mary Ellen O'Toole; I'd edited four published FBI research papers on serial offenders and attended numerous FBI training courses; I'd shot submachine guns with the head firearms instructor at the Academy; and I'd parsed serial killer interviews with Agent Safarik. I felt that I owned the material well enough to use this knowledge and experience in writing my third novel, the first featuring FBI Profiler Karen Vail.
Vail had an explosive debut, bursting onto the scene in the national bestseller "The 7th Victim." Sporting a vibrant personality oozing sharp wit and sarcasm, Vail is a woman bucking the odds in a unit geared toward men, someone who always means well but, like you and me, makes mistakes. She has fears, loves, and vulnerabilities--and despite being very good at what she does--suffers perpetual unease about the decisions she makes. Because lives are on the line. Errors prove costly.
Author's Book List
- Karen Vail Novel #2
Fresh off the most challenging case of her career, The 7th Victim heroine and renowned FBI profiler Karen Vail returns in an explosive thriller set against the backdrop of California’s wine country.
Hoping to find solace from the demons that haunt her, Vail makes her first trip to the Napa Valley. But shortly after arriving, a victim is found in the deepest reaches of the exclusive wine cave, the work of an extraordinary unpredictable serial killer. From the outset, Vail is frustrated by her inability to profile the offender-until she realizes why: the Behavioral Analysis Unit has not previously encountered a killer like him.
As Vail and the task force work around the clock to identify and locate him, they’re caught in a web of knotted with secretive organizations, a decades-long feud between prominent wine families, and widespread corruption that leads Vail to wonder whom, if anyone, she can trust. Meanwhile, as the victim count rises, Vail can’t shake the gnawing sense that something isn’t right.
With the killer’s actions threatening the Napa Valley’s multi-billion dollar industry, the stakes have never been greater, and the race to find the killer never more urgent. And through it all, a surprise lurks… one that Karen Vail never sees coming.
Meticulously researched during years of work wit the FBI profiling unit and extensive interviews with wine industry professionals, bestselling author Alan Jacobson delivers a high velocity thriller featuring the kind of edge-of-your-seat ending that inspired Nelson DeMille to call him “a hell of a writer.”
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An enigmatic covert operative. A skilled FBI agent with a dark past. And a terror plot unlike any in history... An explosion pulverizes the president-elect's helicopter on Election Night. It soon becomes clear that the group behind the assassination possesses far greater reach than anything the FBI's Joint Terrorism Task Force has yet encountered—and a plot so deeply interwoven in the country’s fabric that it threatens to upend America's political system. But as Department of Defense covert operative Hector DeSantos and FBI Agent Aaron “Uzi” Uziel sort out who is behind the bombings, Uzi’s personal demons not only jeopardize the investigation but may sit at the heart of a tangle of lies that threaten to trigger an international terrorist attack. Hailed by political thriller master Vince Flynn as “a smart, complex novel that explodes from the page,” and by Lee Child as “a great thriller” that’s “fast, hard, and intelligent,” Hard Target is a ticking time bomb that keeps you clinging to the edge of your seat...and turning the pages. Note: Hard Target also features Jacobson's famed FBI Profiler, Karen Vail, in a key role affecting national security.
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- Karen Vail Novel #4
When an elderly woman is found raped and murdered, famed FBI Profiler Karen Vail heads west to team up with Inspector Lance Burden and Detective Roxxann Dixon. As they follow the killer’s trail in and around San Francisco, the offender leaves behind clues that ultimately lead them to the most unlikely of places, a mysterious island ripped from city lore whose long-buried, decades-old secrets hold the key to their case: Alcatraz. The Rock. It’s a case that has more twists and turns than the famed Lombard Street. The legendary Clive Cussler calls Inmate 1577 “a powerful thriller, brilliantly conceived and written.” Inmate 1577 is already a national bestseller--with some readers calling it one of the best novels they have read in years. "A mystery masterpiece...this one will be tough to top." —New York Journal of Books "Jacobson's latest Vail novel continues his streak of terrific mind-bending thrillers. The story line seems straightforward at first, but when the twists come, even the most hard-core thriller fans will not figure everything out. Jacobson should be mandatory reading for the James Patterson crowd; this is an essential addition to any fiction collection." —Library Journal "Jacobson manages to tantalize…and pull off a stunning surprise ending."
—Publishers Weekly "More than mere entertainment…INMATE 1577 is a first-rate page-turner [and] a wonderful addition to the series that will satisfy loyal readers and provide those new to these thrillers with an excellent place to climb aboard." —Book Reporter
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“One of the brightest stars in the publishing industry.” –CNN
False Accusations is a twisting psychological thriller, a tale of deadly revenge where the assurance of "innocent until proven guilty" is not what it seems.
