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Bone Cold Mass Market Paperback – March 1, 2001


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Product Details

  • Mass Market Paperback: 512 pages
  • Publisher: Mira; Mira edition (March 1, 2001)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1551667940
  • ISBN-13: 978-1551667942
  • Product Dimensions: 6.7 x 4.2 x 1.4 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 5.6 ounces
  • Average Customer Review: 4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (69 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #1,689,290 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Editorial Reviews

Review

"A compelling story packed with authentic detail, Spindler's novel chilled me to the bone!" -- Chris Rush, international private investigator, Chris Rush Private Investigation, White Plains,NY

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, January 10, 2001

New Orleans, Louisiana


"Timmy! No!"

Anna sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, Timmy's name, her screams, reverberating off the walls of her bedroom.

With a squeak of terror, she dragged the blankets to her chin. She looked wildly around her. When she'd drifted off, her bedside light had been on—she always slept with a light on. Yet her bedroom was dark. The shadows in the corners mocked her, deep and black. What did those shadows hold for her? What could they hide? Who?

Kurt. He was coming for her. To finish what he'd begun twenty-three years ago. To punish her for escaping. For spoiling his plans.

"Ready or not, here I come."

With a cry, Anna scrambled out of bed. She ran from the bedroom to the bathroom, located down the hallway. She raced to the commode, flipped up the seat, bent and threw up. She heaved until she was empty, until she had nothing left to expel but memories.

She yanked off a length of toilet tissue, wiped her mouth, then dropped the tissue into the commode and flushed. Her right hand hurt. It burned, as if Kurt had just done it. Severed her pinkie finger to send to her parents as a warning.

But he hadn't just done it, she reminded herself. It had happened a lifetime ago. She'd been a child, still Harlow Anastasia Grail, little Hollywood princess.

A lifetime ago. A whole other identity ago.

Turning, Anna crossed to the sink and turned on the faucet. Bending, she splashed the icy-cold water on her face, struggling to shake off the nightmare.

She was safe. In her own apartment. Except for her parents, she'd cut all ties to her past. None of her friends or business associates knew who she was. Not even her publisher or literary agent. She was Anna North now. She had been Anna North for twelve years.

Even if Kurt came looking for her, he wouldn't be able to find her.

Anna muttered an oath and flipped off the water. She snatched the hand towel from the ring and dried her face. Kurt wasn't going to come looking for her. Twenty-three years had passed, for heaven's sake. The FBI had been certain the man she'd known as Kurt posed no further threat to her. They believed he had slipped over the border into Mexico. The discovery of Monica's body in the border town of Baja, California, six days after Harlow's escape had supported that belief.

Disgusted with herself, she tossed the hand towel onto the counter. When was she going to get over this? How many years had to pass before she could sleep without a light on? Before nightmares no longer awakened her, night after night?

If only Kurt had been apprehended. She would be able to forget then. She would be able to go on without worrying, without wondering if he thought of her. Her escape had upset the ransom pickup. Did he curse her for spoiling that? Did he wait for the day he would make her pay for spoiling his opportunity at wealth?

She looked at herself in the mirror, expression fierce. She couldn't control her nightmares, but she could control everything else in her life. She would not spend her days—or nights—dodging shadows.

Anna stalked back to her bedroom, grabbed a pair of shorts from her bureau drawer and slipped them on under her nightshirt. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well work. A new story idea had been kicking around the back of her brain and now seemed as good a time as any to start it. But first, she decided, coffee.

She made her way to the kitchen, passing her office— a desk tucked into a corner of the living room—as she did. She flipped on the computer then moved on, past the front door. Out of habit she stopped to check the dead bolt.

As her fingers closed over the lock, someone pounded on the door. With a small cry, Anna jumped back. "Anna! It's Bill—"

"And Dalton."

"Are you all right?"

Bill Friends and Dalton Ramsey, her neighbors and best friends. Thank goodness.

