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Someone Is Watching: A Novel, by Joy Fielding
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A pulse-pounding thriller perfect for fans of Lisa Gardner and Mary Higgins Clark with a sly nod toward Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film Rear Window, Someone Is Watching boasts the extraordinary edge-of-your-seat storytelling of bestselling author Joy Fielding at the height of her powers.
As a special investigator for a hotshot Miami law firm, Bailey Carpenter is smart, savvy, and fearless. When she’s assigned to spy on a deadbeat dad in the middle of the night, Bailey thinks nothing of the potential dangers, only that she needs to gather evidence. Then she is blindsided—attacked and nearly killed.
Now the firm grip Bailey once had on her life is shaken. Her nightmares merge into her waking hours and she’s unable to venture beyond her front door without panicking. A veritable prisoner in her own home, Bailey is uncertain whom she can trust. But old habits die hard, and soon Bailey finds a new use for her idle binoculars: casually observing from her window neighboring buildings and other people’s lives. This seemingly harmless diversion becomes a guilty pleasure when Bailey fixates on the handsome guy across the street—until she realizes that he is also watching her. Suddenly she must confront the terrifying possibility that he may be the man who shattered her life.
Though crippled by fear, Bailey knows she can’t ignore her suspicions and risk leaving a predator at large. With the police making no headway in solving her case, she’s determined to overcome her terror and reclaim the power she lost by unmasking her attacker and taking him down herself. But it’s a harrowing battle that threatens to wreck Bailey’s credibility, compromise an investigation, and maybe even claim her sanity.
Praise for Someone Is Watching
“Someone Is Watching gripped me from the first to the very last page. Bailey Carpenter is a heroine who’s both victim and warrior woman, a fascinating sleuth who will linger with you long after you’ve finished this thrilling read.”—Tess Gerritsen
“Joy Fielding has long been a go-to author for me. She never fails to deliver an edge-of-your-seat read, and with her patented blend of complex characters and escalating suspense she is in top form here. I highly recommend Someone Is Watching.”—Karen Robards
“Joy Fielding pens a spiraling tale of paranoia and suspense, as sultry as a Miami night. Readers will find a heroine to root for, scold, and ultimately adore in Bailey Carpenter. Though comparisons to Rear Window will inevitably arise, Fielding has created something even more remarkable: a modern-day Gaslight in which both cat and mouse are real, flawed, and eminently relatable.”—Jenny Milchman
“Someone Is Watching is a gripping, fast-paced psychological thriller reminiscent of Rear Window and the works of Lisa Gardner. . . . Not geared to the faint of heart, Fielding’s story of one woman’s search for justice, understanding, and internal peace is nothing short of arresting.”—Booklist (starred review)
“This engrossing standalone from bestseller Fielding makes you care about Bailey Carpenter. . . . The characters pulsate with life, and there are a few shocks in store—for Bailey and the reader—before the denouement. And the presence of Jade, Claire’s outspoken teen daughter, blows everyone else off the page.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A pageturning ride with a likable protagonist.”—Kirkus Reviews
- Sales Rank: #433007 in Books
- Brand: Fielding, Joy
- Published on: 2015-03-24
- Released on: 2015-03-24
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.70" h x 1.29" w x 6.43" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 384 pages
Review
“Someone Is Watching gripped me from the first to the very last page. Bailey Carpenter is a heroine who’s both victim and warrior woman, a fascinating sleuth who will linger with you long after you’ve finished this thrilling read.”—Tess Gerritsen
“Joy Fielding has long been a go-to author for me. She never fails to deliver an edge-of-your-seat read, and with her patented blend of complex characters and escalating suspense she is in top form here. I highly recommend Someone Is Watching.”—Karen Robards
“Joy Fielding pens a spiraling tale of paranoia and suspense, as sultry as a Miami night. Readers will find a heroine to root for, scold, and ultimately adore in Bailey Carpenter. Though comparisons to Rear Window will inevitably arise, Fielding has created something even more remarkable: a modern-day Gaslight in which both cat and mouse are real, flawed, and eminently relatable.”—Jenny Milchman
“Someone Is Watching is a gripping, fast-paced psychological thriller reminiscent of Rear Window and the works of Lisa Gardner. Fielding has crafted a flawed yet likable heroine in Bailey by allowing her to experience the varied emotions of recovery instead of pigeonholing her as a helpless victim or bloodthirsty vigilante. Not geared to the faint of heart, Fielding’s story of one woman’s search for justice, understanding, and internal peace is nothing short of arresting.”—Booklist (starred review)
“This engrossing standalone from bestseller Fielding makes you care about Bailey Carpenter. . . . The characters pulsate with life, and there are a few shocks in store—for Bailey and the reader—before the denouement. And the presence of Jade, Claire’s outspoken teen daughter, blows everyone else off the page.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A pageturning ride with a likable protagonist.”—Kirkus Reviews
About the Author
Joy Fielding is the New York Times bestselling author of Charley’s Web, Heartstopper, Mad River Road, See Jane Run, and other acclaimed novels. She divides her time between Toronto and Palm Beach, Florida.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
9780553390636|excerpt
Fielding / SOMEONE IS WATCHING
—One—
The day starts the same way it usually does. Just another monotonously gorgeous October day in Miami, the sky typically blue and cloudless, the temperature expected to reach eighty degrees by noon. There is nothing to suggest that today will vary significantly from yesterday or the day before that, nothing to suggest that today, or more specifically tonight, will change my life forever.
