Thrillers & Suspense
![Ruth Ware - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B00OA8QDT0.jpg)
Zero Days
The New York Times bestselling "new Agatha Christie" (Air Mail) Ruth Ware returns with this adrenaline-fueled thriller that combines Mr. and Mrs. Smith with The Fugitive about a woman in a race against time to clear her name and find her husband's murderer.
Hired by companies to break into buildings and hack security systems, Jack and her husband, Gabe, are the best penetration specialists in the business. But after a routine assignment goes horribly wrong, Jack arrives home to find her husband dead. To add to her horror, the police are closing in on their suspect-her.
Suddenly on the run and quickly running out of options, Jack must decide who she can trust as she circles closer to the real killer in this unputdownable and heart-pounding mystery from an author whose "propulsive prose keeps readers on the hook and refuses to let anyone off until all has been revealed" (Shelf Awareness).
Hired by companies to break into buildings and hack security systems, Jack and her husband, Gabe, are the best penetration specialists in the business. But after a routine assignment goes horribly wrong, Jack arrives home to find her husband dead. To add to her horror, the police are closing in on their suspect-her.
Suddenly on the run and quickly running out of options, Jack must decide who she can trust as she circles closer to the real killer in this unputdownable and heart-pounding mystery from an author whose "propulsive prose keeps readers on the hook and refuses to let anyone off until all has been revealed" (Shelf Awareness).
Editorial Reviews
"This is Ruth Ware like you've never read her before. A pulse-pounding opening launches you into a cat and mouse game of deadly intrigue that will push Jack Cross, Ware's new, superb heroine, to her absolute limits. A rocket ride that will satisfy the biggest thriller addicts out there." -#1 New York Times bestselling author David Baldacci
"It's exciting to watch Jack do what she does best: inveigle her way into places she doesn't belong, escape at the last moment in panic mixed with exhilaration . . . [Readers] will be rewarded with a satisfying and surprising denouement." -The Wall Street Journal
"Ware's latest thriller will not disappoint, different as it is from some of her earlier books . . . The action and tension are relentless from the opening to the conclusion, which will astonish, but certainly not dismay, readers, who will be captivated by this very original and very real protagonist. It has been said that in Ruth Ware's books the pages just turn themselves. She has been heralded as ‘the new Agatha Christie' for good reason." -Booklist (Starred Review)
"From its resourceful, resilient protagonist to its seamlessly constructed, au courant plot, everything about Ware's newest novel is guaranteed to keep her fans up way past their bedtimes."-The Library Journal (Starred Review)
"A superb suspense writer . . . Brava, Ruth Ware." -Fresh Air's Maureen Corrigan for The Washington Post
"Diabolically clever." -Riley Sager, author of FINAL GIRLS
"Ruth Ware-one of our favorite thriller writers-is bringing down the house . . ." -theSkimm
"Ruth Ware proves she's the true heir to Wilkie Collins. Creepy, engrossing, and oh-so-hard to put down." -JP Delaney, New York Times bestselling author of THE GIRL BEFORE
"Pure suspense, from the first gripping page to the last shocking twist." -Erin Kelly, bestselling author of HE SAID/SHE SAID
"A superb suspense writer . . . Ware is a master at signaling the presence of evil at the most mundane moments. . . ." -Washington Post Book World
"The definition of ‘unputdownable'…" -Refinery29
"It's exciting to watch Jack do what she does best: inveigle her way into places she doesn't belong, escape at the last moment in panic mixed with exhilaration . . . [Readers] will be rewarded with a satisfying and surprising denouement." -The Wall Street Journal
"Ware's latest thriller will not disappoint, different as it is from some of her earlier books . . . The action and tension are relentless from the opening to the conclusion, which will astonish, but certainly not dismay, readers, who will be captivated by this very original and very real protagonist. It has been said that in Ruth Ware's books the pages just turn themselves. She has been heralded as ‘the new Agatha Christie' for good reason." -Booklist (Starred Review)
"From its resourceful, resilient protagonist to its seamlessly constructed, au courant plot, everything about Ware's newest novel is guaranteed to keep her fans up way past their bedtimes."-The Library Journal (Starred Review)
"A superb suspense writer . . . Brava, Ruth Ware." -Fresh Air's Maureen Corrigan for The Washington Post
"Diabolically clever." -Riley Sager, author of FINAL GIRLS
"Ruth Ware-one of our favorite thriller writers-is bringing down the house . . ." -theSkimm
"Ruth Ware proves she's the true heir to Wilkie Collins. Creepy, engrossing, and oh-so-hard to put down." -JP Delaney, New York Times bestselling author of THE GIRL BEFORE
"Pure suspense, from the first gripping page to the last shocking twist." -Erin Kelly, bestselling author of HE SAID/SHE SAID
"A superb suspense writer . . . Ware is a master at signaling the presence of evil at the most mundane moments. . . ." -Washington Post Book World
"The definition of ‘unputdownable'…" -Refinery29
Readers Top Reviews
G. PinkJudith D.
I am a big Ruth Ware fan and preordered the book and Kindle version. I found myself flipping ahead as the plot was a bit drawn out and predictable. I don't want to give away any spoilers, it just wasn't my favorite of her more well crated suspense novels.
