Thrillers & Suspense
![Allie Reynolds - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_allie_reynolds.jpg)
The Swell
"Fast-paced, nail-bitingly tense and packed full of twists and turns. I found it unputdownable – loved it!"--Sarah Pearse, author of The Sanatorium
Point Break meets And Then There Were None in a pulse-pounding beach read that explores the dangerous ties between a group of elite surfers who are determined to find the perfect waves at any cost…even murder.
The waves are to die for.
Three years ago, passionate surfer Kenna Ward lost her two great loves-after her boyfriend drowned, she hung up her surfboard and swore off the water for good. But she is drawn back to the beach when her best friend, Mikki, announces her sudden engagement to a man Kenna has never met-a member of a tight-knit group of surfers. Kenna travels to a remote Australian beach, entering a dangerous world far from civilization where the waves, weather, and tides are all that matter. Kenna is tempted back into the surf, and drawn into the dazzling group and the beach they call their own.
But this coastal paradise has a dark side, and members of the group begin to go missing. Kenna realizes that in order to protect Mikki and learn more about the surfers, she must become one of them…without becoming one of their victims. What follows is an adrenaline-fueled thriller packed with twists and turns, exploring the dangerous edge between passion and obsession.
Point Break meets And Then There Were None in a pulse-pounding beach read that explores the dangerous ties between a group of elite surfers who are determined to find the perfect waves at any cost…even murder.
The waves are to die for.
Three years ago, passionate surfer Kenna Ward lost her two great loves-after her boyfriend drowned, she hung up her surfboard and swore off the water for good. But she is drawn back to the beach when her best friend, Mikki, announces her sudden engagement to a man Kenna has never met-a member of a tight-knit group of surfers. Kenna travels to a remote Australian beach, entering a dangerous world far from civilization where the waves, weather, and tides are all that matter. Kenna is tempted back into the surf, and drawn into the dazzling group and the beach they call their own.
But this coastal paradise has a dark side, and members of the group begin to go missing. Kenna realizes that in order to protect Mikki and learn more about the surfers, she must become one of them…without becoming one of their victims. What follows is an adrenaline-fueled thriller packed with twists and turns, exploring the dangerous edge between passion and obsession.
Editorial Reviews
"The holiday getaway takes a suspenseful turn."--Washington Post, "Summer Reading Picks"
"Pick up this adrenaline-pumping novel for a cast of unhinged, sinister surfers, a remote Australian beach and a woman caught in a deadly adventure."--Parade
"The author of Shiver moves from the mountains to the beach as a passionate surfer finds herself caught in a deadly adventure. An exhilarating, adrenaline-filled tale of surfing and rock scrambling."--Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"This fast-paced, suspenseful thriller with undertones of 'Survivor' contrasts an idyllic landscape with its savage inhabitants. Recommend this to fans of Ruth Ware, Lucy Foley, and Sarah Goodwin."--Booklist (starred review)
"We need more sports thrillers, so I'm glad Allie Reynolds, former professional athlete and author of the brilliant thriller Shiver, wrote The Swell."--Buzzfeed
"This pacy travel thriller delivers a secret community, a cast of hot surfers, and a classic dystopian sting in the tail."--Crimereads
"If you're looking for beach reads, it doesn't get any beachier than The Swell…Prepare to clear your schedule for this Agatha Christie-esque book."--Book Riot
"A compulsive page-turner. The hidden motives of this surf-worshipping cultish group of friends, who would do anything necessary to protect their hidden beach from the outside world, maintained a taut suspense that truly had me until the very last page."--Sally Thorne, author of The Hating Game
"A thrill-ride of a novel, The Swell brings together a cast of sinister characters on a remote, surf-pounded beach, where no one is what they seem. A high-octane, addictive summer read, perfect for your beach bag."--Lucy Clarke, author of One of the Girls
"The Swell is a delicious blend of travel and danger, a surfer's paradise of a book with a razor-sharp menace just under the surface."--Roz Nay, author of The Hunted
"The Swell is like an unhinged adult surfer Lord Of The Flies<...
