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Gone (FBI Profiler Series #5)

Gone (FBI Profiler Series #5)

4.3 258
by Lisa Gardner

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From the bestselling author of Alone and The Killing Hour comes a thriller that goes from heartbreaking to heartstopping in the blink of an eye.…

When someone you love vanishes without a trace, how far would you go to get them back?

For ex-FBI profiler Pierce Quincy, it’s the beginning of his worst


From the bestselling author of Alone and The Killing Hour comes a thriller that goes from heartbreaking to heartstopping in the blink of an eye.…

When someone you love vanishes without a trace, how far would you go to get them back?

For ex-FBI profiler Pierce Quincy, it’s the beginning of his worst nightmare: a car abandoned on a desolate stretch of Oregon highway, engine running, purse on the driver’s seat. And his estranged wife, Rainie Conner, gone, leaving no clue to her fate.

Did one of the ghosts from Rainie’s troubled past finally catch up with her? Or could her disappearance be the result of one of the cases they’d been working– a particularly vicious double homicide or the possible abuse of a deeply disturbed child Rainie took too close to heart?  Together with his daughter, FBI agent Kimberly Quincy, Pierce is battling the local authorities, racing against time, and frantically searching for answers to all the questions he’s been afraid to ask.

One man knows what happened that night. Adopting the alias of a killer caught eighty years before, he has already contacted the press. His terms are clear: he wants money, he wants power, he wants celebrity. And if he doesn’t get what he wants, Rainie will be gone for good.

Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, it’s still not enough.

As the clock winds down on a terrifying deadline, Pierce plunges headlong into the most desperate hunt of his life, into the shattering search for a killer, a lethal truth, and for the love of his life, who may forever be…gone.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Gardner keeps the suspense cranked high."—Booklist

"A terrifying woman-in-jeopardy plot.... Sympathetic characters, a strong sense of place and terrific plotting distinguish Gardner's new thriller."—Publishers Weekly

"Gardner is hot to plot."—Kirkus Reviews

Praise for the Novels of Lisa Gardner:

“Reading this book is akin to watching a gripping movie. You may want to fast-forward, but only because you can’t wait to see what happens next. Like all the best suspense novels, Alone will leave you shaken.”–People

The Killing Hour
“Gardner keeps us guessing till the end.”–Los Angeles Times

The Survivors Club
“Lip-biting suspense.”–People

The Next Accident
“A suspense-laden, twist-filled tale that easily equals the best of Sue Grafton and Kathy Reichs.”–Providence Sunday Journal

The Third Victim
“A suspenseful, curl-up winter read, this thriller teems with crisp, realistic dialogue and engaging characters.”–Publishers Weekly (starred review)

The Perfect Husband
“A streamlined, bang-up addition to the oeuvre of Tami Hoag, Karen Robards, Elizabeth Powell and, these days, even Nora Roberts.”–Publishers Weekly

The Barnes & Noble Review
In Lisa Gardner's thriller featuring troubled law enforcement consultant Lorraine "Rainie" Conner (The Next Accident, The Third Victim, et al.), she asks the question: When the love of your life vanishes, how far would you go to get him or her back?

When retired FBI profiler Pierce Quincy gets a phone call in the middle of the night, his worst fears become reality. Rainie, his estranged wife, has been kidnapped. After her car is found on a rural Oregon road with its driver's door open and engine idling, the Oregon State Police -- headed by overworked Sergeant Detective Carlton Kincaid -- receive a cryptic message from the unidentified abductor demanding money. Quincy immediately enlists the aid of his daughter Kimberly, an ambitious FBI agent based in Atlanta, and teams up with Kincaid and a local sheriff named Shelly Atkins in a race against time that could very well end in disaster. Rainie, meanwhile, is blindfolded and tied up "someplace dank and forgotten, where fat spiders weave huge masterpieces of sticky lace and small animals come to die." But as she battles with emotional and physical collapse, she comes to a stunning realization about herself…