William de RhamCh
Those new to thrillers may enjoy “Zero Days” a great deal. Author Ruth Ware puts her heroine “under the gun” and keeps her there, piling challenge upon challenge and disaster upon disaster in order to keep readers turning the pages. But those familiar with the genre have probably seen this story more than once before, to wit: hero/heroine wrongfully accused of spousal murder escapes police custody to catch the real killer all the while attempting to avoid recapture. Unfortunately, this iteration of that story is marred by various flaws. The characters are stock and not all that compelling. While the writing is competent and clear, it includes lots of melodrama and repetition, so much so that one wonders whether the manuscript was ever edited for content. (I mean, how many times must we read about the MC’s dead husband reassuring her (in her head): “Babe, you got this!” whenever she’s in trouble?) The story is very predictable. (I often knew what was going to happen several or many pages before it did.) And the plot relies on tech details that are not very well explained. (For example, I’d no idea what a “pen tester” does, and it took a while to figure out. And I’m still struggling to understand some of the things one can and can’t do with cell phones.) The promotional materials call “Zero Days” “gripping,” “diabolically clever,” “a rocket ride,” and “unputdownable.” I’m afraid that’s a bit of an "oversell." While “Zero Days” is not a bad book, its flaws prevent it from living up to its hype. Good for the plane, beach, or pool, and that's about it.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
The wall around the perimeter was child's play. Six feet, but no spikes or barbed wire on the top. Barbed wire is my nemesis. There's a reason they use it in war zones.
At five foot two I couldn't quite reach to pull myself up, so I scaled a nearby tree with a sturdy branch overhanging the car park, lowered myself until my feet made contact with the top of the wall, and then ran softly along it to a place where I could drop down out of sight of the CCTV cameras that circled the building at intervals.
On the other side of the car park was the fire door Gabe had described, and it looked promising. A standard half-glazed door with a horizontal release bar on the inside. I saw with satisfaction that it was poorly fitted, with a gap at the bottom that you could practically get your hand through. It was the work of about thirty seconds to slip my long metal slider underneath, swing it up so the hook caught on the bar, and pull firmly down. The door opened and I held my breath, waiting for the alarm-fire doors are always risky like that-but none came.
Inside, the lights flicked on automatically-big fluorescent squares in a tiled ceiling that stretched away into the darkness like a chessboard. The far end of the corridor was still pitch-black, the sensors there not yet picking up my movement, but the section I was in was bright as day, and I stood, letting my eyes adjust to the glare.
Lights are a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they're a huge red flag to anyone monitoring the security cameras. There's nothing like a screen lighting up like Christmas to catch a security guard's eye and make them glance up from their phone. But you can sometimes style it out if you're caught walking confidently around a building at night when the lights are on. It's much harder to explain your presence if you're creeping along an unlit corridor with a torch. You might as well be wearing a striped T-shirt and carrying a bag marked Loot.
Right now it was 10:20 p.m. and I was wearing my "office" clothes-black trousers which looked like they could be the bottom half of a suit but were actually stretchier and more breathable than any regular office wear, a dark blue blouse, and a black blazer that was standard, off-the-rack from Gap. On my feet were black Converse, and I had a gray Fjällräven backpack slung over my shoulder.
Only my hair was out of place. This month it was dyed a fluorescent scarlet that wasn't close to any natural shade and didn't really fit in with the slightly stuffy atmosphere of this company-an insurance group called Arden Alliance. Gabe had suggested a wig, but wigs were always a risk, and besides, I was getting into character. Jen-I had decided my imaginary office worker was called Jen-worked in customer services but had fond memories of her gap year after university and still thought she was a little bit cool. Jen might have buckled down to achieve promotion, but her hair was the last flicker of a personality she hadn't quite abandoned to the nine-to-five. That, and perhaps a touch too much liquid eyeliner, plus a tattoo on her shoulder blade that said stick 'em with the pointy end.
The eyeliner was real-I didn't feel properly dressed without a smooth flick of Nyx Epic Ink. The university degree was imaginary. So was the tattoo. I wasn't sufficiently into Game of Thrones to ink it, though admittedly if I had been, Arya was the best character.
