Product Description

After five long years in federal prison, Griff Burkett is a free man. But the disgraced Cowboys quarterback can never return to life as he knew it before he was caught cheating.

Foster Speakman and his wife Laura lived a charmed life before fate denied them the one thing they wanted most -- a child. Fresh out of prison and out of prospects, Griff agrees to do a job for the Speakmans that demands secrecy. But he soon finds himself once again in the spotlight of suspicion when an unsolved murder comes back to haunt him. While safeguarding his new enterprise, Griff must also protect those around him, especially Laura Speakman. Griff stands to gain the highest payoff he could ever imagine, but cashing in on it will require him to forfeithis only chance for redemption...and love.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1054406 in Books
• Published on: 2007-09-05
• Format: Large Print
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 720 pages

From Publishers Weekly
The seven deadly sins help propel this provocative, sex-fueled thriller from bestseller Brown (Ricochet). Foster Speakman, an eccentric Texas paraplegic millionaire, offers $500,000 to Griff Burkett, a disgraced former NFL quarterback fresh out of prison after serving a five-year sentence for racketeering, to impregnate Foster's wife, Laura. Foster insists the child be conceived naturally (The way God intended). Broke with no prospects, Griff takes the job. Meanwhile, Stanley Rodarte, the crooked detective behind Griff's arrest, is bent on pinning an unsolved murder on him and takes to terrorizing Griff and those close to him in the hopes of nailing him when he self-destructs. After Griff's stint as stud takes a bad turn, the ex-footballer must track down the one man who can secure his freedom. The tension builds as lust, greed, pride, wrath and envy threaten to undo everyone in this tightly told tale of modern temptation. (Aug.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
Sandra Brown is the author of fifty-six New York Times bestsellers, most recently Play Dirty which was published in August 2007 by Simon & Schuster and debuted at number two on The New York Times hardcover fiction bestseller list. Her other recent bestsellers include Ricochet (2006), Chill Factor (2005), White Hot (2004), Hello, Darkness (2003), The Crush (2002), Envy (2001), all of which have jumped onto the Times bestseller list in the number one to five spot. Her new novel Smoke Screen will be published on August 12, 2008.

Brown began her writing career in 1981 and since then has published nearly seventy novels, most of which remain in print. As of 1990, when Mirror Image made The New York Times bestseller list, each subsequent novel, including reprints of earlier books, have become Times bestsellers. Her novel The Witness was recently optioned by Twinstar Entertainment for a major motion picture. Brown now has seventy million copies of her books in print worldwide, and her work has been translated into thirty-three languages.

A lifelong Texan, Sandra Brown was born in Waco and raised in Ft. Worth. Before embarking on her writing career, she worked as a model at the Dallas Apparel Mart, and in television, including weathercasting for WFAA-TV in Dallas, and feature reporting on the nationally syndicated program "PM Magazine." She is much in demand as a speaker at book festivals and charity functions throughout the year. Court TV (now tru TV) also sought Brown to host the 2007 premier of its popular series "Murder by the Book."

Awards and commendations include a 2008 honorary Doctor of Humane Letters degree from Texas Christian University, the 2007 Texas Medal of Arts Award for Literature, the American Business Women's Association's Distinguished Circle of Success, B'nai B'rith's Distinguished Literary Achievement Award, and the A. C. Greene Award. Brown is a member of the Writers Guild of America, the Authors Guild, Mystery Writers of America, Literacy Partners, and is a founding member of International Thriller Writers. She will be honored as the ITW's "ThrillerMaster" in 2008.

She and her husband live in Arlington, Texas.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

That it?"

"That's it." Griff Burkett tossed a small duffel bag onto the backseat of the car, then got into the front passenger seat. "I didn't bring much with me. I'm sure as hell not taking souvenirs." He wanted no memorabilia from his stint in BIG -- official code name for the Federal Correctional Institute in Big Spring, Texas.

He made himself comfortable on the plush leather, adjusted the air-conditioning vent to blow straight at him, then, realizing they weren't moving, looked over at the driver.

"Seat belt."

"Oh. Right." Griff stretched the belt across his chest and latched it. Tongue in cheek, he said, "Wouldn't want to break the law."