Gardner's Gone is noteworthy in large part for her brilliantly realistic character development. There are no black-and-white characters here -- only shades of gray. Protagonists like Conner and Quincy are dealing with just as many painful "issues" as their adversaries -- the difference being their ability to overcome their problems and become survivors, not victims. Fans of emotionally charged thrillers should pick up a copy of Gone before it's, well, gone. Paul Goat Allen
Publishers Weekly
Former FBI profiler Pierce Quincy's marriage is on the rocks, but things go from bad to worse when his wife, Rainie, goes missing. A kidnapper soon contacts Quincy with a somewhat unusual ransom demand, leaving Quincy and the investigation team with no choice but to play the kidnapper's game to keep Rainie alive. The story is told from alternating points of view, showing Quincy's efforts to find his wife and Rainie's struggle against her cruel captor. The plot is formulaic and derivative, but the abridgment makes it simple to follow, so listeners should have no trouble keeping up. Kairos's voice is light and pleasant, and while her narration is not superb, it does get the job done. Kairos modulates her voice sufficiently to distinguish between male and female voices, but the accents she attempts are beyond her and come off sounding a bit silly. For the most part, the narration is engaging and effectively propels the story forward, but Kairos-and Gardner-occasionally lays it all on a bit too thick, taking the narrative (and the narration) into the realm of tepid melodrama. Simultaneous release with the Bantam hardcover (Reviews, Nov. 21). (Jan.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
PI Pierce Quincy is frantic. His lover/partner has gone missing, though her bloodstained car has been located, and a troubled child whose case she has been handling is gone as well. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
A cop-and mainstay of the Connor-Quincy series (The Killing Hour, 2003, etc.)-is kidnapped, but is it really for ransom?Usually Rainie Connor is as saucy, savvy and sexy as the genre allows, but she's not been herself recently. Actually, she's been a bundle of seriously jangled nerves. As a result, we find her being nasty to her lover/partner Pierce Quincy, and, even worse, seeking emotional solutions in a bottle. And then, just like that, she's gone! The Bakersville (Ore.) police find her car abandoned by the side of a mountain road, engine still running, purse on the passenger's seat, no sign of Rainie. Naturally, Quincy's distraught. He knows how resourceful Rainie is, and it's hard for the ex-FBI profiler to profile the kind of assailant who could have out-maneuvered and disarmed the redoubtable Rainie-her ever-present Glock has disappeared from her purse. Compounding Quincy's unsettlement is the realization that as spouse surrogate he heads the official suspect list. That changes when the ransom note arrives at the local newspaper. Now, at least, it's clear to law enforcement that they have a kidnapping on their hands. To Quincy, however, the paltriness of the number-$10,000-is disturbing. What seems obvious to him is that Rainie's kidnapping can hardly be about money. It's about something else, something-the thought scares him-personal. As ever, Gardner is hot to plot, but few are the twists fresh enough to counter been-there-read-that.

Product Details

Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
FBI Profiler Series , #5
Edition description:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
4.13(w) x 6.88(h) x 1.05(d)

Read an Excerpt


By Lisa Gardner

Random House

Lisa Gardner
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0553902288

Chapter One


Tuesday, 12:24 a.m. PST

She is dreaming again. She doesn't want to. She wrestles with the sheets, tosses her head, tries to keep the dream version of herself from walking up those stairs, from opening that door, from entering the gloom.

She wakes up stuffing the scream back into her throat, eyes bulging and still seeing things she doesn't want to see. Reality returns in slow degrees, as she registers the gray-washed walls, the dark-eyed windows, the empty side of the bed.

She heads for the bathroom, sticking her head under the faucet and gulping mouthfuls of lukewarm water. She can still hear the rain thundering outside. It seems like it has been raining forever this November, but maybe that's only her state of mind.

She goes into the kitchen. Note's still on the table. Seven days later, she doesn't read it anymore, but can't quite bring herself to throw it away.

Refrigerator inventory time: yogurt, tuna fish, pineapple, eggs. She grabs the eggs, then realizes they expired two weeks ago.

Screw it, she goes back to bed.

Same dream, same images, same visceral scream.

One a.m., she gets up for good. She showers, scrounges for clean clothes, then stares at her gaunt reflection in the mirror.

"How do you spell fuckup? R-A-I-N-I-E."

She goes for a drive.

Tuesday, 2:47 a.m. PST
"Baby's crying," he mumbled.

"Wake up."

"Mmmm, honey, it's your turn to get the kid."

"Carl, for God's sake. It's the phone, not the baby, and it's for you. Snap out of it."

Carlton Kincaid's wife, Tina, elbowed him in the ribs. Then she tossed him the phone and burrowed back under the covers, pulling the down comforter over her mocha-colored head. Tina wasn't a middle-of-the-night sort of person.

Unfortunately, neither was Kincaid. Sergeant Detective, Major Crimes, Portland office of the Oregon State Police, he was supposed to be prepared for these sort of calls. Sound intelligent. Commanding even. Kincaid hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in nearly eight months now, however, and was feeling it. He stared sulkily at the phone, and thought it had better be damn good.

