Lauren Stillwell isn't your average damsel in distress.
When the NYPD cop discovers her husband leaving a hotel with another woman, she decides to beat him at his own game. But her revenge goes dangerously awry, and she finds her world spiraling into a hell that becomes more terrifying by the hour.
In a further twist of fate, Lauren must take on a job that threatens everything she stands for. Now, she's paralyzed by a deadly secret that could tear her life apart. With her job and marriage on the line, Lauren's desire for retribution becomes a lethal inferno as she fights to save her livelihood - and her life.
Patterson takes us on a twisting roller-coaster ride of thrills in his most gripping novel yet. This story of love, lust, and dangerous secrets will have listeners' hearts pounding.
I KNEW THIS WAS a really terrific idea, if I didn't say so myself,
surprising Paul for lunch at his office down on Pearl Street.
I'd made a special trip into Manhattan and had put on my favorite
"little black dress." I looked moderately ravishing. Nothing that
would be out of place at the Mark Joseph Steakhouse, and one of
Paul's favorite outfits, too, the one he usually chose if I asked
him, "What should I wear to this thing, Paul?"
Anyway, I was excited, and I'd already spoken to his assistant,
Jean, to make sure that he was there - though I hadn't alerted her
about the surprise. Jean was Paul's assistant after all, not mine.
And then, there was Paul.
As I rounded the corner in my Mini Cooper, I saw him leaving his
office building, walking with a twenty-something blonde woman.
Paul was leaning in very close to her, chatting, laughing in a way
that instantly made me feel very ill.
She was one of those bright, shiny beauties you're more likely to
see in Chicago or Iowa City. Tall, hair like platinum silk.
Cream-colored skin that looked just about perfect from this
distance. Not a wrinkle or blemish.
She wasn't completely perfect, though. She tripped a Manolo on a
street plate as she and Paul were getting into a taxi, and as I
watched Paul gallantly catch hold of the pink cashmere on her
anorexic elbow, I felt like someone had hammered a cold chisel right
into the center of my chest.
I followed them. Well, I guess followed is too polite. I stalked
All the way up to Midtown, I stayed on that taxi's bumper like we
were connected by a tow hook. When the cab suddenly pulled up in
front of the entrance to the St. Regis Hotel, on East 55th Street,
and Paul and the woman stepped out smiling, I felt an impulse rush
from the lizard part of my brain to my right foot, which was
hovering over the accelerator. Then Paul took her arm. A picture of
both of them sandwiched between the storied hotel's front steps and
the hood of my baby-blue Mini flashed through my mind.
Then it was gone, and so were they, and I was left sitting there
crying to the sound of the honking taxis lined up behind me.
Excerpted from "The Quickie" by James Patterson. Copyright © 2007 by James Patterson. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.