Read Break Point: BookShots Online
Authors: James Patterson
Tags: #Fiction, #Crime, #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Mystery & Detective, #General
Break Point: BookShots
Contents
One point away from winning the French Open, tennis star Kirsten Keller breaks down and flees the court in tears.
Keller has been receiving death threats. Terrified and desperate, she hires former Metropolitan Police officer Chris Foster to protect her at Wimbledon.
As the championship progresses, Keller’s tormentor gets ever closer. And the threats become horrifyingly real.
JAMES PATTERSON
is one of the best-known and biggest-selling writers of all time. His books have sold in excess of 300 million copies worldwide and he has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past nine years in a row. He is the author of some of the most popular series of the past two decades – the Alex Cross, Women’s Murder Club, Detective Michael Bennett and Private novels – and he has written many other number one bestsellers including romance novels and stand-alone thrillers.
James is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his own son who was a reluctant reader, he also writes a range of books for young readers including the Middle School, I Funny, Treasure Hunters, House of Robots, Confessions and Maximum Ride series. James is the proud sponsor of the World Book Day Award and has donated millions in grants to independent bookshops. He lives in Florida with his wife and son.
ALEX CROSS NOVELS
Along Came a Spider
Kiss the Girls
Jack and Jill
Cat and Mouse
Pop Goes the Weasel
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Four Blind Mice
The Big Bad Wolf
London Bridges
Mary, Mary
Cross
Double Cross
Cross Country
Alex Cross’s Trial (
with Richard DiLallo
)
I, Alex Cross
Cross Fire
Kill Alex Cross
Merry Christmas, Alex Cross
Alex Cross, Run
Cross My Heart
Hope to Die
Cross Justice
1
st
to Die
2
nd
Chance (
with Andrew Gross
)
3
rd
Degree (
with Andrew Gross
)
4
th
of July (
with Maxine Paetro
)
The 5
th
Horseman (
with Maxine Paetro
)
The 6
th
Target (
with Maxine Paetro
)
7
th
Heaven (
with Maxine Paetro
)
8
th
Confession (
with Maxine Paetro
)
9
th
Judgement (
with Maxine Paetro
)
10
th
Anniversary (
with Maxine Paetro
)
11
th
Hour (
with Maxine Paetro
)
12
th
of Never (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Unlucky 13 (
with Maxine Paetro
)
14
th
Deadly Sin (
with Maxine Paetro
)
15
th
Affair (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Step on a Crack (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Run for Your Life (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Worst Case (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Tick Tock (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
I, Michael Bennett (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Gone (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Burn (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Alert (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Private (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Private London (
with Mark Pearson
)
Private Games (
with Mark Sullivan
)
Private: No. 1 Suspect (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Private Berlin (
with Mark Sullivan
)
Private Down Under (
with Michael White
)
Private L.A. (
with Mark Sullivan
)
Private India (
with Ashwin Sanghi
)
Private Vegas (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Private Sydney (
with Kathryn Fox
)
Private Paris (
with Mark Sullivan
)
NYPD Red (
with Marshall Karp
)
NYPD Red 2 (
with Marshall Karp
)
NYPD Red 3 (
with Marshall Karp
)
NYPD Red 4 (
with Marshall Karp
)
Sail (
with Howard Roughan
)
Swimsuit (
with Maxine Paetro
)
Don’t Blink (
with Howard Roughan
)
Postcard Killers (
with Liza Marklund
)
Toys (
with Neil McMahon
)
Now You See Her (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Kill Me If You Can (
with Marshall Karp
)
Guilty Wives (
with David Ellis
)
Zoo (
with Michael Ledwidge
)
Second Honeymoon (
with Howard Roughan
)
Mistress (
with David Ellis
)
Invisible (
with David Ellis
)
The Thomas Berryman Number Truth or Die (
with Howard Roughan
)
Murder House (
with David Ellis
)
Torn Apart (
with Hal and Cory Friedman
)
The Murder of King Tut (
with Martin Dugard
)
Sundays at Tiffany’s (
with Gabrielle Charbonnet
)
The Christmas Wedding (
with Richard DiLallo
)
First Love (
with Emily Raymond
)
Miracle at Augusta (
with Peter de Jonge
)
What you are holding in your hands right now is no ordinary book, it’s a BookShot.