Jen had been working late, lost track of time, and was heading hurriedly home for the weekend. Hence the comfortable shoes. The backpack was for her office heels-although that was where my role play broke down. Jen might keep heels in her backpack. Mine was full of housebreaking tools and computer equipment loaded with some deeply shady software Gabe had downloaded from the dark web.
I walked softly down the corridor, my rubber soles silent on the carpet, trying to look as though I belonged here. On either side were the doors of empty offices, just the occasional LED glowing in the darkness where people had failed to turn their computers off properly for the weekend.
A photocopier in an alcove blinked hypnotically and I stopped, glancing up and down the hallway. It was illuminated behind me but dark around the corner up ahead, the motion sensors not yet detecting my presence. So much the better-the lights might alert security, but that worked both ways. The guards were unlikely to be coming from behind me; that corridor was a dead end out to the car park. If they came from up ahead, the lights flickering on would give me enough warning to double back or duck into one o...
The wall around the perimeter was child's play. Six feet, but no spikes or barbed wire on the top. Barbed wire is my nemesis. There's a reason they use it in war zones.
At five foot two I couldn't quite reach to pull myself up, so I scaled a nearby tree with a sturdy branch overhanging the car park, lowered myself until my feet made contact with the top of the wall, and then ran softly along it to a place where I could drop down out of sight of the CCTV cameras that circled the building at intervals.
On the other side of the car park was the fire door Gabe had described, and it looked promising. A standard half-glazed door with a horizontal release bar on the inside. I saw with satisfaction that it was poorly fitted, with a gap at the bottom that you could practically get your hand through. It was the work of about thirty seconds to slip my long metal slider underneath, swing it up so the hook caught on the bar, and pull firmly down. The door opened and I held my breath, waiting for the alarm-fire doors are always risky like that-but none came.
Inside, the lights flicked on automatically-big fluorescent squares in a tiled ceiling that stretched away into the darkness like a chessboard. The far end of the corridor was still pitch-black, the sensors there not yet picking up my movement, but the section I was in was bright as day, and I stood, letting my eyes adjust to the glare.
Lights are a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they're a huge red flag to anyone monitoring the security cameras. There's nothing like a screen lighting up like Christmas to catch a security guard's eye and make them glance up from their phone. But you can sometimes style it out if you're caught walking confidently around a building at night when the lights are on. It's much harder to explain your presence if you're creeping along an unlit corridor with a torch. You might as well be wearing a striped T-shirt and carrying a bag marked Loot.
Right now it was 10:20 p.m. and I was wearing my "office" clothes-black trousers which looked like they could be the bottom half of a suit but were actually stretchier and more breathable than any regular office wear, a dark blue blouse, and a black blazer that was standard, off-the-rack from Gap. On my feet were black Converse, and I had a gray Fjällräven backpack slung over my shoulder.
Only my hair was out of place. This month it was dyed a fluorescent scarlet that wasn't close to any natural shade and didn't really fit in with the slightly stuffy atmosphere of this company-an insurance group called Arden Alliance. Gabe had suggested a wig, but wigs were always a risk, and besides, I was getting into character. Jen-I had decided my imaginary office worker was called Jen-worked in customer services but had fond memories of her gap year after university and still thought she was a little bit cool. Jen might have buckled down to achieve promotion, but her hair was the last flicker of a personality she hadn't quite abandoned to the nine-to-five. That, and perhaps a touch too much liquid eyeliner, plus a tattoo on her shoulder blade that said stick 'em with the pointy end.
The eyeliner was real-I didn't feel properly dressed without a smooth flick of Nyx Epic Ink. The university degree was imaginary. So was the tattoo. I wasn't sufficiently into Game of Thrones to ink it, though admittedly if I had been, Arya was the best character.
Jen had been working late, lost track of time, and was heading hurriedly home for the weekend. Hence the comfortable shoes. The backpack was for her office heels-although that was where my role play broke down. Jen might keep heels in her backpack. Mine was full of housebreaking tools and computer equipment loaded with some deeply shady software Gabe had downloaded from the dark web.
I walked softly down the corridor, my rubber soles silent on the carpet, trying to look as though I belonged here. On either side were the doors of empty offices, just the occasional LED glowing in the darkness where people had failed to turn their computers off properly for the weekend.
A photocopier in an alcove blinked hypnotically and I stopped, glancing up and down the hallway. It was illuminated behind me but dark around the corner up ahead, the motion sensors not yet detecting my presence. So much the better-the lights might alert security, but that worked both ways. The guards were unlikely to be coming from behind me; that corridor was a dead end out to the car park. If they came from up ahead, the lights flickering on would give me enough warning to double back or duck into one o...
