On the line

Review by Booklist Review

Expecting his partner Lydia Chin's voice when he picks up his chirping cell phone, PI Bill Smith is shocked to hear an unidentified man on the line, telling him that Lydia is a hostage and Smith has 12 hours to locate her before she will be killed. Clues to her whereabouts come by phone, delivered by the heckling voice of a man obviously out for vengeance. But for what? To help him track the kidnapper, Bill enlists the aid of Lydia's nephew, a crackerjack young techie, who brings along his goth girlfriend, a force to be reckoned with all by herself. The trio, aided on the sly by Lydia's cop-pal Mary, runs a race against the clock, finding little related to Lydia but a lot of kidnapped Chinese prostitutes who need saving, and a vicious pimp who thinks Bill is wrecking his business. With zilch to go on, Bill sees only one option: play along until the lunatic makes a mistake. Of course, that eventually happens, and the action never stops until the lost is found. A high-velocity entry in a reliable series.--Zvirin, Stephanie Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

At the start of Edgar-winner Rozan's exciting 10th novel featuring New York City PIs Bill Smith and Lydia Chin (after 2009's The Shanghai Moon), Bill receives a phone call from someone using Lydia's cell who claims to have kidnapped Lydia. Lydia gets on the line long enough for Bill to realize this is no joke. The fiend gives Bill a 12-hour deadline, doles out clues that lead to other victims, and changes the "rules" just to keep things interesting. Forced to improvise wildly, Bill finds himself at odds with the cops, who consider him a suspect in at least one murder, but he's fortunate to have such supporters as Lydia's cyber expert cousin, Linus Wong, and Lydia's best friend, NYPD detective Mary Kee. The tension rises as Bill tries to figure out who the villain is and how he can get ahead of someone who holds all the high cards. Some neat twists keep the reader guessing to the surprise kick ending. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