Hands shaking, she unlocked the door and eased it open. The pair stood in the hallway, expressions anxious. From down the hall she heard the yipping of Judy and Boo, the couple's Heinz 57 mini-mutts. "What in the world…you scared the life out of me."

"We heard you screa—"

"I heard you scream," Bill corrected. "I was on my way back in from—"

"He came and got me." Dalton held up a marble book-end, a miniature of Michelangelo's David. "I brought this. Just in case."

Anna brought a hand to her chest, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She could picture fifty-something, mild-mannered Dalton winging a chunk of marble at an intruder. "Just in case of what? That my library needed tidying?"

Bill chuckled; Dalton looked irritated. He sniffed. "For protection, of course."

Against the intruder who would have made his escape by the time her friends had gathered their wits about them, selected a weapon and made their way to her door. Thank goodness she had never actually needed saving.

She bit back a laugh. "And I appreciate your concern." She swung the door wider. "Come on in, I'll make coffee to go with the beignets."

"Beignets?" Dalton repeated innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Anna wagged a finger at him. "Nice try, but I smell them. Your punishment for coming to my aid is having to share."

New Orleans's version of a doughnut, beignets were fried squares of dough, liberally dusted with powdered sugar. Like everything New Orleans, they were both decadent and addictive.

And definitely not for those, like Dalton, who professed to be watching their weight.

"He made me do it," Dalton said as they stepped into the apartment. He looked accusingly at Bill. "You know I'd never suggest such indulgences at two in the morning."

"Right." Bill rolled his eyes. "And whose figure suggests a tendency toward.indulgences?"

The other man looked at Anna for support. Bill was ten years Dalton's junior, trim and athletic. "It's not fair. He eats everything and never gains weight. Me, I eat one little thing and—"

"One little thing? Hah! Ask him about the Fig Newtons and barbeque chips?"

"I was having a bad day. I needed a little pick-me-up. So sue me."

Anna linked her arms through her friends' and nudged them toward the kitchen, the adverse effects of her nightmare melting away. The two men never failed to make her laugh. Nor did it ever cease to amaze her that they were a couple. They reminded her of a peacock and a penguin. Bill was outspoken and often outrageous, Dalton a prim businessman whose meticulous manner tended toward fussiness. Yet as different as they were, they had been together for ten years.

"I don't care who's guilty of the idea," she said as they reached the kitchen. "I'm just grateful for it. A 2:00 a.m. beignet-binge is just what I needed."

Truth was, it was their friendship she was grateful for. She'd met the pair her second week in New Orleans. She had answered an ad for a job at a French Quarter florist shop. Although she hadn't had any experience, she'd always had a flair for arranging and had been in need of a job that would allow her the time—and en-ergy—to pursue her dream of being a novelist.

Dalton had turned out to be the owner of the shop; they had hit it off immediately. He had understood her dreams and applauded her for having the guts to pursue them. And unlike the other potential employers she had interviewed with, he had been comfortable with her need to think of her position at The Perfect Rose as a job, not a career.

Dalton had introduced her to Bill and the two men had taken her under their wing. They'd alerted her to an upcoming vacancy in the French Quarter apartment building they not only lived in, but that Dalton owned, and had given her recommendations for everything from dry cleaners to restaurants and hairstylists. As Anna had come to know them better, she had allowed them to take a real interest in her writing: it had been Bill and Dalton who had cheered her up after every rejection and Bill and Dalton who had cheered her on with each success.

She loved them both and would face the devil himself to keep them safe. They, she believed, would do the same for her.

The devil himself. Kurt.

As if reading her mind, Dalton turned to her, aghast. "Good Lord, Anna. We never even asked, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Anna poured milk into a saucepan and set it on the stove to heat. She retrieved three mugs from a cabinet and a tray of frozen coffee cubes from the freezer. "It was just a bad dream."

Bill helped her out, dropping a cube of the frozen cold-brewed coffee concentrate into each mug. "Not another one? " He gave her a quick hug. "Poor Anna."

