Hunting Time (A Colter Shaw Novel) by Jeffery Deaver
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Hunting Time (A Colter Shaw Novel)

by

Jeffery Deaver

(Author)

4.5

-

6,161 ratings


THE INSPIRATION FOR THE CBS ORIGINAL SERIES TRACKER

In New York Times bestselling master of suspense Jeffery Deaver's riveting thriller, reward seeker Colter Shaw plunges into the woods and races the clock in a case where nothing is quite what it seems.

Allison Parker is on the run with her teenage daughter, Hannah, and Colter Shaw has been hired by her eccentric boss, entrepreneur Marty Harmon, to find and protect her. Though he’s an expert at tracking missing persons—even those who don’t wish to be found—Shaw has met his match in Allison, who brings all her skills as a brilliant engineer designing revolutionary technology to the game of evading detection.

The reason for Allison’s panicked flight is soon apparent. She’s being stalked by her ex-husband, Jon Merritt. Newly released from prison and fueled by blinding rage, Jon is a man whose former profession as a police detective makes him uniquely suited for the hunt. And he’s not alone. Two hitmen are also hot on her heels—an eerie pair of thugs who take delight not only in murder but in the sport of devising clever ways to make bodies disappear forever. Even if Shaw manages to catch up with Allison and her daughter, his troubles will just be beginning.

As Shaw ventures further into the wilderness, the truth becomes as hard to decipher as the forest’s unmarked trails...and peril awaits at every turn.

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ISBN-10

0593422104

ISBN-13

978-0593422106

Print length

544 pages

Language

English

Publisher

G.P. Putnam's Sons

Publication date

November 27, 2023

Dimensions

4.19 x 1.09 x 7.5 inches

Item weight

10.4 ounces


Product details

ASIN :

B09T5PLLSL

File size :

2886 KB

Text-to-speech :

Enabled

Screen reader :

Supported

Enhanced typesetting :

Enabled

X-Ray :

Enabled

Word wise :

Enabled


Editorial Reviews

"Full of “oh no!” surprises and tire-screeching escapes...guaranteed to make your heart pound, your blood race and your head spin. And how likely is it that you’re being set up for a finale that will pull the rug out from under you? One hundred percent." —The Wall Street Journal

"Deaver pulls the rug out from under your feet so often you’ll be sending him your chiropractor bills." —Daily Express (UK)

"Filled with plot twists, survivor skills, shootouts, murders, and an ending you won’t see coming." —The Denver Post

"Deaver’s plot skills shine out of this tale of treachery and redemption." —Daily Mail (UK)

"A fleet, irresistible tale" —Kirkus Reviews

"The final twists of Hunting Time turn it into a masterful adventure." —New York Journal of Books

"The last third of Hunting Time is run at breakneck speed, and the finale only seals the deal on Colter’s legacy as more than just a mere chaser of rewards." —Book Reporter

"A suspenseful and relentless thriller that (literally) writes its own rules. Not to be missed." —BookTrib


Sample

1

The trap was simplicity itself.

And as usual with simple, it worked perfectly.

In the long-abandoned fourth-floor workshop of Welbourne & Sons Fabricators, Colter Shaw moved silently through dusty wooden racks stacked with rusty tanks and drums. Twenty feet ahead, the shelves ended and beyond was a large open area, filled with ancient mahogany worktables, scuffed and stained and gone largely to rot and mold.

Here stood three men, wearing somber business suits, engaged in conversation, offering the animated gestures and the untroubled voices of those who have no idea they're being watched.

Shaw paused and, out of sight behind a row of shelves, withdrew a video camera. It was similar to any you'd pick up on Amazon or at Best Buy, except for one difference: there was no lens in front. Instead the glass eye was a tiny thing mounted on an eighteen-inch flexible stalk. This he bent at a ninety-degree angle and aimed around the side of the storage shelves before hitting record.

After a few minutes, when the men's backs were to him, he stepped out of his hiding place and moved closer, slipping behind the last row of shelves.

Which was when the trap sprung.

His shoe caught the trip wire, which in turn pulled a pin from the supporting leg of the shelf nearest to him, releasing an avalanche of tanks and cans and drums. He rolled forward onto the floor, avoiding the bigger ones, but several slammed onto his shoulders.