A phone call informs Bill Smith that he has 12 hours to find his partner, Lydia Chin (The Shanghai Moon), who has been kidnapped and hidden somewhere in Manhattan. Smith must follow the clues provided, and there may be no contact with the police. Of course things go wrong from the get-go. VERDICT Rozan, winner of a host of crime fiction awards, comes up with new twists on the literary form and manages to kick it up a notch or two every time. This one is like a video game in which every location is full of lurking danger, technology is used to find information, and failure is possible at each turn. If you long for heart-stopping action and the most original characters outside of P.J. Tracy's Monkeewrench Gang, look no further. [Library marketing.] (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Lydia Chin's been kidnapped, and Bill Smith has only 12 action-packed hours to find her.The robotic voice in an early-morning phone call informs New York private eye Bill Smith that Lydia Chin, his partner in more ways than one (The Shanghai Moon, 2009, etc.), has been snatched by someone who insists that Bill follow a series of cryptic clues if he wants to see her again. The deadline-juiced taunts, a specialty of Jeffery Deaver, were a clich long ago, but this time there are a couple of nifty new twists. The very first set of clues send Bill, together with Lydia's cousin Linus Wong and his resourceful friend Trella Bartoli, to a defunct bar in Red Hook, where he finds a dead Chinese hooker, her very live pimp and his goons and a police cordon Bill miraculously manages to slip. "Now you can't goto the cops plus you have tododgethem!" gloats the kidnapper, tactfully omitting the fact that Bill has also become persona non grata among Chinatown's human-smuggling community. Soon after a second set of clues sends Bill to a windy Manhattan rooftop, he figures out who his tormentor is. But he's still condemned to spend the rest of his day racing around New York trying to rescue other Chinese illegals and get a bead on the kidnapper while dodging cops and smugglers alike.All the twists you'd expect from Rozan, but speeded up within an inch of their lives, just like the summer movie this yarn ought to spawn.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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1 Crashing dark chords smothered the cell phone's impertinent chirp, but the ringtone was "Ride of the Valkyries," so it penetrated, and I stopped. I was learning a Brahms sonata. After weeks it had started to come together into something I could feel good about. So good that I was up working on it at what is, for me, early morning: half-past eight, with a mug of powerful black coffee, and a big, bright, late fall morning beyond the windows. I hate interruptions when I'm at the piano; hate them so much, I used to turn the phone off. Now, though, I just ignore it if it rings. Except for this one number, the reason I leave it on. I leaned from the piano bench, grinning, and reached for the phone, which was still squeaking out those opening Valkyrie notes. In my world, Wagner only trumps Brahms when Wagner means Lydia Chin. "Hey," I said. "What's up?" Silence, unlike Lydia; and an odd tone to it. Then she said, "Nothing good." Those two words contained darkness: anger, fear, and something else. Warning? My skin went cold. "What does that mean?" The answer didn't come from Lydia. It came from a different voice, relaxed and mocking in rhythm, but inhuman in tone: thin, robotic. Deliberately, electronically altered. "It means, asshole, your girlfriend got jacked." I was on my feet, heart pounding. "What the--Who are you?" "Come on, you don't know me?" "What's going on?" "Jesus Christ! You fucked up so many guys you can't keep track!" "Who are you? What do you want?" "No." In a flash, joviality gone, the metallic voice dropped. "It's what you want. You want your girlfriend to live. Or am I wrong?" "You're right, and--" "Then find her. It's a game, get it? You find her, she lives. You don't, she dies. You following that?" "Whoever the hell you are, leave her alone. You have business with me, bring it on." "It's on, buddy boy. And if I were you I'd get down to it." "Get down to what?" "What did I just say?" "How am I supposed to find her?" "Well, lucky for you, I'm going to help. Clues, evidence, all that shit. I know you like that shit. So we'll have fun. Now get going." "No. This is bullshit." "Then your girlfriend dies." "How do I know she's not dead already?" "You just talked to her!" "I heard two words from a woman, and you have Lydia's phone. That's all I know." "Jesus, look! The son of a bitch is in the game already! Instant offense, whoa, I like that. Okay, good, I'll go along. Here, sweetie. Talk to him." "Bill?" It was Lydia, which I'd known, rock solid, from those first two words. "Are you okay?" "So far. I don't know what's going on, though." "Stay cool. I'll find you." "I know you will. But Bill? I don't want my mother to worry. Looks like Tony, his birthday party, looks like I'll miss it." She stumbled over her words. "If I don't show up he'll call the apartment. Could you make some excuse? He already thinks I'm a ditz. Tell him he'll have to get a little older without me." "Aw." The robot voice sliced back in, dripping acid. "How sweet is that? Doesn't want her mama to worry. Well, her mama's gonna have lots to worry about, you don't get your ass in gear." I spun, stared wildly around the room, as though he might materialize and I could lunge for him. Forcing myself still, I said, "I want to talk to her." "Sorry, you just did. One to a customer." "As this bullshit unfolds, what ever it is." "And by 'bullshit,' you mean … ?" "This insanity! Your so-called game!" " 'Insanity'? 'So-called'? Oh, man, where's your sportsmanship? Respect for the opponent, all that. You know, maybe I don't want to play with you after all. Nah, on second thought, forget it. Of course, that means I pop your girlfriend. But I guess you don't care. So long, sucker." The line went dead. My heart had been speeding. Now it stopped. My breathing, my power to move, it all stopped. What the hell had I done? Played chicken with a madman, and lost. Lost Lydia. I stood rooted, for a second, an hour, a lifetime. No! The words I couldn't get out crashed around inside my skull. Not like this! This can't be how it ends. Do something. There's got to be-- The phone, Lydia's music, rang again. "Lydia? Are you--" The robot voice: "Not her. Me. You in or out?" "Goddamn you--" "Smith?" "Screw you, you bastard, I'm in." I realized I was soaked in sweat. "You think this is a goddamn game, I'll play." I took a breath, and did it again: "But only if I can talk to Lydia. So I know she's all right. You touch her, you motherfucker, I'll kill you." "Oh, oh, listen to him! Big man! Know what, I really should forget the game and kill her right now. What could you do about it? What, asshole? But I'll give you a chance. I'll play fair." "I talk to her. And you don't touch her." I dug in, praying my instincts were right. "Or I don't play." "Are you listening? Who's in charge here? You don't find her, she dies. And you know what? You don't play, I hurt her a lot and then she dies." "That's your rules. My rules, as long as I'm playing, you don't touch her, and I talk to her." A hell of a gamble, going head-to-head with him like this. I didn't know who he was or what was going on. But if what he wanted was to kill Lydia he could have done that already, and he hadn't. This "game" mattered to him. "Hmm," he finally said. "Okay, why not? But my rules: not whenever you want. You don't get what you want in life, do you? Fuck knows I didn't. Which would be your fault, motherfucker, if you remember." "I don't remember. Tell me." "No way! This is awesome! Oh, hey, did I mention you have twelve hours? A game's no fun without a clock. But we don't need no stinkin' refs. Cops come, cops even think about coming, she's toast. I mean it, motherfucker. First badge I see, pow pow pow! You got the rules?" "And I talk to her." "When you do something right. Like a reward. Oh, I love that! Yeah, good. I'll call you. But if you're thinking she can coach, fuggedabahdit. She has no idea where she is. And her phone, now that we got your attention, it's trashed. I mean, you don't think I'm that stupid?" "I don't know who you are, so maybe you are that stupid." The slashing laugh again. "Taunting! You could get called for that!" Then the instant hard freeze. "Okay, that's it. This is crap. Let's get down to it." "What am I supposed do?" "You're so smart. Figure it out." And he was gone. I hit call back, but got Lydia's voicemail. I cut off and waited. He'd have heard it ring; he'd know I wanted to talk. But my phone stayed silent. Excerpted from On the Line by S. J. Rozan. Copyright © 2010 by S. J. Rozan. Published in October 2010 by Minotaur Books. All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher. Excerpted from On the Line by S. J. Rozan All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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