"It's those sick stories you write," Dalton offered, artfully arranging the beignets on a plate. "They're giving you nightmares."

"Sick stories? Thanks, Dalton."

"Dark, then," Dalton amended. "Twisted. Scary. Better?"

"Much, thank you." She poured the steaming milk into the mugs, then handed each man his café au lait.

They carried the pastries and coffee to her small, bistro-style table, sat and dug in. Dalton was right. Her novels—thrillers—had been described by reviewers with just such adjectives. Also by ones like compelling and gripping. If only she could sell enough copies to make a living writing them.

Nobody was holding her back but herself. That's what her agent said.

"Such a nice, normal-seeming lady." Bill lowered his voice to a horror-flick drawl. "Where do her stories come from? Experience? Extracurricular activities? What gothic horrors lurk behind her guileless green eyes?"

Anna pretended to laugh. Bill couldn't know how close to the truth his playful teasing had come. She had been witness to the darkest depths of the human spirit. She knew from firsthand experience the human animal's capacity for evil.

That knowledge stole her peace of mind and sometimes, like tonight, her sleep as well. It also fueled her imagination, pouring out of her in dark, twisted tales that pitted good against evil.

"Didn't you know?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "All my research is hands-on. So please, don't look in the trunk of my car, and be sure to lock your door at night." She lowered her voice. "If you know what's good for you."

For a split second, the men simply stared at her. Then they laughed. Dalton spoke first. "Very funny, Anna. Especially since that gay couple gets whacked in your new story idea."

"Speaking of," Bill murmured, brushing at the sprinkling of powdered sugar on the table in front of him, "have you heard anything on the new proposal yet?"

"Not yet, but it's only been a couple weeks. You know how slow publishing can be."

Bill snorted in disgust. He worked in advertising and public relations, most of the time he was going ninety-to-nothing, hair on fire. "They wouldn't last two minutes in my business. Crash and burn, big time."

Anna agreed, then yawned. She brought a hand to her mouth, yawning again.

Dalton glanced at his watch. "Good Lord, look at the time! I had no idea it was so—" He turned toward her, expression horrified. "Heavens, Anna! I forgot to tell you. You got another letter from your little fan. The one who lives across Lake Pontchartrain, in Mandeville. It came today to The Perfect Rose."

For a split second Anna didn't know who Dalton was referring to, then she remembered. A few weeks ago she'd received a fan letter from an eleven-year-old local girl named Minnie. It had come through Anna's agent, in a packet with several others.

Though Anna had been disturbed by the thought that her adult novels had been read by a child, she had been charmed by the letter. Anna had been reminded of the girl she had been before the kidnapping, one who had seen the world as a beautiful place filled with smiling faces.

Minnie had promised that if Anna wrote her back she would be her biggest fan forever. She had drawn hearts and daisies over the back of the envelope and printed the letters S.W.A.K.

Sealed with a kiss.

Anna had been so captivated, she had answered the letter personally.

Dalton dug the envelope out of the pocket of his sweat-suit jacket and held it out. Anna frowned. "You brought it with you? "

Bill rolled his eyes. "He grabbed it right after he selected David from his weapon collection. It was all I could do to stop him from baking muffins."

Dalton sniffed, expression hurt. "I was trying to help. Next time I won't."

"Don't you pay any attention to Bill," Anna murmured, taking the letter and sending Bill a warning glance. "You know what a tease he is. I appreciate you thinking of me."

Bill motioned to the envelope. Like the previous one, the girl had decorated it with hearts, daisies and a big S.W.A.K. "It came directly to The Perfect Rose, Anna. Not through your agent."

"Directly to The Perfect—" Anna realized her mistake and for a heartbeat of time, couldn't breathe. In her zeal to answer the child, she had forgotten caution. She had grabbed a piece of The Perfect Rose's stationery, dashed off a response and dropped it in the mail.

How could she have been so stupid? So careless?