Kincaid sat up straight and attempted to sound chipper. "Hell-oh."
A trooper was on the other end of the line. Had gotten called out by a local deputy to the scene of an abandoned vehicle on the side of a rural road in Tillamook County. So far no sign of the owner at the vehicle's site or at the owner's legal address.

Kincaid had one question. "Is the vehicle on public or private property?"


"Well, figure it out, 'cause if it's private, we're gonna need consent to search the grounds. You'll also need to contact the local DA for a warrant to search the vehicle. So get the DA rolling, buckle up the scene, and I'll be there in"--Kincaid glanced at his watch-- "fifty-five minutes."

"Yes, sir."

The trooper hung up; Kincaid got moving. Kincaid had been with the OSP for the past twelve years. He'd started as a trooper, spent some time on a gang task force, then transferred to Major Crimes. Along the way, he'd acquired a beautiful wife, a big black mutt, and as of eight months ago, a bouncing baby boy. Life was going according to plan, if you included in that plan that neither he nor his wife had slept or chewed their food in over half a year.

Kids kept you hopping. So did Major Crimes.

He could hear the rain coming down in sheets off the roof. What a bitch of a night to be pulled out of bed. He kept two changes of clothes in the trunk of his take-home car. Night like this, that'd get him through the first half hour. Shit. He looked back at the bed with a pang and wished it'd been the baby crying after all.

Moving on autopilot, he dug through the dresser and started pulling on clothes. He was just buttoning up his shirt when his wife sighed and sat up.

"Bad one?" she whispered softly.

"Don't know. Abandoned vehicle over in Bakersville."

"Baby, what's that got to do with you?"

"Driver's-side door's open, engine's still running, and purse is sitting in the passenger's seat."
She frowned. "That's weird."


"Baby, I hate the weird cases."

Kincaid pulled on his sports coat, crossed to his wife and planted a big one on her cheek. "Go back to sleep, honey. Love you."

Tuesday, 1:14 a.m. PST
She can't see a damn thing. Her wipers are on high speed, flailing violently across her windshield. It makes no difference. The rain comes and comes and comes. Bend in the road. She takes the turn a little too late and promptly hydroplanes.

She is breathing hard now. Hiccupping. Is she crying? It's hard to tell, but she's grateful to be alone in the dark.

Easing off the gas, she steers carefully back into the proper lane. There are advantages to being out this late at night. No one else on the road to be punished by her mistakes.

She knows where she is going without ever telling herself. If she thought about it, then it would be a conscious decision, which would underline the fact she has a problem. Far easier to simply discover herself pulling into the parking lot of the Toasted Lab Tavern. Half a dozen other vehicles are sprinkled across the graveled lot, mostly wide-cab pickup trucks.

The hard-core drinkers, she thinks. You have to be hard-core to be out on a night like this.

What is she doing here?

She sits in her car, gripping the steering wheel hard. She can feel herself starting to shake. Her mouth is filling with saliva. She is already anticipating that first long, cold sip of beer.

For one moment, she hangs on the precipice.

Go home, Rainie. Go to bed, watch TV, read a book. Do something, do anything but this.

She is shaking harder, her entire body convulsing as she hunches over the wheel.

If she goes home, she will fall asleep. And if she falls asleep . . .

DO NOT climb those stairs. DO NOT open that door. DO NOT peer into the gloom.

There is so much darkness inside of her. She wants to be a real person. She wants to be strong, resolute, and sane. But mostly she feels the darkness move inside her head. It started four months ago, the first few tendrils fingering the corners of her mind. Now it consumes her. She has fallen into an abyss and she can no longer see the light.

Rainie hears a noise.

Her head comes up.

She sees a large figure loom ahead suddenly in the pouring rain. She doesn't scream. She grabs her gun.

The drunken cowboy lurches past, never knowing how close he came to losing his ass.

Rainie sets her Glock back down in the passenger seat. She is no longer trembling. She's wide-eyed. Grim-faced. A stone-cold sort of crazy, which is far, far worse.

She puts her car into gear and heads back into the night.

Tuesday, 3:35 a.m. PST
Bakersville, Oregon, was a small coastal town smack dab in the middle of Tillamook County. Nestled in the shadows of the towering coastal range inside Tillamook County. It featured endless acres of verdant dairy farms, miles of rocky beach, and from a detective's point of view, a growing methamphetamine problem. Pretty place to live if you were into honky-tonks and cheese. Not much else to do if you weren't, and didn't the local kids know it.