As lawyers went, Wyatt Turner was okay. But if he possessed a sense of humor, he kept it under lock and key. He didn't crack a smile at Griff's wry remark.

"Come on, Turner, lighten up," Griff said. "This is a special day."

"Unfortunately, we're not the only ones commemorating it."

Turner drew Griff's attention to an ugly, olive green car parked in a handicapped space. Illegally it seemed, since there was no tag hanging from the rearview mirror. Griff didn't recognize the make or model of the car because it was younger than five years old. Nothing distinguished the no-frills sedan except the man sitting behind the wheel.

Griff cursed under his breath. "What's he doing here?"

"It's been all over the news that you were being released today, but I don't think he brought champagne."

"So why'd he come all this way to see little ol' me?"

"I assume he wants to pick up where the two of you left off."

"Fat chance."

The object of their conversation, Stanley Rodarte, had parked where he couldn't be missed. He had wanted Griff to see him. And Griff would have recognized him anywhere, because Stanley Rodarte was one ugly son of a bitch. His face looked like it had been hacked out of oak with a chain saw, by a carver too impatient to smooth out the rough edges. Cheekbones as sharp as knife blades cast shadows across his ruddy, pockmarked skin. His hair was the color and texture of dirty straw. Behind the lenses of his opaque sunglasses, his eyes -- yellowish, as Griff recalled -- were no doubt trained on Griff with an enmity that even five years hadn't blunted.

Griff shrugged with more indifference than he felt. "It's his time he's wasting."

Sounding like the voice of doom, Turner said, "Obviously he doesn't think so."

As they pulled closer to the other car, Griff flashed Rodarte a big grin, then raised his middle finger at him.

"Jesus, Griff." Turner accelerated toward the prison gate. "What's the matter with you?"

"He doesn't scare me."

"Well, he should. If you had a lick of sense, he would scare you shitless. Apparently he hasn't forgotten about Bandy. Steer clear of him. I mean it. Are you listening? Do not cross him."

"Am I gonna get billed for that unsolicited advice?"

"No, that advice is on the house. It's for my protection as well as yours."

Despite the blasting air conditioner, Griff lowered his window as Turner drove through the gates of the federal prison camp that had been his home for the past five years. The area in which he'd been incarcerated was classified minimum security, but it was still prison.

"No offense to the folks in Big Spring, but I don't care to ever enter the city limits again," he remarked as they left the West Texas town and headed east on Interstate 20.

The air was hot, dry, and gritty, perfumed by diesel and gasoline exhaust from the well-traveled highway, but it was free air, the first Griff had tasted in one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five days. He gulped it.

"Feel good to be out?" his lawyer asked.

"You have no idea."

After a moment, Turner said, "I meant what I said about Rodarte."

The sand-bearing wind scoured Griff's face and flattened his hair against his head. "Relax, Turner," he said, speaking above the noise of a foul-smelling cattle truck roaring past. "I won't wave red flags at Rodarte. Or at anybody else. That's in my past. Ancient history. I took my punishment and paid my debt to society. You're looking at a rehabilitated, reformed man."

"Glad to hear it," the lawyer said, heavy on the skepticism.

Griff had been watching Rodarte in the car's side-view mirror. He'd followed them out of Big Spring and now was matching their speed, keeping at least three vehicles between them. If Wyatt Turner realized that Rodarte was on their tail, he didn't mention it. Griff started to say something about it, then figured there were things his lawyer didn't need to know. Things that would only worry him.

Three hundred miles later, Griff stood in the center of the apartment's living area, which was a laughable misnomer. A person might exist here, but you couldn't call it living. The room was so dim it bordered on gloomy, but the poor lighting actually worked in its favor. A crack as wide as his index finger ran up one wall from floor to ceiling like a jagged lightning bolt. The carpet was gummy. The air conditioner wheezed, and the air it pumped was damp and smelled like day-old carryout Chinese.

"It's not much," Turner said.

"No shit."

"But there's no lease. The rent's paid month to month. Consider this only a stopover until you can find something better."

"At least Big Spring was clean."

"You want to go back?"

Maybe Turner had a sense of humor after all.