"Open it," Bill urged. "You know you're curious."

She was curious. She loved to hear that a reader enjoyed one of her stories. It was satisfying in a way nothing else in her life was. But a part of her was repelled, too, by this physical connection to strangers, by the knowledge that through her work strangers had an opening into her head and heart.

Her work provided them a way into her life.

She eased the envelope open, slid out the letter and began to read. Bill and Dalton read with her, each peering over a shoulder.

Dear Miss North,

I was so excited when I received your letter! You're my very favorite author in the whole world—honest! My Kitty thinks you're the best, too. She's gold and white with blue eyes. She's my best friend. Our favorite foods are pizza and Chee-tos, but he doesn't let us have them very often. Once, I sneaked a bag and me and Tabitha ate the whole thing. My favorite group is the Backstreet Boys and when he lets me out, I watch Dawson's Creek.

I'm so glad you're going to be my friend. It gets lonely here sometimes. I felt bad though, about what you said about me being too young to read your books. I suppose you're right. And if you don't want me to read them, I won't. I promise. He doesn't know I read them anyway and would be very angry if he found out.

He frightens me sometimes. --This text refers to an alternate Mass Market Paperback edition.

Customer Reviews

A strong story with well developed characters.
Captain
Once you started to read the book, it was hard to put down.
Erica
If you like romantic suspense, this book is for you!
paula_k_98

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

40 of 41 people found the following review helpful By paula_k_98 on March 5, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
June 1978, thirteen-year-old Harlow Anastasia Grail and her six-year-old friend are kidnapped and held for ransom. Harlow manages to escape but not before the kidnapper cuts off her right pinkie in retaliation for her parents calling in the FBI. Fast forward to January 2001, Harlow has assumed a new identity and career as Anna North, a suspense writer. Anna is a reserved person who stills suffers nightmares. She doesn't trust or make friends easily, but she is content with her new life. Content that is until the letters begin. Someone, who knows Anna well, has sent messages to all her friends revealing her true identity. Anna begins to fear for her safety and that of her "little sister", a troubled teenager that Anna sponsors. Not knowing whom to trust, Anna turns to two men. Dr. Benjamin Walker, a psychologist who specializes in the effect of childhood trauma on adult personality and behavior wants to use Anna and her past for a book he is working on. Quentin Malone, a detective who works homicide, who doesn't seem to believe Anna is in any serious trouble. Anna finds herself attracted to both men, yet unable to trust either.
What a book! Erica Spindler has woven a fascinating story with so many twists and turns in the plot; I can't even begin to review all of them without giving away vital information that would spoil the book for you. Ms. Spindler has outdone herself this time. If I had any complaints, I felt like the heroine was a little wimpy at times. But, I was so engrossed in the story, it was just a minor annoyance. If you like romantic suspense, this book is for you!
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14 of 14 people found the following review helpful By Stacey Dawn Brody on September 24, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
Not the horror book it was purported to be, but solid nonetheless. It was an engrossing read, told in the present, about a young woman writer living in New Orleans who has changed her name and is hiding from a man who kidnapped and cut off her finger 23 years ago. She escaped and now lives in fear of this man, assuming a somewhat normal existence(under the circumstances) until her past comes back to "finish the job". I found the story to be very professionally written. Although I completely agree with the other reviewers on the ad nauseum usage of phrases "tipping her chin" and "muttering an oath", I think most of the blame here needs to be put upon the editor. I definitely would not classify this book as horror, as the cover might lead one to believe; it is more like a light thriller couched in a love story. Erica Spindler is very adept. She obviously can write an attention-keeping book. I'd love to see true horror from her, but this coming from a romance background, this was an excellent step in that direction.
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12 of 12 people found the following review helpful By K. Lininger on April 10, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
I've been a fan of ms Spindler since she came out with Red, shocking Pink and Forbidden Fruit. Her last efforts Cause of Alarm and this one Bone Cold did not live up to my expectations. This is a story of Anna. anna was kidnapped 23 years ago and the man that kidnapped her cut off her pinkie finger. She got away but has lived in fear since. Now 23 years later someone is out to get her. She believes it is the madman that had her so long ago. This story just does not make sense. You kind of figure out who the bad guy is but the writer is trying so hard to keep you guessing with too far out ideas. The positive the book is entertaining if you don't tear it apart like I just did. If you haven't read any Spindler books. I highly recommend Red and Shocking pink before you read this one.
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18 of 20 people found the following review helpful By Harriet Klausner #1 HALL OF FAME on February 15, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
In 1978 Southern California, with the help of a nurse, Kurt kidnaps thirteen-year-old Harlow Grail, daughter of a renowned actress and a popular plastic surgeon. Also abducted is the six-year-old son of the Grail family housekeeper Timmy, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When Kurt learns that the Grails talked to the police and the media, he suffocates Timmy and slices off Harlow's pinkie. Knowing Kurt will kill her once he collects his ransom, Harlow escapes.