It should've taken Kincaid fifty minutes to hit Bakersville. On a night like this, with zero visibility, slick mountain passes, and driving sheets of rain, it took Kincaid an hour fifteen. He pulled onto the lit-up site, breathing hard and already feeling behind the eight ball.

In the good-news department, the first responders had done their job. Three strategically placed spotlights glared into the night, high-powered beams slicing through the ribbons of rain. Yellow crime scene tape roped off a decent-sized perimeter, outside of which the vehicles were starting to pile up.

Kincaid noted a deputy's truck, then the sheriff's, then a slick black SUV with all the bells and whistles, which he figured belonged to the Tillamook County DA. They would need more bodies if they decided to launch a full-scale search, and they would need the forensic lab and Latent Prints to process the scene, but those would be his calls to make.

An hour and forty minutes after the first call out, they were still covering the basics: Did they, or did they not, have a crime? Most taxpayers probably liked to think the police went into these situations full bore. Notify the crime lab, bring in the National Guard, call in the choppers. Yeah, well, those same taxpayers kept hacking away at the OSP's budget, until Kincaid now had three and a half detectives working for him instead of the original fourteen. Real-world policing meant all decisions came attached to dollar signs. For better or for worse, these days he was operating on the cheap.

Kincaid pulled in behind the monstrous black Chevy Tahoe and cut his engine. No way around it. He opened his door and stepped out into the deluge.

The rain nailed him square on the forehead. For a moment, he paused, steeling himself against the onslaught. Then, his hair was soaked, the water trickled beneath the collar of his Columbia raincoat, and the worst of it was over. He no longer had to worry about getting muddy and wet; he was already there.

Kincaid trudged around to the trunk of his Chevy Impala, pulled out the giant plastic bin containing his crime scene kit, and ducked beneath the tape.

Trooper Blaney trotted over, black Danner boots splashing through the muck. A good doobie, he was wearing full department-issued rain gear, including a black-and-blue OSP jacket that looked like a biker coat gone bad. No one really liked the jacket. Kincaid kept his stashed in the trunk for the rare occasions the press was around--or a superior officer.

Blaney had obviously been standing outside awhile; his coat looked slick as glass beneath the high-powered lights, while beneath the cover of his wide-brim hat, the water ran in rivulets down his square-jawed face and dripped off the end of his nose. Blaney stuck out his hand; Kincaid returned the favor.



The Tillamook County sheriff and a deputy had followed in the trooper's wake. Blaney made the introductions as they all stood in a rain-soaked huddle, teeth chattering, arms tight against their sides for warmth.

Deputy Dan Mitchell had been the first responder. Kid was young, farming stock, but trying hard. He didn't like the look of things--the open door, headlights on, engine running. Seemed kind of Hollywood to him. So he'd called Sheriff Atkins, who hadn't been wild to be pulled out of bed on such a night, but had headed down.

The sheriff was a bit of a surprise. For one thing, he was a she--that would be Sheriff Shelly Atkins to you. For another, she had a firm handshake, a no-nonsense stare, and apparently didn't feel like beating around the bush.

"Look," she interjected halfway through her deputy's energetic spiel, "Tom's waiting"--she jerked her head toward the DA, who Kincaid now saw was tucked back inside his SUV. "We got a search warrant for the car and, per your trooper's instructions, we've confirmed this is public land. Now, I don't know what the hell happened here, but someone left that car in a hurry, and that's a source of concern for me. So let's get this ball rolling, or there won't be anything left to find but a bunch of soggy police reports."

No one could argue with that logic, so their little scrum moved toward the car, edging carefully toward the open door.

Vehicle was a late-model Toyota Camry, white exterior, blue cloth interior. Nice, but nothing fancy. The driver had pulled well over, conscientiously trying to get off the road. To the left of the
driver's door was the winding backwoods lane. To the right was a steep embankment leading up into a heavily shrouded forest.

As the trooper had reported by phone, the driver's-side door was slung wide open, tip of the door scraping the edge of the asphalt. Kincaid's first thought was that most people didn't open their doors that far. Maybe if they had really long legs. Or maybe if they were loading something in and out of the car.

Something to think about.

From this angle, Kincaid could make out the shape of a brown leather handbag sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Did you check the purse?" he asked no one in particular.

"I picked it up," Deputy Mitchell reported, already sounding defensive. "To check for ID, you know. I mean, it just seemed strange to find the car, lights on, engine running, door open wide as day. I had to start somewhere."