Griff tossed his duffel bag onto the sofa. Not only did it look uncomfortable but the upholstery was stained with God-knew-what. He remembered fondly the high-rise condo he used to live in, in the ritzy Turtle Creek area of Dallas. Suffused with natural light during the day, a spectacular view of the skyline at night. Outfitted with countless amenities. Half of the gadgets and gewgaws he hadn't even known what they were for or how to work them. But the important thing was that he'd had them.

"When you sold my place, weren't you able to keep any of my stuff?"

"Clothes. Personal items. Pictures. Like that. It's all in a storage unit. But the rest..." Turner shook his head and nervously jiggled his keys as though anxious to get back in his car, although the drive had taken them nearly five hours with only one stop. "I liquidated everything in the Toy Box first."

That had been Griff's pet name for the extra garage he'd leased in which to store his grown-up toys -- snow skis, scuba equipment, an Indian motorcycle, a bass fishing boat that had been in the water exactly once. Stuff he had bought mostly because he could.

"The Escalade and Porsche went next. I held off selling the Lexus until I had no choice. Then I began emptying the apartment. I had to sell it all, Griff. To pay off your fine. Consulting fees."

"Your fee."

Turner stopped his bit with the keys. Under other circumstances, the combative stance he took would have been humorous. Griff was more than half a foot taller, and he hadn't slacked on workouts during his incarceration. If anything, he was harder now than when he went in.

Wyatt Turner had the pallor of a man who worked indoors twelve hours a day. A workout for him amounted to eighteen holes of golf, riding in a cart, followed by two cocktails in the clubhouse. In his mid-forties, he had already developed a soft paunch in front and sagging ass in back.

"Yes, Griff, my fee," he said defensively. "I get paid to do my job. Just like you do."

Griff looked at him for a moment, then said softly, "Did. Just like I did."

Turner backed down and, looking slightly embarrassed by his momentary testiness, turned away and laid another set of keys on the stick-furniture coffee table. "Our extra car. It's parked outside. Can't miss it. Faded red, two-door Honda. Not worth anything as a trade-in, so when Susan got her Range Rover, we kept it for emergencies. It runs okay. I had the oil changed and the tires checked. Use it for as long as you need it."

"Will the daily rental fee be added to my bill?"

Again, Turner took umbrage. "Why are you being such a prick about everything? I'm trying to help."

"I needed your help five years ago to keep me out of fucking prison."

"I did everything I could for you," Turner fired back. "They had you. You do the crime, you do the time."

"Gee, I need to write that down." Griff patted his pockets as though looking for a pen.

"I'm outta here."

Turner moved toward the door, but Griff headed him off. "Okay, okay, you're a prince among lawyers and I'm an unappreciative prick. What else?" He allowed Turner a few moments to fume in righteous indignation, then repeated in a more conciliatory tone, "What else have you done for me?"

"I put some of your clothes in the closet in the bedroom." He gestured toward an open doorway across the room. "Jeans and polos haven't gone out of style. I picked up some sheets and towels at Target. You got toiletries?"

"In my duffel."

"Bottled water, milk, eggs are in the fridge. Bread's in there, too. I thought there might be roaches in the pantry."

"Safe guess."

"Look, Griff, I know it's no palace, but -- "

"Palace?" he repeated, laughing. "I don't think anyone would mistake this dump for a palace." Then, to keep from appearing ungrateful, he added, "But as you said, it's only a stopgap. Do I have a phone?"

"In the bedroom. I put down the deposit for you. It's in my name. We can have it disconnected when you get your own."

"Thanks. What's the number?"

Turner told him. "Don't you need to write it down?"

"I used to carry a couple hundred plays inside my head. I can remember ten digits."

"Hmm. Right. Don't forget to check in with your probation officer. He'll need to know how to contact you."

"First item on my list. Call Jerry Arnold." Griff drew a check mark in the air.

Turner handed him a bank envelope. "Here's some walking-around money until you can get a credit card. And your driver's license is in there, too. Address is wrong, of course, but it doesn't expire until your next birthday, and by then you'll have a new place."

"Thanks." Griff tossed the bank envelope onto the table beside the keys to the borrowed car. Taking handouts from his lawyer was almost as hum...

