Sustained by a deep religious faith, Jason Harrow has built a stable family and become a pillar of principle and patriotism in the Midwest. Then the phone rings, and his past is on the other end of the line. A woman with whom he once shared a life of violence and desire claims her daughter is missing—and Jason is the one man who can find her. Returning to New York City, Jason finds himself entangled in a murderous conspiracy only he can see and only he can stop—a plot that bizarrely links his private passions to the turmoil of a world at war. Hunted by terrorists and by the police, Jason has only hours to unravel an ex-lover’s lies and face the unbearable truth: In order to prevent a savage attack on his country, he’s going to have to risk his decency, his sanity, and his life. PRAISE FOR DAMNATION STREET "Klavan crafts a taut, tense noir leavened with rollicking mayhem and romantic yearning. A-. "― Entertainment Weekly "Klavan’s writing is masterful, and his characters superbly drawn."― Forbes There was only me now ... only me who knew, only me who saw, only me who could stop it, who might be able to hurl myself into the machinery and bring it to a halt before it churned out more coffins, more and more ...  Sustained by a deep religious faith, Jason Harrow has built a stable family and become a pillar of principle and patriotism in the Midwest. Then the phone rings, and his past is on the other end of the line. A woman with whom he once shared a life of violence and desire claims her daughter is missing ? and Jason is the one man who can find her. Returning to New York City, Jason finds himself entangled in a murderous conspiracy only he can see and only he can stop ? a plot that bizarrely links his private passions to the turmoil of a world at war. Hunted by terrorists and by the police, Jason has mere hours to unravel an ex-lover’s lies and face the unbearable truth: in order to prevent a savage attack on his country, he’s going to have to risk his decency, his sanity, and his life. Praise for Andrew Klavan: "The most original novelist of crime and suspense since Cornell Wollrich."--Stephen King "Klavan's writing is masterful, and his characters superbly drawn."-- Forbes ANDREW KLAVAN is the author of such bestselling novels as True Crime, adapted into a film by Clint Eastwood, and Don’t Say a Word, adapted into a film starring Michael Douglas. His novels have been nominated for the Edgar Award four times and have won twice. He lives in Southern California. ANDREW KLAVAN is the author of the best-selling novels  True Crime, filmed by Clint Eastwood, and Don’t Say a Word, a film starring Michael Douglas. His work has been nominated for the Edgar Award five times and has won twice. He is a contributing editor at City Journal and his articles have appeared, among other places, in the Wall Street Journal , the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times . He lives in Southern California with his wife Ellen. They have a daughter, Faith, and a son, Spencer. 1. Out of the Past The day it began was an autumn day, a Saturday afternoon in October. I was sitting in a cushioned chair on the brick patio at the edge of my backyard. The air was clear and warm with a hint of chill in it. There was a wind off the lake across the way—thunderstorms coming, though they weren’t yet visible over the water. I was looking down half an acre of grassy slope to where my two boys, Chad, ten, and Nathan, seven, were organizing some kind of Frisbee game around the swing set with some of their friends from the neighborhood. The boys were letting their three-year-old sister, Terry, tag along with them. I found this very heartwarming. I was forty-five years old. The reedy figure of my youth was growing thicker at the chest and waist, but I was still trim enough. My once-sandy hair was thinner and darker, with a sprinkling of gray. My once-boyish face was not so boyish anymore, though I think it was what they used to call an honest face, smooth, clean, and open, the blue eyes bright. My wife was in the kitchen making us some lemonade. My wife was named Cathy and I can’t say how much I loved her, not without sounding like a sentimental idiot, anyway. We had been together twelve years then, and I still sat up sometimes at night and watched her sleeping. Sometimes I woke her because I felt so grateful for her and so passionate I couldn’t help but trace her features with my fingertips. If this bugged the hell out of her, she never let on. But then, she was a cheerful and generous creature who would melt into lovemaking at a look or a touch. We had a deal between us, Cathy and I. Our deal was simple. It was agreed to at the start in no uncertain terms. When I first came to this town from New York seventeen years ago, I edited the local paper. I started out as city editor and was promoted to managing editor pretty quickly. The city had an insanely left-wing government at the time, and so, of course, it wa