"Did you find a wallet?"

"No, sir. But then I opened the glove compartment and found the vehicle registration. I pulled the name off that."

"Purse was empty?"

"No, sir. Lots of stuff in the purse--cosmetics, pens, PDA, etc. But I didn't see anything that looked like a wallet. I placed the purse back just how I found it. Swear to God I touched nothing else."

"Except the glove compartment," Kincaid said mildly, but he wasn't really angry. The deputy was right--you had to start somewhere.

The car's engine had been turned off; the trooper had done it to preserve the tank of gas. Always useful when you found an abandoned vehicle, to see how much gas was left in the tank. But the engine had been running fine when Deputy Mitchell had arrived, and at a glance, there was nothing wrong with the tires. Seemed to rule out pulling over due to mechanical problems.

Kincaid walked to the rear of the Camry, eyeing the fender. No sign of dents or scrapes, though it was hard to tell with everything so wet. He made a halfhearted attempt to look for other tire tracks or footprints. The driving rain had destroyed the ground, leaving nothing but shallow pools of muddy water. Sheriff Atkins's warning had been on the money, but a dime too late.

He moved to the interior of the vehicle, careful not to touch.
"Owner a woman?" he asked.

"According to the registration," Trooper Blaney supplied, "name is Lorraine Conner from Bakersville. Sheriff Atkins sent a deputy to the address. No one answered.&


Excerpted from Gone by Lisa Gardner Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Lisa Gardner is the New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include Live to Tell, Hide, Alone, and The Neighbor, winner of the International Thriller Writers’ Award. Her FBI Profiler novels include Say Goodbye, Gone, The Killing Hour, The Next Accident, and The Third Victim. She lives with her family in New England.

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Gone 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 258 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have to say I started this book about 4 years ago around the time I was due to have my child, unfortunately I picked it up off & on again but never really had time to finish it until recently. Once I really took time to actually read it I found myself wrapped back in another good book of Lisa Gardner's that I really enjoyed. I have read all of Gardner's book up to this one and just like all others I really enjoyed this book and couldn't wait to see who the villian was. I really like how Gardner brings characters from her other books together, it makes them real. I highly recommend this book if you enjoy a good thriller or are a fan of Lisa Gardner.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I love Lisa Gardner's unique writing style and 'Gone' is no exception. I enjoyed the fast paced action and the subtle yet revealing dialogue. After reading all of her books I feel as if I know Quincy, Rainie, Kimberly and Mac. I had no choice but to read the book in one night, but now I'm disappointed since it'll be another year before Gardner's next book comes out. I recommend reading the books in order. Enjoy!
Guest More than 1 year ago
This is one of Lisa Gardners best efforts to date. She hooks you at the beginning and does no let go. When Loraine is Depressed you can feel her pain. Dougie you know from the beginning, this child is trouble, and when it comes to him your anger flairs up. Mistreatment of a child just never to be tolerated I can't say enough about this book, it is great. There are also shocks along the way. I thought twice I knew who the kidnapper was, wrong.
Binker More than 1 year ago
This is one of my standard authors, I always expect to come away from the book feeling saited. Some of her books blow my hair back, this one not so much but I would recommend it anyway. I encourage you to browse her offerings. You may end up needing a hairbrush at some point.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I happened on this at the bookstore and had never read anything by this author before, so gave it a try. What a well written, cohesive book! Exciting and compelling, it kept me reading whenever I had a free minute. Even though this is the last in a series of books involving the same cast, it did not affect my understanding or enjoyment of the book. I plan to read all of Lisa Gardner's books. Hooray!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I am not a huge fan of mystery novels -- but this one was truly wonderful. Realistic and was SO well written.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was a very good story line, I believe Lisa Gardner has another winner here. Fast paced, she hooks you from the first page. Very hard to put down once you start. Highly recommend this book, it is a good read. -
Guest More than 1 year ago
Lisa Gardner is back! I was hooked from the beginning of this book. Great descriptions, you can almost feel some of the things that are being done to Raine. Scary plot, flows very well, and keeps you guessing. Everything I like in a mystery.
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johngr More than 1 year ago
I'm a big fan of Lisa Gardner. It has all the mystery and guess work that is expected of her but it seemed to drag near the end and I kind knew who the culprit was.
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This is a must read! It keeps you on the edge of your seat. It was difficult to put down. Lisa also gives a twist to the story. If you like to try to solve crimes you have got to read this one. I've read a few of the other books in the FBI Profiler series and this one is right at the top.
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