The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts, 2) - Hardcover
The man she loved is gone forever. The child she lives for could be next.
Each day is a struggle for Amanda Gleason's newborn son as he battles a rare immune deficiency. Justin's best chance for a cure lies with his father, who was brutally murdered before Amanda even realized she carried his child.
Or was he?
One emailed photo changes everything, planting a seed of doubt that Amanda latches on to for dear life: a recent photo of a man who looks exactly like Paul. Could Justin's father be alive? The mother in her is desperate to find out. But tracking down a ghost when every second counts is not for amateurs.
Forensic Instincts is the one team up for the challenge.
A behaviorist. A former navy SEAL. A techno-wizard. An intuitive. A retired FBI agent. A human-scent-evidence dog. Together they achieve the impossible, pushing ethical and legal boundaries whenever the ends justify the means.
The manhunt is on for the elusive father. Yet the further FI digs into his past, the more questions are raised about whether the man Amanda fell in love with ever really existed at all.
Dark secrets. Carefully crafted lies. From the congressional halls of Washington, D.C., to exclusive Hamptons manors, there are ruthless people who would stop at nothing to make Forensic Instincts forget about the man Amanda desperately needs to find.
Little do they realize that once Forensic Instincts takes the case, nothing will stop them from uncovering the shocking truth that transcends The Line Between Here and Gone.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
December, Manhattan
Amanda Gleason gently rocked her infant son in her arms.
A new baby was truly the reaffirmation of life. If she didn't know that before this moment, she knew it now. He was her child, her miracle.
Her responsibility.
She hadn't planned on facing motherhood alone. In fact, when Paul had disappeared from the picture, she hadn't even known she was pregnant. Maybe if she had, maybe if she could have told him, things would have turned out differently.
But they hadn't.
And now the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Decisions had to be made. Pressure she'd never even imagined. And a bittersweet pain that came every time she held Justin in her arms.
She touched his downy head with one finger, stroked the peach fuzz of his hair. As she whispered softly to him, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her intently, visibly fascinated by the sound of her voice. She gazed into those eyes—Paul's eyes—and her chest tightened. They were a lighter brown than Paul's, probably because they had yet to mature to their true color. But the shape, the lids, even the thick fringe of lashes—those were all Paul's. As was his nose, a tiny version of Paul's bold, straight nose with the slender nostrils. He even had the dimple in his cheek that was Paul's. Other than his golden-brown hair color and small, pursed mouth—both of which he'd inherited from her—he was very much Paul's son. And even at three weeks old, he was developing a personality—easygoing like Paul, inquisitive like her. He spent hours staring at his fingers, opening and closing them with a fascinated expression. And he was always looking around, seemingly transfixed by the world.
Thank God he didn't know how much of a battlefield his world really was.
"Ms. Gleason?" A young nurse touched her gently on the shoulder. "Why don't you get something to eat? Maybe take a walk? You haven't done either all day." She reached for the baby. "Justin will be in good hands. You've got to take care of yourself or you won't be able to take care of him."
Numbly, Amanda nodded. She held Justin for one more brief, desperate moment, then kissed his soft cheek and handed him over to the nurse.
How many times had she done that in the past few days? How many more times would she have to do it?
Tears dampening her lashes, she rose, retracing her steps through the reverse isolation unit and out of Sloane Kettering's Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant Unit. She stripped off her mask, gloves and gown, and tossed them into the discard bin, knowing she'd have to repeat the same sterilization process when she returned. She stood there for a moment, head bent, taking deep, calming breaths to bring herself under control. The nurse was right. She'd be of no use to Justin if she fell to pieces. And she'd done enough of that already.
Walking down the corridor, stepping into the elevator, and descending to the main level, Amanda felt the physical pain tearing inside her that always accompanied a separation from Justin. She hated leaving him. She dreaded coming back.
Outside the hospital, the world looked surreally normal. It was dark. She hadn't checked her watch in hours, but it had to be after eight o'clock. Still, traffic sped up and down the New York City streets. Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks. Horns honked. Christmas lights blinked from green and red to a rainbow of colors, then back again.
