From America’s Queen of Suspense Mary Higgins Clark, an investigation into the connection between a long-ago murder and a plastic surgeon’s obsession with a perfect face catapults prosecutor Kerry McGrath into the strange and ominous territory of those so hungry for beauty they’ll kill for it. It’s a minor accident that brings prosecutor Kerry McGrath to the plastic surgeon’s office with her beloved daughter, Robin. But even as the doctor assures Kerry that her daughter’s scars will heal, she spies a familiar-looking beautiful woman in the waiting room and is seized by an overpowering sense of déjà vu. When, on a return visit, she sees the same haunting face—on another woman—she has an intense flash of recognition: it’s the face of Suzanne Reardon, the “Sweetheart Murder” victim, killed more than ten years ago! But for what possible reason would Dr. Smith be giving his patients the face of a dead woman? As Kerry immerses herself in a fresh investigation, each new piece of evidence she unearths reveals a disturbing cache of questions. Not only does everyone involved want to keep the case closed, but it’s also clear somebody will stop at nothing to keep it sealed forever. Interweaving fascinating characters with deeply daring, staggeringly unpredictable plot twists, Mary Higgins Clark reminds us that she is, indeed, America’s Queen of Suspense. Fran Wood "New York Daily News" "Clark fans will be mesmerized." Marilyn Stasio, "The New York Times Book Review" "Ms. Clark is a natural-born storyteller....she taps into some elemental fear that really gives you the willies." The #1 New York Times bestselling author Mary Higgins Clark wrote over forty suspense novels, four collections of short stories, a historical novel, a memoir, and two children’s books. With bestselling author Alafair Burke she wrote the Under Suspicion series including The Cinderella Murder , All Dressed in White , The Sleeping Beauty Killer , Every Breath You Take , You Don’t Own Me , and Piece of My Heart . With her daughter Carol Higgins Clark, she coauthored five suspense novels. More than one hundred million copies of her books are in print in the United States alone. Her books are international bestsellers. Let Me Call You Sweetheart Wednesday, October 11th 1 Kerry smoothed down the skirt of her dark green suit, straightened the narrow gold chain on her neck and ran her fingers through her collar-length, dusky blond hair. Her entire afternoon had been a mad rush, leaving the courthouse at two-thirty, picking up Robin at school, driving from Hohokus through the heavy traffic of Routes 17 and 4, then over the George Washington Bridge to Manhattan, finally parking the car and arriving at the doctor’s office just in time for Robin’s four o’clock appointment. Now, after all the rush, Kerry could only sit and wait to be summoned into the examining room, wishing that she’d been allowed to be with Robin while the stitches were removed. But the nurse had been adamant. “During a procedure, Dr. Smith will not permit anyone except the nurse in the room with a patient.” “But she’s only ten!” Kerry had protested, then had closed her lips and reminded herself that she should be grateful that Dr. Smith was the one who had been called in after the accident. The nurses at St. Luke’s-Roosevelt had assured her that he was a wonderful plastic surgeon. The emergency room doctor had even called him a miracle worker. Reflecting back on that day, a week ago, Kerry realized she still hadn’t recovered from the shock of that phone call. She’d been working late in her office at the courthouse in Hackensack, preparing for the murder case she would be prosecuting, taking advantage of the fact that Robin’s father, her ex-husband. Bob Kinellen, had unexpectedly invited Robin to see New York City’s Big Apple Circus, followed by dinner. At six-thirty her phone had rung. It was Bob. There had been an accident. A van had rammed into his Jaguar while he was pulling out of the parking garage. Robin’s face had been cut by flying glass. She’d been rushed to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt, and a plastic surgeon had been called. Otherwise she seemed fine, although she was being examined for internal injuries. Remembering that terrible evening, Kerry shook her head. She tried to push out of her mind the agony of the hurried drive into New York, dry sobs shaking her body, her lips forming only one word, “please,” her mind racing with the rest of the prayer, Please God, don’t let her die, she’s all I have. Please, she’s just a baby. Don’t take her from me . . . Robin was already in surgery when Kerry had arrived at the hospital, so she had sat in the waiting room, Bob next to her—with him but not with him. He had a wife and two other children now. Kerry could still feel the overwhelming sensation of relief she had experienced when Dr. Smith had finally appeared, and in a formal and oddly condescending manner had said, “Fortunately the lacerations did not deeply pene