Customer Reviews

CHARACTERS FLAWED
I have been a fan of Sandra Brown for years. Her writing style is always brilliant and amazes me. The stories she creates are so intense and deeply detailed, I am always surprised.

While I don't fault the writing, I just didn't' find myself liking the characters of Griff and Laura. Griff Burkett was a star of the Dallas Cowboys who tossed it all away by getting caught up in gambling and wound up loosing not just his job and reputation but went to prison for five years. Laura Speakman is devoted to her husband Foster, and was driving when they were in a horrific auto accident. She basically runs the company and has given up everything else in order to care for him. He has lost feeling from the waist down. Foster wants an heir. To avoid negative publicity he has convinced Laura to have a baby his way. He wants her to conceive the natural way with his a chosen substitute - Griff. The fact that Griff agreed to this made his character more appalling, and the fact that Laura also agreed, made her character equally not likeable.

I didn't feel any chemistry or real emotion between Griff and Laura. It felt very forced.

I hope her next book is better.

Characters were not very likable
First let me say I was not sure I liked Griff Burkett at the begining of the book but by the end I understood him alot better. Griff was a shinning light of the Dallas Cowboys who got caught up in gambling and wound up loosing not just his job and reputation but five years of his life to prison. Now when he gets out he has nothing, his lawyer loans him a car and some money to rent an apartment. Griff has to find a job and nobody wants to have anything to do with him.

Foster Speakman the owner and CEO of Sunsouth airlines has invited Griff to his home, possibly to offer him a job. Foster is a paraplegic, he and his wife were in a car wreck and he is wheelchair bound. His wife is a beautiful career minded woman who worked for him before they married.

Laura Speakman was driving when they were hit by a truck and she has shouldered alot of the responsibilities that were Foster's. She is devoted to her husband and has given up all her interests in order to care for him and take care of those things important to him. She can not help but feel guilt for his physical problems. He is unable to feel anything from the waist down.

In the two years since his accident he has been upset over not having an heir. He has finally convinced Laura to have a baby. But he is determined to have it his way. He wants her to concieve and deliver a baby, in the natural way with a chosen surrogate. Griff is offered 100 thousand dollars now and 500 thousand when the baby is born. Then one million each year of the child's life.

Although I found it hard to like a man who would accept money for such a thing, we later find that Griff is not without some sympathy and compassion. I found the story interesting and read it at one sitting. It was a bit hard to get into and if I had it to do over I probably would wait for the paperback. None of the characters were very likable.

Mixed Feelings
I'm a big Sandra Brown fan, but lately, she's been really "hit-and-miss" for me. This one was mostly a miss.

I have to agree with those who are saying the main characters are very unlikeable. I have the feeling that Brown wanted us to really feel that Griff was just a misunderstood guy, and maybe create some kind of tension because we were never sure if he was really a good guy or a bad guy, and that's fine, but I guess I need my heroes very clearly defined as good guys from the beginning.

I also had a hard time feeling anything for Laura. She seemed very detached from everything. I kept hearing about how she really loved her husband, but that attraction and love was never really well defined. I never felt that they had that very close relationship. When it was explained how they got together, I got more a feeling that the situation between them was comfortable, so they got married. They kept telling each other they loved each other, but I wasn't feeling it. Certainly not enough from her to think she'd go along with his plan involving Griff. I didn't even feel enough sympathy from her for her husband to warrant her wanting to go through with the plan. I basically felt nothing from her. I was not ever in any way emotionally engaged with her or her "plight."

Given that, I didn't really see why she and Griff had such an emotional bond, if that's how Brown was trying to portray it. He was unlike-able, she was unemotional and detached. The only thing they had to form that bond was that both of them had been celibate or too long. Not a really good basis for any kind of a love story. So, again, I ended up not feeling it. If they'd have had some kind of an emotional spark when they first met....I might have felt better about their relationship. I wanted to get the feeling they felt for each other from the first moment they met, and were fighting that despite the circumstances, but I never did. Again....it was all very oddly unemotional.

Perhaps Brown was trying to convey that emotional connection between Laura and Griff, and I just missed it. Personally, I think it's Brown who missed it.

It's really a shame, too, because I found the other aspects of the book good, and the storyline very suspenseful, which is why I didn't give this a worse rating.

But, overall, a bit of a disappointment.