The three men spun about. Two were of Middle Eastern appearance-Saudi, Shaw knew. The other was Anglo, as pale as the others were dark. The taller of the Saudis-who went by Rass-held a gun, which he'd drawn quickly when Shaw made his ungainly appearance. They joined the intruder, who was rising from the grainy floor, and studied their catch: an athletic blond man in his thirties, wearing blue jeans, a black T and a leather jacket. Shaw's right hand was gripping his left shoulder. He winced as his fingers kneaded the joint.

Rass picked up the spy camera, looked it over and shut it off. He pocketed the device and Shaw said goodbye to twelve hundred dollars. This was not a priority at the moment.

Ahmad, the other Saudi, sighed. "Well."

The third man, whose name was Paul LeClaire, looked momentarily horrified and then settled into miserable.

Shaw's blue eyes glanced at the collapsed shelf with disgust and he stepped away from the drums, some of which were leaking sour-smelling chemicals.

Simplicity itself...

"Wait!" LeClaire frowned. "I know him! He's working for Mr. Harmon. He's in human resources. I mean, that's what he said. But he was undercover! Shit!" His voice cracked.

Shaw wondered if he was going to cry.

"Police?" Ahmad asked LeClaire.

"I don't know. How would I know?"

"I'm not law," said Shaw. "Private." He turned a stern face to LeClaire. "Hired to find Harmon's Judas."

Ahmad walked to a window and looked out, scanned the alley. "Anyone else?" Directed at Shaw.

"No."

The man then stepped to the front of the workshop, his body language suggesting taut muscles beneath the fine gray suit. He slowly opened the door, looked out, then closed it. He returned to the others. "You," he said to LeClaire. "Check him. Weapons. And whatever's in his pockets."

"Me?"

Ahmad: "We weren't followed. You were careless."

"No, I wasn't. Really. I'm sure."

Ahmad lifted a palm: We're not paying you to whine.

LeClaire, more dismal by the moment, walked forward. He patted down Shaw cautiously. He was doing a sloppy job and if Shaw had been carrying, which he was not, he would have missed the semiauto Shaw often wore on his hip.

But his uneasy fingers managed to locate and retrieve the contents of Shaw's pockets. He stepped away, clutching the cell phone, cash, a folding knife, a wallet. Deposited them on a dust-covered table.

Shaw continued to knead his shoulder, and Rass tilted his head toward him, silently warning him to be cautious in his movements. Rass's finger was outside the trigger guard of the pistol. In this, he knew what he was doing. On the other hand, the gun, with its mirrored sheen of chrome plating, was showy. Not the sort a true pro would carry.

Never draw attention to your weapon...

LeClaire was looking toward an open attaché case. Inside was a gray metal box measuring fourteen inches by ten by two. From it sprouted a half-dozen wires, each a different color. To Shaw he said, "He knows? About me? Mr. Harmon knows?"

Colter Shaw rarely responded to questions whose answers were as obvious as the sky.

And sometimes you didn't answer just to keep the inquirer on edge. The businessman rubbed thumb and index finger together. Both hands. Curiously simultaneous. The misery factor expanded considerably.

Ahmad looked at the phone. "Passcode."

Rass lifted the gun.

One wouldn't be much of a survivalist to get killed over a PIN. Shaw recited the digits.

Ahmad scrolled. "Just says he's coming to the factory to check out a lead. It's sent to a local area code. Others to the same number. He has our names." A look to LeClaire. "All of ours."

"Oh, Christ..."

"He's been onto you for a while, Paul." Ahmad scrolled some more, then tossed the phone to a desk. "No immediate risk. The plans still hold. But let's get this over with." He removed a thick envelope from his pocket and handed it to LeClaire, who, not bothering to count his pieces of silver, stuffed it away.

"And him?" LeClaire's strident voice asked.

Ahmad thought for a moment, then gestured Shaw back, against a wall.

Shaw walked to where the man indicated and continued to massage his shoulder. Pain radiated downward, as if pulled by gravity.

Ahmad picked up the wallet and riffled through the contents, then put the billfold in his pocket. "All right. I know who you are, how to find you. But I don't think that troubles you so much." He scanned Shaw, face to feet. "You can take care of yourself. But I also have the names of everyone on your in-case-of-emergency list. What you're going to do is tell Harmon you tracked the thief here but by the time you managed to get into the factory we were gone."