I wake up at seven. Shower and dress—a black pleated skirt and white cotton blouse, slightly more formal than my usual fare. Brush my hair, which is light brown and hangs in loose waves halfway down my back. Apply a hint of blush to my cheeks and a touch of mascara to my lashes. Make some coffee, scarf down a muffin, and call downstairs at eight thirty for one of the valets to bring up my car from the underground garage.
I could go get the vintage silver Porsche myself, but the valets get a kick out of driving it, even for the thirty seconds it takes to accelerate up the circular ramp from my parking spot on lower level three to the front entrance. This morning it’s Finn, almost handsome in his uniform of khaki pants and short-sleeved, forest-green shirt, behind the wheel. “Busy day, Miss Carpenter?” he asks as we exchange positions.
“Just another day in paradise.”
“Enjoy,” he says, closing my door and waving me away.
I head for Biscayne Boulevard and the law offices of Holden, Cunningham, and Kravitz, where I’ve been employed as an investigator for almost two years. The firm, home to approximately three hundred employees, a hundred and twenty-five of whom are lawyers, occupies the top three floors of an imposing marble tower in the business heart of the city. Normally I’d enjoy another cup of coffee while exchanging pleasantries with whomever happens to be milling around the staff room, but today I’m due in court, so I park my car in the underground lot, lock my licensed Glock in the glove compartment, and hail a cab for the short ride over to 73 West Flagler Street and the Miami-Dade County Courthouse. Street parking is minimal to nonexistent in this area, and I can’t afford to waste precious time looking for a spot. I’ve been called as a rebuttal witness in a case involving corporate espionage, and I’m anxious to take the stand. Unlike many in my profession who prefer to remain invisible, I actually enjoy testifying.
Maybe that’s because, as an investigator, I spend a great deal of my time in relative isolation. My job involves gathering information that will prove useful in courtroom defense, investigating cheating spouses and suspicious employees, engaging in surveillance, taking photographs, videotaping clandestine encounters, searching out and questioning prospective witnesses, locating missing heirs, and rounding up facts, some of which turn out to be pertinent and admissible in court, others merely prurient but useful anyway. When I have gathered up all the necessary info, I sit down and write up a report. Occasionally, like today, I’m called to testify. A cursory knowledge of the law is essential, making the several years I spent at the University of Miami majoring in criminology not a total waste of time, despite my leaving before completing my degree. According to the online site where I secured my investigator’s license, it is part of my job description to be clever, well-informed, dogged, methodical, resourceful, and discreet. I try to be all of those things.
There’s a long lineup of people already waiting to pass through the metal detectors when I arrive at the courthouse, followed by an excruciatingly slow ride in a crowded elevator to the twenty-first floor. It seems almost laughable now to think that back when construction of this twenty-eight-story building was completed in 1928, it was not only the tallest building in Florida but the tallest building south of Ohio. Amazingly, its white limestone exterior still manages to stand out amid the largely indistinguishable glass structures that surround and dwarf it. Inside the building, it’s a different and less impressive story, the lobby still awaiting funds to complete its stalled refurbishing, the majority of courtrooms feeling as stale as they occasionally smell.
“State your name and occupation,” the county clerk directs as I take the stand and agree to tell the whole truth and nothing but.
“Bailey Carpenter. I’m an investigator with Holden, Cunningham, and Kravitz.”
“How are you, Bailey?” Sean Holden asks as I take my seat. Sean is not only my boss but one of the firm’s founding fathers and major stars, even though he’s only forty-two. I watch him do up the buttons of his blue pinstriped jacket, thinking what an impressive man he is. Not good-looking in the traditional sense, his features somewhat coarse, his hazel eyes small and a little too direct, his dark hair a bit too curly, his lips a touch too full. Just a little too much of everything, which is usually just more than enough to intimidate the hell out of the other side.