"Pick up this adrenaline-pumping novel for a cast of unhinged, sinister surfers, a remote Australian beach and a woman caught in a deadly adventure."--Parade
"The author of Shiver moves from the mountains to the beach as a passionate surfer finds herself caught in a deadly adventure. An exhilarating, adrenaline-filled tale of surfing and rock scrambling."--Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"This fast-paced, suspenseful thriller with undertones of 'Survivor' contrasts an idyllic landscape with its savage inhabitants. Recommend this to fans of Ruth Ware, Lucy Foley, and Sarah Goodwin."--Booklist (starred review)
"We need more sports thrillers, so I'm glad Allie Reynolds, former professional athlete and author of the brilliant thriller Shiver, wrote The Swell."--Buzzfeed
"This pacy travel thriller delivers a secret community, a cast of hot surfers, and a classic dystopian sting in the tail."--Crimereads
"If you're looking for beach reads, it doesn't get any beachier than The Swell…Prepare to clear your schedule for this Agatha Christie-esque book."--Book Riot
"A compulsive page-turner. The hidden motives of this surf-worshipping cultish group of friends, who would do anything necessary to protect their hidden beach from the outside world, maintained a taut suspense that truly had me until the very last page."--Sally Thorne, author of The Hating Game
"A thrill-ride of a novel, The Swell brings together a cast of sinister characters on a remote, surf-pounded beach, where no one is what they seem. A high-octane, addictive summer read, perfect for your beach bag."--Lucy Clarke, author of One of the Girls
"The Swell is a delicious blend of travel and danger, a surfer's paradise of a book with a razor-sharp menace just under the surface."--Roz Nay, author of The Hunted
"The Swell is like an unhinged adult surfer Lord Of The Flies<...
Readers Top Reviews
Short Excerpt Teaser
1. KENNA
Hey, you!" A blonde woman holds a flyer in my direction. "Take one please!"
A slight accent: Dutch or Swedish or something.
I blink, dazzled by the sunlight after the shade of the train station. Why is it so bright? It feels like the middle of the night.
"Best Thai food!" shouts a young man.
"Looking for a room?" calls a girl with multiple facial piercings.
The touts stand there, holding their ground-or trying to-in the stream of people flooding from the station. Sydney may be on the other side of the world, but so far, arriving here is little different to arriving in London or Paris.
My heavy backpack makes me unsteady on my feet. The Thai restaurant guy tries to give me a flyer, but I have my travel card in one hand and my daypack in the other so I shrug in apology and step around him.
"Happy hour!" shouts another voice. "Six-dollar schooners."
As I'm wondering what a schooner could be, a hand grips my wrist. The Dutch woman. She's fiftyish with dark blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Pretty, or she would be if her face wasn't taut and unsmiling. I want to pull free and walk on-ignore her like everyone else-but the desperation in her eyes stops me. I glance at her flyers.
Missing! Elke Hartmann, German national.
The photo shows a smiling blonde girl clutching a surfboard.
"My daughter." The woman's voice is raw.
Not Dutch then. I'm hopeless with accents. The tide of people divide and merge around us as I skim the flyer. Elke is twenty-nine-a year younger than me-and she's been missing for six months. I offer a tight smile of sympathy. I hope the bus stop isn't far because this backpack weighs a ton.
A briefcase bashes my calf. I spot the clock on the wall. Half past five: the evening rush hour. The realization makes my brain hurt. I can never sleep on planes. I've been awake for two whole days.
"Have you ever lost someone you love?" the woman asks.
I turn back to her. Because I have. Lost someone.
"She was backpacking here." The woman nods at my bags. "Like you."
I'm not backpacking, I want to tell her, but she doesn't give me a chance.
"They're in a foreign country and they don't know anyone. If they disappear, it's days before anyone notices. They're easy targets."
With the final word, her voice cracks. She lowers her head, shoulders shaking. I drape my arms awkwardly around her. My palms are damp; I don't want to ruin her blouse. I need to get going, but I haven't got the heart to leave her like this. Should I take her somewhere-buy her a cup of tea? But I want to get to Mikki's place before it gets dark. I'll give her a minute and hope she cries herself out.
Office workers file past. The women seem better groomed than their British counterparts: all glossy hair and tanned legs in heels and short skirts. The men wear their shirts with the sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone, suit jackets slung over their shoulders, ties nowhere in sight.
Sweat pools under my armpits. This sticky humidity, Mikki always moaned about it: Nearly as bad as Japan. It's March, the Australian autumn, and I hadn't expected it to be this hot.
I watch the touts handing out flyers. The Thai restaurant guy offers a flyer to anyone who'll take one, but the others seem to be targeting backpackers. With their oversized backpacks and milk-white or sunburnt limbs, they stand out a mile. Easy targets.
Elke's mother sniffs. "Sorry." She hunts through her handbag and pulls out tissues.
"No problem," I say. "Are you okay?"
She dabs her eyes, sheepish now. "I let you go. But you be careful, yes?"
"I will. And don't worry about me. I'm not a backpacker. I'm here to visit a friend. She's getting married."
