A young woman wakes up in a car crash. She is badly injured, the car has gone off the road and she finds herself stuck in a car with a dead woman. A call to emergency services leaves her realising that she has no memory of who she or the other woman is. All she has is a buss pass with a name she doesn’t recognise – Rebecca Elliot.
Detective Bronwen Pryce is first on the scene to a car that has gone off the road. With one dead body and a patient who remembers nothing she is short on leads but something is off about the case and there more questions than answers. Why was this woman on the Welsh mountain road in the first place? Why did she have no luggage when she wasn’t local? Why did it seem like she was running?
The women need to work together to find the answer to the puzzle that is slowly revealing itself through flashes of memory and strange clues. But as she starts to remember things Rebecca isn’t sure that she can trust Detective Pryce with her secrets.
Nicola Victoria Vincent did a stunning job of narrating this one. I have only listened to her doing romances before, which she does really well, but boy can she narrate a suspense too. This audiobook is absolutely worth it.
I loved the first person storytelling style for this. It put you in the middle of the acton in a way that third person wouldn’t have. I adored the narration. The action and revelations were spot on in terms of pacing and keeping you completely enthralled from beginning to end.
None. I loved this audiobook and highly recommend it.
If you are a fan of suspense novels that draw you in so that you feel like you are living it, stories that are edge of your seat from beginning to end and a sweet romance sub plot then this is your absolute next listen.
The combination of Cari Hunter’s writing prowess and Nicola Victoria Vincent’s narration is not to be missed.
Excerpt from Alias by Cari Hunter
“Have you been here all night?” I ask. It’s the first time I’ve seen her clearly. Like Lewis, she’s a few inches taller than me, with an athletic build, and the hair that seemed so dark by the crash site is actually shot through with auburn lowlights, her haphazard ponytail coming apart at the seams. She’s not wearing makeup, and her Celtic knot earrings seem little more than an afterthought.
“Yes,” she answers without inflection, sinking into the chair. It takes me a few seconds to think back to my question. I wince. “Sorry.” She waves away my apology and retrieves a notepad from her bag. “We’re having difficulty tracing your family,” she says by way of an opener. “Or your friends. Well, anyone, really.”
I watch her find a blank page and ready her pen. “Are they not in my phone?” I hadn’t thought to look last night, but it seems an obvious place to find contacts.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She taps her teeth with her pen. “But your phone was new, brand new in fact. The box and receipt were in the car.”
“Shit,” I say. “The woman I was with, do you know who she is? I mean, who she was?”
“Not as yet, no. She had no ID on her.” Pryce eyeballs me. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any flashes of inspiration where she’s concerned, have you?”
I shake my head, my mouth parched again. Pryce refills my water glass and hands it to me.
“What about the crash?” she asks as I drink. “Can you tell me what happened there?” “No,” I say, hating the weakness of my voice and repeating my answer with more emphasis. “No, I don’t know who she was or why we crashed. I don’t even know what we were doing in Wales. I don’t think I’m Welsh, am I?”
An almost-smile tweaks the corners of Pryce’s lips. “You’re definitely not Welsh. From your accent, I’d say Manchester, which would fit in with your bus pass.”
“Manchester, eh?” It’s elating to have actual information. A possible hometown, or at least a geographical area.
“We ran your prints and those of the decedent through the PNC,” she continues, “but nothing came up. Using Manchester as a starting point for yourself, I’ve issued requests to the electoral register and the DVLA, the driving licence agency, but Rebecca Elliott is a common enough name that any hits I get will take time to follow up and eliminate.”
I bend my legs to lessen the persistent stabbing of my ribs. “Could you do an appeal? Maybe take some photos?”
She tucks a length of hair behind her ear. She’s not a fidgeter—she has the classic stoicism of a seasoned detective—and the gesture betrays her unease. “Photos might not help us much right now.”
I catch on immediately and run my fingers across my face. “Have you got a mirror?” She glances at the curtain, as if willing someone to interrupt us. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Please?” I can’t get to the bathroom, but I’m not averse to launching an attempt. I’m about to wiggle out a foot to prove I mean business when Pryce sighs and relents, fishing out not a mirror but her mobile. With her fingers on my chin, she turns me into the light and takes a few shots. She deletes a couple and shows me the rest.
They’re not pretty. I stare at the face on the screen, at its distorted jaw and puffy eyes and the sutured laceration that splits its right eyebrow. It doesn’t seem like me. I’ve no connection to this young woman with the blue-black hair and the small silver ring in her nose.
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Bits and Bobs
- ISBN number: 9781635552218
- Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
- Audiobook Publisher: Bold Strokes Books Inc
- Narrator: Nicola Victoria Vincent
Cari Hunter Name Online
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