15 Seconds
‘A total white knuckle stay-up-all-night thrill ride’ (Harlan Coben) from the bestselling author of Reckless and Killing Hour. Fifteen seconds can tear a life apart..OUT OF TOWNDr Henry Steadman has it all: a booming business, a daughter he loves, and plenty of time to enjoy life. But while visiting upstate Florida, a police-stop ends in the shooting of a local cop – with Henry as the prime suspect.OUT OF LUCKFramed for a second murder, this time of a close friend, Henry goes on the run. His only lifeline is state-trooper Carrie Holmes, no stranger to tragedy herself, who can help prove his innocence. But they are in a dead-end – the police are closing in, the killer is getting away.OUT OF TIMEThis is not just a set-up, it’s far more personal. Henry’s nightmare is complete when his daughter is kidnapped. Suddenly, survival is not enough: he must save his daughter. Everything has been taken away from him – but now, Henry has nothing left to lose…
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Andrew Gross
Fifteen Seconds
Epigraph
Everyone is guilty of something, or has some
thing to conceal. All one has to do is look hard
enough to find what it is.
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Two
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Part Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Andrew Gross
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
It had all gotten a little blurry for Amanda, behind the wheel of her beat-up, eight-year-old Mazda:
Her recollection of what she’d been doing only twenty minutes before. Katy Perry’s voice on the car radio: “I just kissed a girl …”
The road.
She zipped in front of a yellow school bus crawling along ahead of her, the realization beginning to settle in that this wasn’t the right way.
Truth was, things had been going downhill quickly from the time she’d woken up this morning. First was her pathetic, out-of-work dad, waking her out of a deep sleep—“Why’re you always yelling at me, Daddy?”—threatening to throw her ass out of the house for good if she didn’t change her ways.
Then her boss, who always seemed to be on her case. Sure, she’d missed some time. I mean, washing hair at that stupid salon, like it was some fancy-ass boutique in Milan or France or somewhere. And her tight-ass instructor at the local cosmetology school, Miss Bad Hair Tease of 2001. At least know how to do it if you’re gonna teach the shit, right? I mean, there had to be some reason the bitch was stuck in a shit bucket like Acropolis, Georgia, right …?
Not to mention ol’ Wayne, her so-called boyfriend. They’d had another one of their famous blowups last night. Amanda was sure he was nailing the checkout girl at Ruby’s Market, Brandee or something, with her big rack and all, and that cheesy, fake-gold necklace with her name in large script.
And here she was—one more missed class away from an F, and late again. That class was the only thing keeping a roof over her head these days. Amanda switched lanes, barely squeezing ahead of a slow-moving SUV with a mom and kid in it. “C’mon, c’mon,” she yelled. “I see you— okay?” She turned up the music. She just couldn’t handle this kind of shit today.
The only way she could even think straight anymore these days was popping a couple of thirty-milligram Oxys like she’d done when she brushed her teeth. Always did the trick.
Especially with a Xanax chaser.
Katy Perry sang, “It felt so wrong, it felt so right …” and Amanda sang with her, dancing with her hands off the wheel.
She heard a loud honk. Like a foghorn in her head. She realized she’d been weaving just a bit. “All right, all right … Jesus, keep your ass on, bitch.” Last thing she needed was for the police to be on her butt today. Nineteen years old. With no money. Flunk out and get your ass tossed in jail.
Just like me, right …?
Blinking, Amanda scanned for the turnoff to the school. She knew it was around here somewhere. It was just that everything seemed a little fuzzy about now.
Next to that Burger King, right …?
She pulled into the turn lane. Suddenly horns blared at her from all directions. Okay, okay … A red pickup swerved, narrowly avoiding her, the driver twisting his head in anger as it zoomed by.
“Asshole …” Amanda turned to cuss him out. She stared back at the oncoming traffic. “Holy shit.”
That’s when it finally dawned on her that she’d been driving on the wrong side of the road.
“Deborah Jean? Deborah Jean? Honey, look what you forgot …!”
Deborah Jean Jenkins’s mom ran out of the house, holding her grandson’s “didee.” The soft, blue terry cloth that always seemed to make eight-week-old Brett smile as he clung to it with those adorable, tiny little fingers of his.
Not that he was smiling much at all these days. In fact, the poor boy was really colicky or something, and was barely taking his formula. His dad was still two months from coming home from Afghanistan. He hadn’t even seen his own son yet. Only on Skype. He had a position waiting for him at the Walmart. Then they could get their own place. Start their lives over again.