Dr. Phillip Madison has everything: wealth, power, and an impeccable reputation. But in the pre-dawn hours of a quiet California suburb, the revered orthopedic surgeon is charged with double homicide—a cold blooded hit-and-run that has left an innocent young couple dead. Blood evidence has brought the police to his door. An eyewitness has placed him at the crime scene...and Madison has no alibi. With his family torn apart, his career forever damaged, no way to prove his innocence and facing life in prison, Madison hires an investigator to find the person who has engineered the case against him.
As his privileged world is brought crashing down by a psychotic seductress, as family and friends abandon him, Madison's only hope for vindication rests in revealing a truth at the heart of a lie. It's a disclosure that could cost him more than he ever imagined.
False Accusations is a psychological thriller that instantly became a National Bestseller and launched Alan Jacobson’s career, a novel that spurred CNN to call him, “One of the brightest stars in the publishing industry.”
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“Jacobson keeps readers guessing right up until the last page, so trying to put this book down is like trying not to eat the last chocolate chip cookie: most of us will just give in.” –Booklist
How well do you really know the person you love? How far would you go to find out? If there was one person in the world Dr. Lauren Chambers was sure she could rely on, it was her beloved husband, Michael. Recovering from an agoraphobic depression and prone to episodes of blinding anxiety, Lauren is a gifted psychologist for whom her husband's love and support mean everything. So when Michael suddenly and mysteriously vanishes, Lauren once again finds herself balancing on a knife's edge, haunted more than ever by an all-too-familiar paranoia.
Is there more to it than paranoia, though? Private investigator Nick Bradley believes so. As the pair takes off on a cross-country journey in search of answers -- a search that yields a series of unsettling truths about the husband Lauren believed she knew so well -- bestselling author Alan Jacobson sets into motion a page-turning tale of concealed identities, an assassin's vendetta, and murderous revenge. Once again proving his mastery of the shocking twist and the ingenious turn, Jacobson leads readers on an exhilarating road thriller built for hairpin turns and unexpected detours as Lauren heads for a face-off with the most dangerous secret of all: the truth.
From Alan Jacobson, "one of the brightest stars of the publishing world" (CNN), comes a chilling follow-up to his breakthrough bestseller False Accusations: a high-velocity thriller of deadly revenge and psychological mayhem.
Lightly edited and newly updated, The Hunted introduces a number of characters that figure prominently in Alan Jacobson’s later novels, including Department of Defense covert operative Hector DeSantos and FBI Director Douglas Knox, along with others who will be returning in future Alan Jacobson novels.
The Hunted is not just a thrilling read, but it’s an adventure that lays a solid foundation for many characters and stories slated to come in the Alan Jacobson universe.
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- Karen Vail Novel #3
Renowned FBI profiler Karen Vail returns in Velocity, national bestselling author Alan Jacobson’s most explosive thriller to date. Detective Robby Hernandez, Vail’s boyfriend, has vanished into the dense air of a Napa Valley evening. There are no clues to his whereabouts, other than blood stain and tenuous connections to a vicious serial killer operating it the wine country.
As the task force struggles with Robby’s disappearance, the killer challenges Vail by boldly leaving his high profile victims in public places. Is this offender somehow responsible for Robby’s disappearance? Evidence suggests that he is-but just when Vail and the task force begin to make progress, the FBI orders Vail to return to Quantico to handle a case of vital importance.
Back in Washington, Vail engages convert government operative Hector DeSantos to determine what happened to Robby. It’s a move that backfires when DeSantos’s confidential informants lead them into unforeseen dangers, forcing Vail to face off against powerful foes unlike any she’s ever encountered, threatening her life, her career…all that she holds dear.
In a frantic race against time that takes them from the monuments of Washington D.C. to the wealthy beach enclaves of San Diego and the bright excesses of Las Vegas, shocking truths emerge-truths that will forever change Karen Vail.
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The 7th Victim
- Karen Vail Series
The Dead Eyes Killer lurks in the backyard of the famed FBI Profiling Unit. His brutal murders, unlike any others previously seen, confound the local task force, despite the gifted profiling skills of Special Agent Karen Vail. But along with Vail‘s insight and expertise comes considerable personal and professional baggage.
On leave pending a review of her assault on her abusive ex-husband, Vail must battle forces determined to bring her down, as she fights to find Dead Eyes before he murders more young women. But the seventh victim is the key to all that stirs this killer...the key that will unlock secrets perhaps too painful for Vail to bear. These are secrets that threaten to destroy her, secrets that will bring down her storied and promising career. For Karen Vail, the truth rests at the heart of a lie. And uncovering it could get her killed...
With material meticulously researched during seven years of study with the Bureau’s vaunted profiling unit, Alan Jacobson brings refreshing realism and unprecedented accuracy to his pages, as he takes readers behind the scenes of the FBI Academy, where he worked with the actual profilers who have studied and interviewed twenty years’ worth of serial killers.
The 7th Victim
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