How could everything seem so normal when her entire world was crumbling to pieces? When everything she cared about was upstairs struggling to survive?
Still operating on autopilot, Amanda reached for her BlackBerry and turned it on. She didn't really care if she had any messages. But she had to check—even if it was just to seek out some pie-in-the-sky miracle that would answer her prayers.
No miracle. Just the usual crap from the usual sources—store sales, promotions, photojournalist magazine sites. Nothing personal. Everyone knew better than to bother her with anything short of a dire emergency.
Correction. There was one personal message. An email from a fellow photojournalist, a friend of hers who'd been traveling internationally for months and wouldn't be aware that Justin had already been born or that his condition had turned Amanda's life upside down.
She opened the email.
I'm in DC. I had to send this to you right away. Caught it on my cell phone yesterday. 2nd Street at C Street NE. Best quality I could get. But I swear it was Paul. Take a look. I know the baby's due this month, but thought you'd want to see this.
Amanda read the words, and, for an instant, she froze. Then she clicked on the attachment, staring at the cell phone screen and waiting for the picture to load.
The moment it did, she gasped aloud, her hand flying to her mouth. The image was a little grainy and was probably taken from twenty yards away. But clear enough if you were intimately familiar with the person photographed. And she was.
It looked just like Paul.
She zoomed in as close as she could, taking in every detail of the man who now filled her entire screen. Dear God, it was Paul.
A tsunami of conflicting emotions engulfed her. But she battled her way through them. Because one thought eclipsed all the rest.
What could this mean for Justin?
It was a mere ray of hope, a complex long shot. But, to Amanda, it was a lifeline.
She fumbled in her tote bag for the scrap of paper she'd been carrying around since last April. It was well past business hours but she didn't care. She knew they worked around the clock when necessary. She wouldn't call; she wouldn't give them a chance to turn her away.
As she unfolded the crumpled paper, she yanked out the file folder she carried with her at all times—just in case she ever followed through on her idea. Everything was in there. And it wasn't just an idea anymore.
She pressed a speed dial number on her phone—a call to her oldest and dearest friend, Melissa, who lived in Manhattan and who would never let her down.
"Lyssa," she said when she heard her friend's voice. "I need you to come over and relieve me. It's not Justin. He's okay. But can you come now?" She sagged with relief at the reply. "Thanks. It's an emergency."
Andrea Kane’s psychological thriller THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED TWICE became an instant New York Times bestseller, the latest in a long string of smash hits. THE LINE BETWEEN HERE AND GONE is the next exhilarating installment in the Forensic Instincts series. With a worldwide following and novels published in over twenty languages, Kane is also the author of eight romantic thrillers and fourteen historical romances. She lives in New Jersey with her family.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
December, Manhattan
Amanda Gleason gently rocked her infant son in her arms.
A new baby was truly the reaffirmation of life. If she didn't know that before this moment, she knew it now. He was her child, her miracle.
Her responsibility.
She hadn't planned on facing motherhood alone. In fact, when Paul had disappeared from the picture, she hadn't even known she was pregnant. Maybe if she had, maybe if she could have told him, things would have turned out differently.
But they hadn't.
And now the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Decisions had to be made. Pressure she'd never even imagined. And a bittersweet pain that came every time she held Justin in her arms.
She touched his downy head with one finger, stroked the peach fuzz of his hair. As she whispered softly to him, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her intently, visibly fascinated by the sound of her voice. She gazed into those eyes—Paul's eyes—and her chest tightened. They were a lighter brown than Paul's, probably because they had yet to mature to their true color. But the shape, the lids, even the thick fringe of lashes—those were all Paul's. As was his nose, a tiny version of Paul's bold, straight nose with the slender nostrils. He even had the dimple in his cheek that was Paul's. Other than his golden-brown hair color and small, pursed mouth—both of which he'd inherited from her—he was very much Paul's son. And even at three weeks old, he was developing a personality—easygoing like Paul, inquisitive like her. He spent hours staring at his fingers, opening and closing them with a fascinated expression. And he was always looking around, seemingly transfixed by the world.