LeClaire said, "But he knows it's me!"

Ahmad and Rass seemed as tired of the whimpering as Shaw was.

"Are we clear on everything?"

"Couldn't be clearer." Shaw turned to Paul LeClaire. "But I have to ask: Aren't you feeling the least bit guilty? There are about two million people around the world whose lives you just ruined."

"Shut up."

He really couldn't think up any better retort?

Silence filled the room... No, near silence, moderated by white noise, unsettling, like the hum of coursing blood in your skull.

Shaw looked over the configuration of where each man stood and he realized that examining the wallet and the in-case-of-emergency threat were tricks-to get him to move to a certain spot in the room, away from the drums that had tumbled to the floor when the trap sprung. Ahmad had no intention of letting him go. He simply didn't want to take the risk of his partner shooting toward canisters that might contain flammable chemicals.

Why not kill him and buy time? The Saudis would be out of the country long before Shaw's body was discovered. And as for LeClaire, he'd done his part, and they couldn't care less what happened to him. He might even be a good fall guy for the murder.

Ahmad's dark eyes turned toward Rass and his shiny pistol.

"Wait," Shaw said harshly. "There's something I-"

2

You're a lucky SOB, Merritt."

The pale and gaunt prisoner, unshaven, brows knit, looked at the uniformed screw.

The guard glanced at Merritt's balding head, as if just realizing now that the man had more hair when he'd begun serving his sentence than now. What a difference a near year makes.

The men, both tough, both fatigued, faced each other through a half-inch of bulletproof glass, a milky sheet as smeared as the walls were scuffed. The business end of eighty-year-old Trevor County Detention had no desire, or reason, to pretty itself up.

Slim, tall Jon Merritt was dressed in a dark suit-the deepest shade of navy blue, good for job interviews and funerals. It was a size too big. A complementing white shirt too, frayed where frays happen. The last time he had worn this outfit was more than ten months ago. In the interim his garb, not of his choosing, had been bright orange.

"You're looking like an ace," the guard said. Larkin was a large Black man whose uniform was much the same shade as Merritt's suit.

"Oh, I just shine, don't I?"

The guard paused, maybe wondering how stinging the sarcasm was meant to be. "Here you go."

Merritt took the envelope that contained his wallet, watch and wedding ring. The ring went into his pocket, the watch onto his wrist. The battery had behaved and the instrument showed the correct time: 9:02 a.m.

Looking through the wallet. The bills-$140-were still there, but the envelope no longer contained the coins he'd had. A credit card and an ATM card were present too. He was surprised.

"I had a phone, a book, paperback. Socks. A pen."

The pen he'd used to jot notes to his attorney at the hearing. It was a nice one, the sort you put a refill in, not threw out.

Larkin riffled through more envelopes and a cardboard box. "That's all that's here." He lifted a huge hand. "Stuff disappears. You know."

More important: "And some work I did in the shop. William said I could keep it."

The screw consulted a sheet. "There's a box outside the door. On the rack. You didn't come in with it so you don't gotta sign." He prowled through more paperwork. Found two envelopes, business size, and pushed them through.

"What's that?"

"Discharge documents. Sign the receipt."

Merritt did and put the envelopes in his pocket fast, feeling that if he read them now, he'd see a mistake. The screw could catch it too and say, sorry, back inside.

"And these." He slid Merritt a small business card. "Your parole officer. Be in touch in twenty-four hours. No excuses." Another card made the short trip. It was a doctor's appointment reminder. It was for eleven today.

"Take care, Merritt. And don't come back."

With not a single word he turned. The lock buzzed and snapped and the thick metal door opened. Merritt walked through it. Beside the door, on the rack Larkin had mentioned, was a cardboard box, about one by two feet, j. merritt on the side. He picked it up and walked to the exit gate in the chain-link. The barricade clattered as it crawled sideways.

Then Jon Merritt was outside, on the go-where-you-will sidewalk.

He felt odd, disoriented. Dizzy. This did not last long. It was like the time he and some cop friends went party boat fishing and it took him a little time to find his sea legs.

