Harlan Coben Audiobook Novels & Stories

"What are you doing in Cobble Hill?" "I live in Cobble Hill." Something shifted in his expression — a recalibration, slight. "I didn't know that." "Brooklyn's a big borough." I nodded at the book in his hand. "What did you find?" He turned it over. A novel I had read two years ago — dense, beautifully written, the kind of book that required patience and rewarded it extravagantly. "Carol recommended it. I described what I was looking for and she disappeared for thirty seconds and came back with this."

"We need everyone bought in if we're going to make a run at the championship." I said nothing. Didn't trust my mouth. The wire that had snapped on the ice was still loose inside me and if I opened my jaw the wrong thing would come out – not words but something older and less civilized. The thing that lived in my hands. Harlan got in both our faces. Close enough I could see the burst capillaries in his cheeks and smell the coffee on his breath.

THIRD PERSON POV: Harlan drove through the forest in his old truck. The road was rough, and the truck shook as it moved. Trees stood close on both sides. The moon was bright, but Harlan did not care about it. His hands were tight on the steering wheel. Cole was in jail. Jerome’s pack had taken him after the trap at the river failed. Harlan had watched from far away, hiding in the dark, as guards dragged his son off. He could still hear Cole shouting. It burned inside his chest.

Complicated and guilty and trying. Damien plugged the drive in. The files opened immediately. Audio recordings first — conversations between Harlan and a voice Rain didn't recognise yet but whose words landed like stones in still water. Careful words. Measured words. The words of someone who had learned to say everything in a way that could be explained away if necessary. Except here. Here there was nothing to explain away. "The woman is becoming a problem." "Handle it. Two sentences. Lena Calloway death in two sentences.

He drove into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan that sounded like my name torn in half. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, his cock throbbing as he spilled in long, shuddering waves. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave marks, holding me flush against him like he never wanted to let go. “Goddamn, baby,” he panted against my shoulder, body trembling as the last spasms left him. “You take everything so fucking well.” Mr. Harlan’s hand stroked through my hair gently now, his own release still warm in my throat. He watched Cole come undone with half-lidded eyes, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Told you she was something else.”

Harlan was definitely distorting everything, using me as a bait to destroy the only person who had ever shown me genuine kindness. Hansen’s gaze locked onto mine, and he didn’t look away. His brow tightened with confusion. The air seemed to grow heavy, sending a chill down my spine and raising goosebumps on my skin as sudden flashes of memory overwhelmed me. He must have been puzzled by my presence here, at his family gathering and especially close to his deranged brother. Harlan also noticed that Hansen was staring at me, his grip on my arm beside him tightening. "Perfect," he breathed near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "He’s already hooked."

Harley was the product of an affair. After her mother died, she decided to make contact with her father, Ron Hale, a criminal and leader of a felon-filled, biker outlaw club, The Savage Scorpions. After months of virtual communication, she decides to visit him in his small Californian town of Pleasant-Tree-Ville. When she arrives, she gets less than a warm welcome from the other SS members. As the days pass, she starts forming friendships, bonds and something a little more with Alexander Coates, Her father's second-in-command... and best friend.

After that, Grandma Cobb stumbled off the ground and walked back inside her car. The moment she sat down in the back, mixed feelings could be seen on her face; unspeakable loneliness and hatred were the only things she felt. She gestured to the driver, then pulled up the soundproof private glass. She dialed a number and yelled furiously, “Why isn’t Harvey dead yet?!” “I’ve already paid you more money!” “When are you going to kill him?!” A respectful tone could be heard from the other side of the phone. “Grandma Cobb, Harvey’s identity is a shocking one. It’s not that simple to kill him…”

She said, laughing, “I’m sure we will talk about it. There are lots of things I need to ask you Ichabod, like the last time, you said you know a lot about double personalities, and then you said you were in my room last night that you thought someone was in and...” “Oh, about that...there was no one and....” “The thing is, Ichabod.” Haromy said, looking at him sternly. “I think someone comes to my room every night and that is why I hired you. I need to catch that person!”

Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was the part of me that needed to see the truth—the real truth about what Harlan was capable of. The closer I got, the more I could hear. The low murmur of voices, the steady thud of boots on the wooden floor, and then another scream, this one more desperate than the last. My stomach clenched, and I felt the bile rise in my throat, but I kept walking, my steps slow and deliberate. By the time I reached the door of the cabin, I could hear Harlan’s voice, low and menacing. "You want to steal from your own people?" he growled. "From the ones who keep you fed, keep you safe?"