Thank God he didn't know how much of a battlefield his world really was.
"Ms. Gleason?" A young nurse touched her gently on the shoulder. "Why don't you get something to eat? Maybe take a walk? You haven't done either all day." She reached for the baby. "Justin will be in good hands. You've got to take care of yourself or you won't be able to take care of him."
Numbly, Amanda nodded. She held Justin for one more brief, desperate moment, then kissed his soft cheek and handed him over to the nurse.
How many times had she done that in the past few days? How many more times would she have to do it?
Tears dampening her lashes, she rose, retracing her steps through the reverse isolation unit and out of Sloane Kettering's Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant Unit. She stripped off her mask, gloves and gown, and tossed them into the discard bin, knowing she'd have to repeat the same sterilization process when she returned. She stood there for a moment, head bent, taking deep, calming breaths to bring herself under control. The nurse was right. She'd be of no use to Justin if she fell to pieces. And she'd done enough of that already.
Walking down the corridor, stepping into the elevator, and descending to the main level, Amanda felt the physical pain tearing inside her that always accompanied a separation from Justin. She hated leaving him. She dreaded coming back.
Outside the hospital, the world looked surreally normal. It was dark. She hadn't checked her watch in hours, but it had to be after eight o'clock. Still, traffic sped up and down the New York City streets. Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks. Horns honked. Christmas lights blinked from green and red to a rainbow of colors, then back again.
How could everything seem so normal when her entire world was crumbling to pieces? When everything she cared about was upstairs struggling to survive?
Still operating on autopilot, Amanda reached for her BlackBerry and turned it on. She didn't really care if she had any messages. But she had to check—even if it was just to seek out some pie-in-the-sky miracle that would answer her prayers.
No miracle. Just the usual crap from the usual sources—store sales, promotions, photojournalist magazine sites. Nothing personal. Everyone knew better than to bother her with anything short of a dire emergency.
Correction. There was one personal message. An email from a fellow photojournalist, a friend of hers who'd been traveling internationally for months and wouldn't be aware that Justin had already been born or that his condition had turned Amanda's life upside down.
She opened the email.
I'm in DC. I had to send this to you right away. Caught it on my cell phone yesterday. 2nd Street at C Street NE. Best quality I could get. But I swear it was Paul. Take a look. I know the baby's due this month, but thought you'd want to see this.
Amanda read the words, and, for an instant, she froze. Then she clicked on the attachment, staring at the cell phone screen and waiting for the picture to load.
The moment it did, she gasped aloud, her hand flying to her mouth. The image was a little grainy and was probably taken from twenty yards away. But clear enough if you were intimately familiar with the person photographed. And she was.
It looked just like Paul.
She zoomed in as close as she could, taking in every detail of the man who now filled her entire screen. Dear God, it was Paul.
A tsunami of conflicting emotions engulfed her. But she battled her way through them. Because one thought eclipsed all the rest.
What could this mean for Justin?
It was a mere ray of hope, a complex long shot. But, to Amanda, it was a lifeline.
She fumbled in her tote bag for the scrap of paper she'd been carrying around since last April. It was well past business hours but she didn't care. She knew they worked around the clock when necessary. She wouldn't call; she wouldn't give them a chance to turn her away.
As she unfolded the crumpled paper, she yanked out the file folder she carried with her at all times—just in case she ever followed through on her idea. Everything was in there. And it wasn't just an idea anymore.
She pressed a speed dial number on her phone—a call to her oldest and dearest friend, Melissa, who lived in Manhattan and who would never let her down.
"Lyssa," she said when she heard her friend's voice. "I need you to come over and relieve me. It's not Justin. He's okay. But can you come now?" She sagged with relief at the reply. "Thanks. It's an emergency."
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- PublisherMIRA
- Publication date2012
- ISBN 10 0778313379
- ISBN 13 9780778313373
- BindingHardcover
- Number of pages400
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