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Zusatztext 99131572 Informationen zum Autor Brad Parks Klappentext "Outstanding-starts with a bang and gets tenser and tenser. Say Nothing shows Parks is a quality writer at the top of his form."-Lee Child "Terrific book. Truly terrific. Tension throughout and tears at the end."-Sue Grafton Judge Scott Sampson doesn't brag about having a perfect life, but the evidence is clear: A prestigious job. A loving marriage. A pair of healthy children. Then a phone call begins every parent's most chilling nightmare. Scott's six-year-old twins, Sam and Emma, have been taken. The judge must rule exactly as instructed in a drug case he is about to hear. If he refuses, the consequences for the children will be dire. For Scott and his wife, Alison, the kidnapper's call is only the beginning of a twisting, gut-churning ordeal of blackmail, deceit, and terror. Through it all, they will stop at nothing to get their children back, no matter the cost to themselves...or to each other. "Complications and twists build to an unexpected climax that is both perfect and gut-wrenching."-Library Journal (starred review) "Grips the reader from the get-go and doesn't let up until the final twist."-Associated Press ONE Their first move against us was so small, such an infinitesimal blip against the blaring background noise of life, I didn’t register it as anything significant. It came in the form of a text from my wife, Alison, and it arrived on my phone at 3:28 one Wednesday afternoon: Hey sorry forgot to tell you kids have dr appt this pm. Picking them up soon. If I had any reaction to this unexpected disruption, it was only mild disappointment. Wednesday was Swim With Dad, a weekly ritual revered enough in our family to deserve capitalization. The twins and I had been partaking in it regularly for the past three years or so. While it had started as a predictable disaster—more the avoidance of drowning than actual swimming—it had since evolved into something far more pleasurable. Now age six, Sam and Emma had become ardent water rats. For the forty-five minutes we usually lasted, until one of them got that chatter in the teeth that told me they were done, all we did was enjoy one another. We splashed around. We raced from one end of the pool to the other. We played water games of our own invention, like the much-beloved Baby Hippo. There’s something about having genuine fun with your kids that’s good for the soul in away nothing else is, even if you’re forever stuck in the role of Momma Hippo. I looked forward to it in the same way I cherished all the weekly rites that had come to define our family’s little universe. Friday, for example, was Board Game–apalooza. Sunday was Pancake Day. Monday was Hats and Dancing, which involved, well ,dancing. With hats on. And maybe none ofthis sounds terribly sexy. Certainly, you wouldn’t want to slap it across a Cosmo cover—HOW TO GIVE YOUR MAN THE BEST PANCAKE DAY OF HIS LIFE! But I have come to believe a good routine is the bedrock of a happy family, and therefore a happy marriage, and therefore a happy life. So I was miffed, that Wednesday afternoon, when the enjoyment of our little routine was taken away from me. One of the benefits of being a judge is having a certain amount of say-so over my own schedule. My staff knows that, no matter what crisis of justice may be visiting us on a Wednesday afternoon, the Honorable Scott A. Sampson will be leaving his chambers at four o’clock to pick up his kids from after-school care so he can take them to the YMCA pool. I thought about going anyway and swimming some laps. Doughy forty-four-year-old white men with sedentary jobs ought not pass up opportunities for exercise. But the more I thought about it, being there without Sam and Emma felt wrong. I went home instead. For the past four years, we’ve lived in an old far...
