Simply Lies: A Psychological Thriller

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This is a little unusual. I usually do my sleuthing on the internet.” “I know. That’s most of what ProEye does, as you know. But this I love mafia books, and I wish this book dealt with that aspect a little more. I got bogged down and flustered when electronic currency (near the end) and the like were being discussed, as I had no clue what the author was talking about. Gibson steered her mommy van south down Interstate 64 East, and then worked her way through surface roads to US 17 that sling-shotted her across the burly James River. Next, she turned north, passing through what had once been the hog-slaughtering This is an author I usually enjoy, but this was a miss for me. The plot didn’t completely make sense - a single mom risking everything because… she’s bored? I just didn’t buy it.

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The 6:20 Man comes a twisting new psychological thriller in which two women—one a former detective, the other a dangerous con artist—go head-to-head in an electrifying game of cat and mouse. I absolutely loved the Atlee Pine series and couldn't get enough of her. I was sorry to see the series end. Not only does the arms dealer not exist but the murder victim turns out to be Harry Lancaster, a man with mob ties who used to be in Witness Protection. What’s more, no one named Arlene Robinson works at ProEye. Gibson said, “That part I know very well. It was before my time, but the firm has never forgotten it. It’s part of the company lore. They even tell it to you during orientation as a warning sign against complacency and not going the extra mile.”I expected so much more from this author. Perhaps my expectations were too high. The description of the book made the novel much more than it actually was. And a glowing review from the marketing gal at Grand Central Publishing got me sold. mudslingers. And there were so many of these monied deadbeats that ProEye and thus Gibson were flooded with work.

I will still read Baldacci, but maybe next time his books won't go directly to the very top of my TBR pile. She had instead opted to follow in her father’s footsteps and joined the police force. He had been thrilled, her mother not so much. She had worked her way up to being a criminal investigator, and then found who she thought had been the love of her life. After that, she unmuted the phone. During this whole time Zeb had been chattering away, oblivious to all her domestic drama.Gibson paused for a moment and tossed the ball again so she could remove Tommy’s index finger from her right eye. Nimbly catching the ball, she said, “Larkin’s probably already regretting not burying those funds deeper, offshoring them in the Cook Islands or laundering them beyond our reach.” As she continued to try to control her gyrating son, she added, “I’ve also already provided the evidentiary trail to the creditors’ lead bankruptcy lawyers and they’re following up, too. The wire rooms are closed in Zurich and Chad, but they’re still running in Bermuda. So you need to hit this hard and you need to hit it fast.” He hadn’t done it at her wedding, for reasons he had made clear to his daughter prior to Gibson’s walking down the aisle. There weren't a lot of characters in the novel but everyone had two, sometimes three, different names. Baldacci includes lots of dialogue and internal monologue - two of my pet hates.

The baby monitor was on the shelf. All she could hear right now was gentle breathing, and a series of small snores that she knew came from Tommy. She let out her own long breath and wondered if their usual one-hour nap timeline would hold today. The one predictable component of motherhood, she had found, was that no two days were ever alike. Gibson looked at her son, whose expression told her all she needed to know. She ran for it and reached the toilet just in time to hold him over the bowl while simultaneously hitting a button on her headset to place the call on mute. Tommy managed somehow to miss the toilet completely and instead puked on the toilet paper holder and her pair of slippers. Gibson had left them there earlier after attempting to use the bathroom. Then she’d heard a crash somewhere and found Tommy sitting on the kitchen floor, covered with most of the wet dirt from a potted plant. She’d stripped the boy and thrown his clothes directly into the washing machine. Gibson had wanted to toss him in, too, only she didn’t relish a visit from Child Services. But she’d forgotten the slippers. And her urge to pee.However, when she arrives, she finds a dead body in a secret room and realizes she may have been set up. She finds a cryptic message left on the wall. The man, Harry, has ties with the mob and was previously in witness protection. Gibson had been across the Bay Bridge-Tunnel a few times and had never cared for the experience. It was over seventeen miles long, with artificial islands built along the route, and the bridge seemed to disappear right into the middle of the bay where the road entered the tunnels. It was like the highway was executing a suicidal dive into the water, taking all traffic with it. She now used her computer skills working for ProEye. The company specialized in hunting down the assets of rich delinquents who continued to live notoriously in the lap of luxury while blowing raspberries at both courts and creditors as they hid behind a wall of snarky lawyers, scheming accountants, and PR He cleaned the bank accounts, ran off with his secretary, and left her with the bills. She lost the house, had to leave her job with the force, and moved to Williamsburg, VA, where her retired parents lived.