In 2001 New Orleans, author Anna North still suffers from nightmares from when Kurt kidnapped her twenty-three years ago when she was Harlow. However, hell has just begun as Anna's mother inadvertently reveals that Harlow is a best selling author of mysteries living in New Orleans. Murders are beginning to hit the city turning the Big Easy into the Big Scary. With a pinkie sliced off one of the victims, Anna thinks Kurt is back to finish his job and only homicide detective Quentin Malone stands in his way.

BONE COLD is an exciting romantic-psychological police procedural that will entertain fans from both genres. The story line is fast-paced and filled with twists, keeping the reader on edge while wondering what will happen next. Though the twists require some acceptance, the audience will find it worth the leap as the suspense keeps growing until the reader finishes best selling author Erica Spindler's latest thriller.

Harriet Klausner
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10 of 10 people found the following review helpful By Sherrie Martin on April 23, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
As a child, writer Anna North was the victim of a terrible crime. She has changed her name and moved to New Orleans to put the past behind her but, 23 years later, the nightmare begins again. Someone has not only discovered her real identity, but is sending chilling threats to her and her friends. When red-haired women bearing a striking resemblance to Anna start getting killed on the streets of her French Quarter neighborhood, she has little doubt that she could be next. As the campaign of harassment against her heats up, it becomes increasingly hard for her to know whom to trust. Quentin Malone is a homicide detective who doesn't quite seem to buy her story at first. His partner has been exhibiting some bizarre behavior and argued with the the first redheaded victim the night she was killed. Then there is Dr. Ben Walker, who not only wants to counsel Anna on a professional level but wants a more personal relationship with her. Even Anna's sweet and gentle neighbors whom she has known for years come under suspicion. I would have read this through to the end just for the richly wrought images of French Quarter New Orleans, but the story is clever and compelling and worth sitting up late to finish.
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More About the Author

A New York Times and International bestselling author, Erica Spindler's skill for crafting engrossing plots and compelling characters has earned both critical praise and legions of fans. Published in 25 countries, her stories have been lauded as "thrill-packed page turners, white- knuckle rides and edge-of-your-seat whodunits."

Raised in Rockford, Illinois, Erica had planned on being an artist, earning a BFA from Delta State University and an MFA from the University of New Orleans in the visual arts. In June of 1982, in bed with a cold, she picked up a romance novel for relief from daytime television. She was immediately hooked, and soon decided to try to write one herself. She leaped from romance to suspense in 1996 with her novel Forbidden Fruit, and found her true calling.

Her novel Bone Cold won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence. A Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, she received a Kiss of Death Award for her novels Forbidden Fruit and Dead Run and was a three-time RITA® Award finalist. Publishers Weekly awarded the audio version of her novel Shocking Pink a Listen Up Award, naming it one of the best audio mystery books of 1998.

Erica lives just outside New Orleans, Louisiana, with her husband and two sons and is busy at work on her next thriller.

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