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Informationen zum Autor Karen Robards is the New York Times , USA TODAY , and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of more than fifty books and one novella. Karen published her first novel at age twenty-four and has won multiple awards throughout her career, including six Silver Pens for favorite author. Karen was described by The Daily Mail as "one of the most reliable thriller...writers in the world." She is the mother of three boys and lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Klappentext Includes an excerpt from Whispers at midnight. Leseprobe Chapter One Fifteen years later Wake up. Julie Carlson's eyes blinked open. For a moment she lay still, heart racing, staring groggily into the darkness, not sure what had awakened her or why she felt so frightened. It took only a moment or so for her to realize that she was lying in her own bed, in her own bedroom, listening to the familiar hum of the air conditioner as it kept the sweltering heat of the July night at bay and smelling the comforting aroma of her own smooth clean sheets. Her potbellied teddy bear, a poignant memento of her late father, sat stolidly in its accustomed spot on the bedside table. She could just see the comforting shape of it by the faint glow of the alarm clock. She must have had a nightmare. That would explain why she was curled up in a tight little ball under the bedclothes when she usually slept sprawled on her stomach; it would account for the now-slowing thud of her heart; it would explain her sense of -- there was no other word for it -- dread. Something's wrong. Although the words were distinct, the urgent whisper was in her head. She was all alone in her bedroom, all alone in the whole huge upstairs of her house. Sid, the dog, was obviously spending another night in the guest room. At the thought, Julie felt her stomach knot. She had gone downstairs around eleven, to find her husband sitting on the couch in the den watching TV. "I'll be up after the news," he'd said. Not wanting to start a fight -- all they did lately was fight -- she'd crossed her fingers and gone back upstairs to bed without uttering so much as a cross or demanding word. But here it was -- she focused on the clock -- at two minutes after midnight, and she was still alone in their bed. Maybe -- maybe he was still coming. Maybe he was watching Letterman. Maybe tonight Leno had an especially fascinating guest. Get real, she told herself, uncurling her arms and legs as anger edged out fear. And maybe the Pope was a Protestant, too. Listen. Her attention immediately refocused. Trying not to be creeped out, Julie put out a hand, groping for the switch to the bedside lamp. Then she heard it, and froze. The distant sound -- vibration really -- of the garage door going up made her eyes widen and her fists clench. Her heart gave an odd little leap. Her stomach heaved. She forced herself to take a pair of deep, calming breaths. Despite all her hopes, all her prayers, it was happening again. Oh, God, what should she do? Julie Carlson didn't know it, but she had less than an hour left to live. Other than a single light in a downstairs room, her house was dark. It was a big house in an exclusive gated community just west of Charleston, and, if all went according to plan, in a few minutes she was going to be all alone in it. Then he would emerge from the shadows beneath the rustling palmettos in her side yard, break in through her back door, and creep up the stairs to the first door on the left. That door opened into the master bedroom, where she should already -- it was a few minutes after midnight -- be sound asleep. Surprise, surprise. Roger Basta allowed himself a small smile. This was going to be fun. The thought of what he was going to do to Julie Carlson made his breathing quicken. ...