Then, steadying, he turned south. Inhaling deeply, wondering if the air outside tasted different from the air inside. Couldn't tell.

His feet hurt already. Merritt had enough cash to buy shoes-he wasn't sure if his cards still worked-but it was easier and cheaper to go to the U-Store facility, where his possessions resided.

Supposedly.

The light changed and Merritt started across the asphalt, shoulders slumped, in his tight shoes and baggy, somber suit. On his way to a job interview.

Or a funeral.

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About the authors

Jeffery Deaver

Jeffery Deaver

Jeffery Deaver is an international number-one bestselling author. His novels have appeared on bestseller lists around the world. His books are sold in 150 countries and translated into over twenty-five languages. He has served two terms as president of Mystery Writers of America, and was recently named a Grand Master of MWA, whose ranks include Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, Mary Higgins Clark and Walter Mosely.

The author of over forty novels, three collections of short stories and a nonfiction law book, and a lyricist of a country-western album, he’s received or been shortlisted for dozens of awards. His "The Bodies Left Behind" was named Novel of the Year by the International Thriller Writers association, and his Lincoln Rhyme thriller "The Broken Window" and a stand-alone, "Edge," were also nominated for that prize. "The Garden of Beasts" won the Steel Dagger from the Crime Writers Association in England. He’s also been nominated for eight Edgar Awards by the MWA.

Deaver has been honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award by the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention, the Strand Magazine’s Lifetime Achievement Award and the Raymond Chandler Lifetime Achievement Award in Italy.

His book "A Maiden’s Grave" was made into an HBO movie starring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel "The Bone Collector" was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington and Angelina Jolie. Lifetime aired an adaptation of his "The Devil’s Teardrop." NBC television recently aired the nine-episode prime-time series, "Lincoln Rhyme: Hunt for the Bone Collector."

You can find out more about Jeffery on his website www.jefferydeaver.com, Facebook page facebook.com/JefferyDeaver, and follow him on Twitter @JefferyDeaver.

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Reviews

Customer reviews

4.5 out of 5

6,161 global ratings

Deborah S. McArthur

Deborah S. McArthur

5

A great twist - didn't see it coming kind of ending.

Reviewed in the United States on May 24, 2024

Verified Purchase

The plot has lots of side characters, each with a personality to match. The energy and plot are fast paced and the ending is surprising in a not too cliche way.

John S

John S

5

Very good book and series - basis for the tv show " Tracker"

Reviewed in the United States on May 25, 2024

Verified Purchase

I've read all four books in this series and all four are very good. I hope there will be more to come in this series.

Shaw is hired by the owner of a company that makes portable nuclear reactors that he says will be a huge help to many third-world countries that will benefit greatly from the energy they provide. Unfortunately someone from his company has stolen a key secret component and is attempting to sell it. Shaw is hired to find out who stole the component and recover it before it is sold.

Shaw completes that job and the owner talks Shaw into staying on to help locate his best engineer and her daughter who have went on the run to escape her ex-husband who has just been released from jail early after being sentenced to three years for savagely beating her and has now threatened to kill her. Now Shaw must find the two before the ex-husband does. A couple great twists at the end which may surprise you.

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Kindle Customer

Kindle Customer

5

Gripping

Reviewed in the United States on June 21, 2024

Verified Purchase

What a complex and engaging mystery. The surprise plot twist and ending was the best I've read and led to a very satisfying conclusion. Well done.

Cheryl yoshimori

Cheryl yoshimori

5

Kept me pondering right to the end.

Reviewed in the United States on August 5, 2024

Verified Purchase

I have enjoyed Jeffery Deaver’s thrillers for years. This is my first Colter Shaw. More action and a little less technical than the Lincoln Rhyme thrillers. Jeffery Deaver novels are worth the price.

Sam from Wyoming

Sam from Wyoming

5

Best of the Series

Reviewed in the United States on July 5, 2024

Verified Purchase

So far, this is the best of the Colter Shaw series. An excellent stand-alone story. You don't have to read the previous three books to enjoy this one. It has a twist near the end that the reader doesn't see coming. It will make you flip back to certain scenes to reread and change one's perspective of what is being said and done by the characters. All I can say is WOW.

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