"Oh, my apologies. She'll be expecting you."
"Yes," I say.
She isn't, though.
2. KENNA
I'm going to kill you!" Mikki says.
I stand on her doorstep, hunched under the weight of my backpack. "I knew you'd be mad."
Freckles pepper Mikki's cheeks and forehead. Her long hair, previously glossy and black, is matted and burned brown by the Australian sun. The flowering tree beside her front door scents the night air with an exotic smell, highlighting the fact that I'm on the other side of the world.
She's looking at me as though she can't decide if she's happy to see me or not. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Because you told me not to come. But we won't get into that yet. "I tri...
Hey, you!" A blonde woman holds a flyer in my direction. "Take one please!"
A slight accent: Dutch or Swedish or something.
I blink, dazzled by the sunlight after the shade of the train station. Why is it so bright? It feels like the middle of the night.
"Best Thai food!" shouts a young man.
"Looking for a room?" calls a girl with multiple facial piercings.
The touts stand there, holding their ground-or trying to-in the stream of people flooding from the station. Sydney may be on the other side of the world, but so far, arriving here is little different to arriving in London or Paris.
My heavy backpack makes me unsteady on my feet. The Thai restaurant guy tries to give me a flyer, but I have my travel card in one hand and my daypack in the other so I shrug in apology and step around him.
"Happy hour!" shouts another voice. "Six-dollar schooners."
As I'm wondering what a schooner could be, a hand grips my wrist. The Dutch woman. She's fiftyish with dark blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Pretty, or she would be if her face wasn't taut and unsmiling. I want to pull free and walk on-ignore her like everyone else-but the desperation in her eyes stops me. I glance at her flyers.
Missing! Elke Hartmann, German national.
The photo shows a smiling blonde girl clutching a surfboard.
"My daughter." The woman's voice is raw.
Not Dutch then. I'm hopeless with accents. The tide of people divide and merge around us as I skim the flyer. Elke is twenty-nine-a year younger than me-and she's been missing for six months. I offer a tight smile of sympathy. I hope the bus stop isn't far because this backpack weighs a ton.
A briefcase bashes my calf. I spot the clock on the wall. Half past five: the evening rush hour. The realization makes my brain hurt. I can never sleep on planes. I've been awake for two whole days.
"Have you ever lost someone you love?" the woman asks.
I turn back to her. Because I have. Lost someone.
"She was backpacking here." The woman nods at my bags. "Like you."
I'm not backpacking, I want to tell her, but she doesn't give me a chance.
"They're in a foreign country and they don't know anyone. If they disappear, it's days before anyone notices. They're easy targets."
With the final word, her voice cracks. She lowers her head, shoulders shaking. I drape my arms awkwardly around her. My palms are damp; I don't want to ruin her blouse. I need to get going, but I haven't got the heart to leave her like this. Should I take her somewhere-buy her a cup of tea? But I want to get to Mikki's place before it gets dark. I'll give her a minute and hope she cries herself out.
Office workers file past. The women seem better groomed than their British counterparts: all glossy hair and tanned legs in heels and short skirts. The men wear their shirts with the sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone, suit jackets slung over their shoulders, ties nowhere in sight.
Sweat pools under my armpits. This sticky humidity, Mikki always moaned about it: Nearly as bad as Japan. It's March, the Australian autumn, and I hadn't expected it to be this hot.
I watch the touts handing out flyers. The Thai restaurant guy offers a flyer to anyone who'll take one, but the others seem to be targeting backpackers. With their oversized backpacks and milk-white or sunburnt limbs, they stand out a mile. Easy targets.
Elke's mother sniffs. "Sorry." She hunts through her handbag and pulls out tissues.
"No problem," I say. "Are you okay?"
She dabs her eyes, sheepish now. "I let you go. But you be careful, yes?"
"I will. And don't worry about me. I'm not a backpacker. I'm here to visit a friend. She's getting married."
"Oh, my apologies. She'll be expecting you."
"Yes," I say.
She isn't, though.
2. KENNA
I'm going to kill you!" Mikki says.
I stand on her doorstep, hunched under the weight of my backpack. "I knew you'd be mad."
Freckles pepper Mikki's cheeks and forehead. Her long hair, previously glossy and black, is matted and burned brown by the Australian sun. The flowering tree beside her front door scents the night air with an exotic smell, highlighting the fact that I'm on the other side of the world.
She's looking at me as though she can't decide if she's happy to see me or not. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Because you told me not to come. But we won't get into that yet. "I tri...
