An Instant  New York Times and USA Today  Bestseller A Best Novel Finalist in the International Thriller Writer Awards A Bookspan  International Book of the Month A CBS  Best Summer Read A Cosmopolitan Hot Book A New York Post (Page Six) Hottest New Thriller A BookSense Best Book of the Month An Amazon Top Ten Thriller of the Year What if your family was a lie? What if your name was a lie? What if your whole life was just a pack of Beautiful Lies? If Ridley Jones had slept ten minutes later or had taken the subway instead of waiting for a cab, she would still be living the lie she used to call her perfect life. Instead, she's in the wrong place at the right time to unleash a chain of events that begins with a mysterious package on her doorstep. A package that informs her that her entire world is just an illusion. Forced to question everything she knows about herself, Ridley wanders into dark territory, where everyone is hiding something. Sexy and fast-paced, Beautiful Lies is a true literary thriller. Lisa Unger takes us on a breathtaking ride in which every choice Ridley makes creates a whirlwind of consequences that are impossible to imagine. “A stunning, powerful novel! Lisa Unger’s taut prose grabs the reader from word one and never lets go. In this tantalizing tale of family suspense, beware of who you trust and be forewarned about what might happen next.” —Lisa Gardner, author of Alone “A tense exploration of what lies beneath the white picket fence of ordinary life. Harlan Coben has a new rival for his thriller crown.” —John Connolly, author of The Black Angel “ Beautiful Lies is a heartfelt thriller full of twists, turns, and truths. . . . Lisa Unger writes with precision and insight—she’s a welcome new voice in suspense fiction.” —Jeff Abbott, author of Panic “At last, a riveting suspense novel filled with psychological insight and amazing wisdom. Lisa Unger is a literate, savvy writer, and Beautiful Lies is a find! Read it now!” —Margaret coel, author of Eye of the Wolf “Suspenseful, sensitive, sexy, subtle . . . The best nail-biter I have read for ages. Highly recommended.” —Lee Child, author of One Shot Lisa Unger is an award-winning  New York Times  and internationally bestselling author, published in 26 languages worldwide. Chapter One It's dark in that awful way that allows you to make out objects but not the black spaces behind them. My breathing comes ragged from exertion and fear. The only person I trust in the world lies on the floor beside me. I lean into him and hear that he's still breathing but it's shallow and hard won. He's hurt, I know. But I can't see how badly. I whisper his name in his ear but he doesn't respond. I feel his body but there's no blood that I can tell. The sound of his body hitting the floor minutes before was the worst thing I've ever heard. I feel the floor around him, looking for his gun. After a few seconds I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips and I almost weep with relief. But there's no time for that now. I can hear the rain falling outside the burned-out building, its loud, heavy drops smacking on canvas. It's falling inside, too, trickling in through gaping holes in the roof down through floors of rotted wood and broken staircases. He moves and issues a low groan. I hear him say my name and I lean in close to him again. "It's okay. We're going to be okay," I tell him, even though I don't have any reason to believe this is true. Somewhere outside or up above us a man I thought I loved, along with other men whom I couldn't identify, are trying to kill us, to protect an awful truth that I've discovered. I am hurt myself, in so much pain that I might pass out if I didn't know it meant dying here in this condemned building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. There's something embedded in my right thigh. It's possibly a bullet, or a large spike of wood, or maybe a nail. It's so dark I can just barely see the large hole in my jeans, and the denim is black with my blood. I'm dizzy, the world tilting, but I'm holding on. I hear them up above us now, see the beams of their flashlights crossing in the dark through the holes in the floors. I try to control my breathing, which to my own ears sounds as loud as an oncoming train. I hear one of the men say to the others, "I think they fell through. They're on the bottom." There was no answer but I can hear them making their way down over creaking wood. He stirs. "They're coming," he says, his voice little more than a rasp. "Get out of here, Ridley." I don't answer him. We both know I'm not leaving. I pull at him and he tries to get up, but the pain registers on his face louder than the scream I know he suppressed to protect us for a few minutes more. If we're not walking out of here together, we're not walking out at all. I drag him, even though I know I shouldn't be moving him, over behind an old moldy couch that lies on its back by the wall. It's not far but I c