The case before the court is relatively simple: Our client, the owner of a local chain of successful bakeries, is being sued for wrongful dismissal by a former employee. He is countersuing, arguing that the woman was fired for divulging trade secrets to his chief competitor. The woman has already testified that her meetings with the competitor in question were totally innocent, that she and her husband have known him since childhood, and that their meetings, all of which are detailed in my report and already entered into evidence, were for the sole purpose of planning a surprise party for her husband’s fortieth birthday. She went on to volunteer that she is an honest woman who would never knowingly betray her employer’s trust. That was her mistake. Witnesses should never volunteer anything.
Sean asks me a number of seemingly innocuous, job-related questions before zeroing in on the reason I’m here. “You’re aware that Janice Elder has already testified under oath that she is, and I quote, ‘an honest woman incapable of such betrayal.’ ”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“And you’re here to refute that statement?”
“I have evidence that refutes both her assertion of honesty and that she is incapable of betrayal.”
The lawyer for the other side is immediately on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor.”
“Mrs. Elder opened the door to this line of questioning herself,” Sean states, and the judge quickly rules in his favor.
“You said that you have evidence that refutes both her assertion of honesty and that she is incapable of betrayal?” Sean asks, repeating what I have said, word for word.
“Yes, I do.”
“What is that evidence?”
I refer to my notes, although the truth is I don’t need them. Sean and I have been going over my testimony for days, and I know exactly what I’m going to say. “On the night of March 12, 2013,” I begin, “I followed Mrs. Elder to the Doubleday Hilton Hotel in Fort Lauderdale. . . .” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Janice Elder hastily conferring with her lawyer. I see the panic in her eyes.
“Objection,” her lawyer says again.
Again, he is overruled.
“Go on, Ms. Carpenter.”
“I watched her approach the reception desk and secure a room card. Room 214, registered to a Mr. Carl Segretti.”
“What the hell?” a man exclaims from the bench directly behind Mrs. Elder. He is Todd Elder, Janice’s husband, and he is already on his feet, a combination of shock and outrage causing his tanned skin to glow bright red, as if he has been set ablaze. “You’ve been sneaking around with Carl?”
“Objection, Your Honor. This has absolutely nothing to do with the case at hand.”
“On the contrary, Your Honor. . . .”
“You lying little bitch!”
“Order in the court.”
“You’ve been fucking my goddamn cousin?”
“Bailiff, remove that man.” The judge bangs on his gavel. “Court is recessed for thirty minutes.”
“Good work,” Sean remarks out of the corner of his mouth as I walk past him out of the courtroom, the hostility in Mrs. Elder’s eyes burning into my back like acid.
In the hallway I check my phone while waiting to see if I will be recalled to the stand. There is a message from Alissa Dunphy, a third-year associate at the firm, asking me to look into the possible reappearance of one Roland Peterson, a deadbeat dad who fled Miami some months ago rather than pay his ex-wife the several hundred thousand dollars he owes her in back alimony and child support.
“Well, that was a rather unpleasant surprise,” a voice behind me says as I’m dropping the phone back into my oversized canvas bag. The voice belongs to the lawyer representing Janice Elder. His name is Owen Weaver and I estimate his age as early thirties, which makes him just a few years older than me. I note that he has a mouthful of straight white teeth that don’t quite go with his engagingly crooked smile.
“Just doing my job,” I tell him, only half-apologetically.
“Do you have to do it so well?” The smile spreading from his lips to his soft brown eyes tells me we’re not really talking about the case at all. “Do me a favor,” he says.
“If I can.”
“Have dinner with me,” he continues, confirming my suspicions.
“What?”
“Dinner? With me? The restaurant of your choice? Saturday night?”
“You’re asking me out?”
“You’re surprised?”
“Well, under the circumstances . . .”
“You mean the fact that you just blew my case out of the water?”
“There is that.”
“We still have to eat.”
“There’s that, too.” The courtroom doors burst open and Sean Holden strides purposefully toward me. “If you’ll excuse me a minute . . . my boss . . .”
“Of course.” Owen Weaver reaches into the inside pocket of his navy jacket and hands me his card. “Call me.” He smiles, first at me, then at Sean. “Give me ten minutes with my client,” he tells him before moving away.
Sean nods. “What was that all about?”