BookShots are page-turning stories by James Patterson and other writers that can be read in one sitting.
Each and every one is fast-paced, 100% story-driven; a shot of pure entertainment guaranteed to satisfy.
Available as new, compact paperbacks, ebooks and audio, everywhere books are sold.
BookShots – the ultimate form of storytelling. From the ultimate storyteller.
THE MOSQUITO’S WINGS
beat six hundred times per second as it slowly laboured across the hot clay. Accordingly, a ripple of tiny vibrations pulsed out through the thick afternoon air, buzzing and whining over the silent crowd. They had stopped shuffling. Stopped fanning themselves with newspapers and adjusting their oversized sunglasses. Stopped breathing, almost.
Because this was the moment of truth.
The afternoon sun beat down on Roland Garros Stadium and from the back row the two players were a mirage, blurred and swaying in the summer heat. They looked like old-fashioned gunslingers as they faced each other on the dirt.
The last two standing.
Kirsten Keller was twenty-three years old, and seconds away from becoming French Open Champion.
At the far end of the court, Marta Basilia was on the ropes. The world number one was a gnarly oak from Georgian farming stock. The old guard. They used to say she was unbeatable. These days, not so much. Plenty of pundits said she was heading for the inevitable downward slope that would only end when she became a pundit herself.
Meanwhile, Keller was an all-American superwoman. Young, supple, graceful and impossibly fast. The new breed. Basilia hated everything about her, from the blonde hair to the perfect bronzed skin, and the doe-eyed post-match interviews, and the impossible topspin she could whip through her forehand, and the squeals and grunts she exploded into every damn shot. And now she was winning. More and more. Audacious bitch.
The court clocks showed a gruelling two hours and seven minutes; neon-yellow measuring every minute of pain. Neither woman had given an inch. They were slick with sweat and blowing hard, but their steely eyes stayed cold. A lifetime of commitment weighed heavily on their backs. Their fans expected. So did their families. And their nations. And every losing gambler with a Twitter account and a nasty streak was lurking, just waiting to slay them if they lost.
Don’t back down now.
The mosquito reached the far side of the court and came to rest on a fat man in the front row. The high-pitched hum stopped. The fat man forgot where he was and slapped hard at the insect, yelping as his hand connected with his own skin. A mushroom puff of nervous laughter bloomed across the crowd.
The umpire leaned forward in his chair and said, ‘S’il vous plaît, messieurs-dames.’
The crowd settled, their eyes drawing back to the court and resting on Kirsten Keller’s clinging white vest, slick tanned thighs and the bead of sweat rolling down the bridge of her nose. She bounced the ball twice just inside the chipped and smudged chalk line and blew out, long and hard, until she felt as calm as she could.
One more shot. Then it’s all over.
She rocked back on her heels, a movement that began an unstoppable sequence. Muscle memory based on years of repeating the same complex series of movements she had practised since she was three years old.
She bent her knees, her right elbow heading backwards like an archer. Her left hand rose in one fluid movement, fingers stretching upwards as she released the ball towards the sky, simultaneously propelling her body forward so that her momentum would drive through the ball like a piston head. Her wrist twisted at the last millisecond to spin the ball and force it high past Basilia’s outstretched racket, to thump hard on the cushioned tarpaulin at the far end of the court.
Except she never got that far, because as the ball left her hand a photographer clicked his camera and the noise of the shutter snapped across the silent court like a machine gun. Keller screamed. Not her usual ecstatic squeal, but a terrified primal noise that rang out around the stadium. She dropped her racket as if it were electrified and flung herself to the ground.