Jason Pinter - The Darkness

Praise for the novels of THE STOLEN "The emotional dichotomy makes Parker a captivating and complex protagonist, one whose pithy observations about New York are dead on." -- Publishers Weekly "This thriller proves truly scary as it explores every parent's worst nightmare. The next book can't come fast enough." -- Library Journal "An exciting whodunit... Fans will appreciate this entertaining suspense thriller with the right touch of sexual tension to augment a fine read." -- Midwest Book Review THE GUILTY "A painstakingly refined story, from the realistically constructed characters to the consistently pedal-to-the-metal pacing." -- Chicago Tribune "One of the great new voices in the genre." -- CrimeSpree magazine "A fresh tale with original characters... Pinter knows what he's doing as his exciting plot grabs readers from the first page." -- South Florida Sun-Sentinel "Those who enjoy their noir with a dash of real-world research will love The Guilty. " -- Bookreporter.com "A fabulous thriller... will prove to be one of the best of the year." -- Midwest Book Review THE MARK "Pinter's a wizard at punching out page-turning action, and the voice of his headstrong protagonist is sure to win readers over; his wild ride should thrill any suspense junky." -- Publishers Weekly "An excellent debut.

You are going to love Henry Parker, and you're going to hope he survives the story, but you're not going to bet on it." --Lee Child "A first-rate debut from an author who dares to take the traditional thriller in bold new directions." --Tess Gerritsen "A harrowing journey--chilling, compelling, disquieting." --Steve Berry "A stunning debut by a major new talent!" --James Rollins "From the opening sentence to the exhilarating conclusion, Pinter's debut thriller gets the reader's heart racing. Pinter is clearly one to watch." -- Library Journal [starred review] "It's Front Page meets The Sopranos with more than a little Scorsese thrown in." --Jeffery Deaver "A top-notch debut... Fast-paced, gritty and often raw, The Mark is a tale you won't soon forget." --Michael Palmer "A fast-paced addictively suspenseful thriller." --Allison Brennan (r) To the booksellers, librarians and readers who support my work. Thank you. And to Bud White, who refused to die. Paulina Cole left the office at 4:59 p.m.

Her sudden departure nearly caused a panic in the newsroom of the New York Dispatch, where she'd worked as a featured columnist and reporter for several years. Paulina was prone to late nights, though many argued whether the nights were due to a work ethic that was second to none, or simply because she was more comfortable spending her time among competitive, ambitious and bloodthirsty professionals than sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and takeout. She had left that day after a particularly frustrating conference call with the paper's editor in chief, Ted Allen. Paulina had spent the better part of two years becoming the city's most notorious scribe in no small part due to her ambivalence concerning personal attacks, heated vendettas, and a complete refusal to allow anyone to get the best of her. When her instincts faltered, she called in favors. When she got scooped, she would trump the scoop by digging deeper.

And she held grudges like ordinary folks held on to family heirlooms. Which is why, after reading a copy of that morning's New York Gazette, the paper Paulina used to work for and now wished buried under a paper landfill, she demanded Jason Pinter to speak with Ted. She knew the man had a two o'clock tee time, but she'd seen him golf before and cell phone interruption might even improve his thirty-seven handicap. That day's Gazette featured a story about the murder of a young man named Stephen Gaines. Gaines's head had met the business end of a revolver recently, and in a twist of fate that Paulina could only have wished for on the most glorious of days, the prime suspect was none other than Gaines's father, James Parker. James Parker also happened to be the father of Henry Parker, the Gazette' s rising young star reporter, whom Paulina had as much fondness for as her monthly cycle.

Paulina had cut her teeth at the Gazette, and had briefly worked side by side with Henry Parker. But after seeing what the Gazette had become--an old, tired rag, refusing to adapt to new technologies or understand that hard news was essentially dead--she'd made it her business to put the paper out of its misery. Nobody cared to read about the government or the economy--at least not on a grand scale. They only cared about what they saw right in front of them, day in and day out. Their mortgage payments. Their bank accounts.

It was all visceral. You bought the celebrity magazine so you could make fun of the stars' cellulite with your friends.You shook your head at the news program that exposed the foreman whose building was overrun with rats because he refused to pony up for an exterminator.You scorned the politician's wife who stood silent at the press conference by her cheating louse of a husband. Paulina gave those with no life something to live for, something to chat about at the nail salon. The New York Gazette was dead. It just didn't know it yet. "Vampires are huge," Allen had said. "There are those books that have sold like a gajillion copies. "There are those books that have sold like a gajillion copies.

Now there are movies, television shows, soundtrack albums. Hell, newspapers are the only medium that isn't getting a piece of it. Teenage girls love them, and teenage boys want to get into the pants of teenage girls. And this all scares the living hell--no pun intended--out of their parents, so you write a piece on vampires I bet it's one of our bestselling editions of the year." "What the hell do I know about stupid vampires?" Paulina said, laughing at herself for even asking the question. She stopped laughing when she realized Ted was serious. "Didn't I hear about some boys and girls who go around biting people on the neck because they think they can be vampires? Go interview them. "Didn't I hear about some boys and girls who go around biting people on the neck because they think they can be vampires? Go interview them.

Even better, go undercover and pretend to be one of them. You know, pretend you like to bite people's necks and see what they tell you." "Ted, I'm in my forties," Paulina said. "I don't think going undercover with teenagers will fly." "Are you kidding?" Ted said. "What's that term? Milf? The teenage boys will love you." That's when Paulina left. Rain beat down upon the streets steadily, with the precision of soft drumbeats. The drops splashed upward as they struck the pavement, and Paulina felt the water soaking her ankles as she exited into the gloom.

A bottle of Finca Vieja Tempranillo was waiting at home. It was a good red wine, with a slight plum taste, and she could picture slipping into a warm bath with a glass in one Jason Pinter hand and a romance novel in the other. The rest of the bottle sitting on the ledge just within reach, ready to be tilted until the last drops were consumed. Ordinarily she was not that kind of girl, in fact laughed at those who were, but Paulina needed a night away from it all. Paulina opened up an umbrella and stepped into the sea of New Yorkers, entering the crowded bloodstream known as the commute home. The streets were chock-full of open umbrellas, and she tried to wedge her way into the crowd without having her eye poked out by a random spoke.