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Already an international sensation, with his books translated into fifteen languages―in the UK alone, Panic has more than 400,000 copies in print―Jeff Abbott is a master of the action-packed thriller. Now, with Collision, he delivers a meaty, twisty, white-knuckle ride designed to propel him onto the bestseller lists in his home country.
Collision is the story of two men living very different lives―one, a successful corporate consultant who is mourning the murder of his new bride; the other, a former CIA agent known only as “Pilgrim,” whose current assignment for a fringe espionage agency is so treacherous he doesn’t trust even his own boss. When they are thrown together in a violent, unexpected event, the two men realize that they’ve been framed in an elaborate setup. Unsure who to trust and who may just be trying to draw them into the open, the unlikely partners have no choice but to work together. But with everything at stake, Ben has no idea that Pilgrim is harboring some shocking secrets of his own―secrets that will soon force Ben to confront just how blurred the line has become between best friends and bitter enemies.
Praise for Collision
“Collision is the best evidence yet that Jeff Abbott is one of the finest thriller writers working today. Electric with action and lightning-paced, I literally could not put it down. Don’t miss it.” ―Harlan Coben
“Jeff Abbott has been my favorite new thriller writer since Panic, but Collision rockets into the suspense stratosphere alongside the best works of Harlan Coben and Lee Child. Relentless, smart, and heartbreaking, Collision is the thriller to read this year.” ―Joseph Finder
“Collision is a powerhouse tale of good bad guys, bad good guys, and every shade in between. Jeff Abbott delivers a frenzy of action in this race-against-the-clock thriller about an ordinary guy arrested for murder whose only hope lies in trusting the very man who framed him.” ―Lisa Gardner
mouth. “How did he know what I would look like?” Tamara flipped through the pages. “Mom, these drawings, they’re amazing…” She stopped at the drawing of herself sitting on a park bench, in the cooling shade of the pines. Stared at the paper, and then up at the park around her, as if it could not be. Realizing what the picture meant, looking up the hill to see where the man must have stood and watched. “Good imagination,” Mrs. Dawson said in a voice tinged with frost. “Do you work for my late
do not cooperate, I will expose your entire illegal operation. The government will disavow you like you’re lepers, and probably most of your people will end up in those lovely foreign prisons in those delightful countries where you’ve made so much mischief over the years.” Teach did not tense her shoulders; she did not tremble. “Tell me the ten you know,” she said. Hector rattled off a list of names. Teach closed her eyes, bit her lip. She nodded toward the screen. “Why grab him?” “He’s the
skin. Now a neat puckering wound marred the other shoulder. An awful purpling continent of a bruise extended from hip to knee on the leg. A tear across the forearm revealed where a bullet had pierced and exited. Ben gently inspected Pilgrim’s legs and arms, testing for broken bones. All seemed whole. “Bullet’s still in my shoulder,” Pilgrim said. “Gonna tell you what to do. Trusting you, Ben.” “If I screw up, I’m sorry.” “You’ll do great.” Ben followed Pilgrim’s directions: He eased Pilgrim
scattering a few coins into the open guitar case. “He’s not coming,” a voice behind him said, and Choate turned. The trio of musicians stood, smiling, one of them pulling a gun from behind his guitar, the other pulling one from a weathered knapsack. Choate froze. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Your friend the Dragon,” the guitarist said. He laughed. “Stupid name; is it supposed to make him sound fearsome? Dragons are false, they’re nothing. He’s gone into hiding. For good reason.” “I
Randall Choate, now known as Pilgrim, the major annoyance that must die, he thought. Pilgrim hurried through the darkened halls into the CEO’s office. He flicked on a penlight, scouring the room. The scene was then picked up by a hidden camera in the CEO’s office. Pilgrim tested the file cabinets, found them locked, stopped and stared at the wall. The video showed Pilgrim bending close, shining his pool of light on a framed photo. The ribbon-cutting of the first Blarney’s—Hector remembered it, a