I slip Owen’s card into my bag and shrug, as if to indicate our conversation was of no importance. Sean looks back toward the courtroom, my eyes following his. Mrs. Elder’s husband is standing alone and stone-faced beside the door, his fists clenched at his sides, his body muscular and coiled, ready to spring into action. He catches my glance and mouths the word bitch, transferring his fury at his wife to me. Not the first time misplaced anger has been pointed in my direction.
By the time court resumes half an hour later, Mrs. Elder has agreed to drop her suit if our client will do the same. Our client grumbles but ultimately gives in, and nobody leaves happy, which I’ve heard is the sign of a good compromise. At least Sean and I are pleased. “I have to run,” he tells me as we’re leaving the courthouse. “I’ll catch you later. And Bailey,” he adds, hailing down a passing cab and climbing inside. “Congratulations. You did real good.”
I watch the taxi disappear into traffic before hailing a cab of my own and returning to Biscayne Boulevard. Despite our victory in court, I’m feeling a bit let down. I guess I’d been hoping for something more than an ungrammatical pat on the back. A celebratory lunch would have been nice, I think as I locate my car in the underground garage and climb inside, unlocking the glove compartment and returning my gun to my purse, where it lands on top of Owen Weaver’s business card. I’m toying with taking him up on his offer. Since breaking up with my boyfriend, I’ve spent far too many Saturday nights alone.
I’m still debating whether to accept his invitation some twenty minutes later as I turn the corner onto Northeast 129 Street in North Miami. Parking my car on the quiet, residential street, I head toward the lemon-yellow building at the end of a row of similarly old-fashioned, pastel-colored, low-rise condos. This is where Sara McAllister lives. Sara was Roland Peterson’s girlfriend at the time he fled the city rather than support his children. My hunch is that Sara McAllister just might be the reason he came back, something I intend to find out.
Near the end of the street is an elongated circle of shrubbery, a spot both self-contained and secluded, despite its proximity to the road. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect surveillance spot. Taking a quick look around to make sure no one is watching, I retrieve my binoculars from my bag and slip into the middle of the bushes, dislodging several coral blossoms as I crouch among the flowers and raise the binoculars to my eyes. I aim them at the third-floor corner unit of the four-story building and adjust the lenses until they merge into a single image.
The drapes in Sara McAllister’s living room are open, but with the lights off, it’s difficult to make out much of the interior except for a white-shaded lamp positioned next to the window. The apartment appears to be empty, which isn’t surprising. Sara is a saleswoman at Nordstrom and usually works till six. I decide there’s little to be accomplished by hanging around now. It makes more sense to come back this evening.
I have two meetings scheduled for this afternoon as well as a backlog of paperwork to finish off. I also want to call my brother, Heath. It’s been a week since we’ve spoken, and I can’t stop worrying about him. I take one last, seemingly casual look around the old street, frozen in the sunlight as if it were frozen in time, as still as a photograph.
I’m pushing myself to my feet when I see something flash in a window across the way, a hint of someone moving just out of frame. Has someone been watching me?
I lift the binoculars back to my eyes but see no one. Professional paranoia, I decide, as I extricate myself from the bushes, brushing a fallen hibiscus blossom from the shoulder of my white blouse and swiping at the dirt clinging to my knees. I decide to change into more appropriate attire before coming back tonight, when I can use the darkness as a protective shield. I’m foolish enough to think it will keep me safe from prying eyes like mine.
Most helpful customer reviews
12 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
Who's watching whom?
By Sadie
This fictional story is the first person account of rape and its aftermath. I'm not spoiling by saying a rape happens because it happens early on and is the basis for the rest of the novel. Initially, I was turned off by it and thought I'd struggle getting through the book. However, that was not the case. I found the story engrossing and had trouble putting it down.
Bailey Carpenter is a private eye. Thanks to her deceased father, she's also extremely well off financially, which is important because it gives her the opportunity to hide away and not work after her attack. A subplot is that her father, who was married twice before her mother and had 5 children in those marriages, left his fortune to Bailey and her brother. So, they're being sued by their half-siblings for a piece of their father's estate. I's only after her attack that one of Bailey's half-sisters becomes her caregiver and confidant.
Nothing is as it appears as Bailey seems to see her attacker in every man she comes in contact with. She becomes obsessed with a man whose apartment she can see directly across from hers. She spies on him with her binoculars and is sure that he was the one who raped her. She calls the cops every time she believes that each man definitely had something to do with her rape. Not only does she offend all the men she comes in contact with, but the cops are beginning to dismiss her accusations as she becomes even more unstable.
Due to her extreme wealth, it was too easy for Bailey to cocoon herself after the rape. I kept wondering how this story would have played out if she was of moderate means and had to get up and get dressed and go to work each day. The outcome of the subplot was no surprise. I suspected it early on, and was actually disappointed when it turned out to be the case. I like to be surprised by the ending of a mystery. And, I was. Because the man who was the actual rapist is one you never see coming. Totally worth the read.
20 of 25 people found the following review helpful.
Gaslight, Anyone?
By BeatleBangs1964
Joy Fielding's books have always been a mixed bag for me. She has a talent for playing to the spectrum by writing truly heinous books like Whispers and Lies, which was singularly abominable as was Shadow Creek: A Novel; Lost (Fielding, Joy); Puppet and Missing Pieces to excellent books like Kiss Mommy Goodbye. Heartstopper: A Novel was really good. So were See Jane Run and Don't Cry Now.
That having been said, this book was one that kept me reading. I actually liked Bailey who is an investigator with a bloodhound sniffer and good instincts. Her life takes a major downturn after she survives being raped, which is a singularly horrific and traumatic experience. I liked her niece Jade who is a sharp little French bulldog to her bloodhound. (French bulls are high spirited, smart and lovable.)
Jade is really the only family Bailey has. Her brothers and sister Heath, Gene and Claire are alienated from her and upon their father's death the siblings are at loggerheads over the fact that only Bailey and Heath were the only ones who received an inheritance. Heath and Bailey had a good relationship and they were the ones who stood to gain regarding the inheritance. They have several half siblings who were excluded from the will and those excluded family members are hotly contesting this.
Claire was a surprise. She rushes to Bailey's defense as does her daughter, Jade. Her siblings remain locked in combat and turn jaundiced suspicious eyes Bailey's way. Her siblings don't do a darn single thing for Bailey when she falls on hard times.
After surviving rape, Bailey is determined to identify her attacker and rebuild her life. Her mental competence is called into question and she herself begins to doubt her own sanity. Bailey has among other issues to contend with the question of who among her immediate family members can she trust and are they what they seem to be. The family dynamics are interesting and I admit threw me off guard at least once.
Finding out the identity of the rapist was a big surprise. It was like a rabbit had been pulled out of a literary hat with very unlikely and very surprising results. This is one of Joy Fielding's better books.
9 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
She almost lost me, and then this happened...
By Jeri
Fielding almost lost me at the start of the book. The plot revolves around Bailey, who is gorgeous, lives in a luxury glass skyscraper in Miami, inherited a fortune from her father, and is currently having an affair with a married man. What's likeable about that picture? And speaking as a married woman, I'd rather have someone shoot me in the leg than wreck my marriage and have a divorce harm my children. So it was a struggle to like Bailey in the first chapter or so.
But wait. Only a few pages away from that first chapter, Bailey is raped.. Bailey's a private investigator, and she was checking out the activities of a suspect,. Crouching in the bushes, she hides from view without knowing how vulnerable she is.. It's late, a dark night, and the neighborhood around her is quiet, empty of other people.
The attack is sudden and brutal, the rape so savage it leaves her emotionally shattered. The police try to draw information out of her, but the rapist threw a pillowcase over her head, so Bailey can only recall a few, scant facts. A pair of Nike sneakers. The scent of spearmint mouthwash. A few words uttered against her ear.
The aftermath leaves Bailey panicked. She refuses to leave her condo. She takes shower after shower, and can hardly sleep, and when she does, nightmares terrify her. When she finally manages to step outside her home, every male she meets sends a shiver up her spine. Could he be the one? When a neighbor stares at her at the condo gym, she begins to run faster and faster on the machine, panicking to the point she crashes off the machine.
In such a fragile state, Bailey isn't able to make clear judgments about the people around her. And Bailey is fenced in by suspicious characters, perhaps all drawn more by her money than affection for her. She has a stepbrother who is suing her for having inherited the family money. But after hearing about the rape, suddenly, he shows up at her door, claiming to be worried about her. With him is Bailey's stepsister and her reckless teenage daughter, both of whom she had hardly seen before, but who are now solicitous.
Then there is her slacker pot-fogged brother, who is best friends with a long ago boyfriend of Bailey's, a boyfriend who did something to her that no boyfriend should do. Could her brother care about her and yet still try to talk her into seeing her this man?
Bailey, frightened and not knowing where to turn, stays in her condo. With not much else to do, she picks up binoculars and begins to watch her neighbors in the glass highrise nearby. One man in particular draws her attention.
Fielding is a terrific writer, and she knows how to ratchet up the suspense. All the characters that surround Bailey are believable, but all could have reason to harm her. You'll find yourself turning the pages quickly. And expect some twists.
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