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Summary
Summary
From Allison Leotta, the "highly entertaining storyteller" (George Pelecanos) who writes "in a style that's as real as it gets" ( USA TODAY ), a ripped-from-the-headlines novel featuring prosecutor Anna Curtis at the center of a national story involving campus rape and the disappearance of a young woman.
It was her word against his...until she disappeared.
Emily Shapiro has gone missing. A freshman at a Michigan university, Emily was last seen leaving a bar near Beta Psi, a prestigious and secretive fraternity. The main suspect is Dylan Highsmith, the son of one of the most powerful politicians in the state. At first, the only clue is pieced-together surveillance footage of Emily leaving the bar that night...and Dylan running down the street after her.
When prosecutor Anna Curtis discovers a video diary Emily kept during her first few months at college, it exposes the history Emily had with Dylan: she accused him of rape before disappearing. Anna is horrified to discover that Dylan's frat is known on campus as the "rape factory."
The case soon gets media attention and support from Title IX activists across the country, but Anna's investigation hits a wall. Anna has to find something, anything she can use to discover Emily alive. But without a body or any physical evidence, she's under threat from people who tell her to stop before she ruins the name of an innocent young man.
Inspired by real-life stories, The Last Good Girl shines a light on campus rape and the powerful emotional dynamics that affect the families of the men and women on both sides.
Author Notes
Allison Leotta was a federal sex-crimes prosecutor in Washington, DC, for twelve years. In 2011, she left the Justice Department to pursue writing full time. She is the acclaimed author of Law of Attraction , Discretion , Speak of the Devil , A Good Killing , and The Last Good Girl and founder of the award-winning blog, The Prime-Time Crime Review. Leotta lives with her husband, Michael, and their two sons outside of Washington, DC. Visit her online at AllisonLeotta.com.
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
A missing person's case preoccupies Anna Curtis in Leotta's unconvincing fifth thriller featuring the Washington, D.C., federal prosecutor (after 2015's A Good Killing). While on a trip to Michigan to see her sister, Anna learns that college student Emily Shapiro, whose father is the president of Tower University, has disappeared, last seen on video in a confrontation with fellow student Dylan Highsmith, who also has a high-powered father, Michigan's lieutenant governor. Alison had accused Dylan of rape. Dylan, the epitome of sleaze, inappropriately touches Anna when she visits his fraternity house with her FBI agent friend, Samantha Randazzo. One of Dylan's frat buddies turns out to be the younger brother of Anna's new love interest, Cooper Bolden. Sections transcribed from Emily's video log slow the pace, and jarring improbabilities-a nurse at a rehab facility freely provides details of a student's treatment to Anna, who doesn't even have to show the nurse an ID-don't help the suspension of disbelief. Agent: Amy Berkower, Writers House. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
School Library Journal Review
When Emily Shapiro attends her first frat party as a college freshman, she is raped. She believes fraternity president Dylan put something in her drink, but no one believes her. He is the son of Michigan's lieutenant governor and a campus do-gooder, while she is the university president's daughter. Months later, an argument between Emily and Dylan is caught on security footage and Emily goes missing. Luckily, assistant U.S. attorney Anna Curtis is visiting her hometown and agrees to prosecute the case against Dylan as part of a Department of Justice task force investigating sexual assaults on college campuses. With the help of FBI Agent Samantha Randazzo and the rest of her team, Anna fights small-town corruption, college donor privilege, and campus sexism to find justice for the young women who have been hurt by the fraternity known on campus as the "rape factory." While this book is the fifth in the series, it can also be read as a stand-alone. Teens will identify with Emily-she has such high hopes for her freshman year at a school she's always loved. Teens will vilify Dylan, too, and they'll root for Anna to take him and the fraternity down. VERDICT Teen fans of Jodi Picoult's novels and Jon Krakauer's Missoula will speed through this riveting tale about campus rape.-Sarah Hill, Lake Land College, Mattoon ILl © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Leotta's spunky heroine, federal lawyer Anna Curtis, takes on the timely topic of rape on college campuses and discovers an ugly underbelly in the academic system. Anna moved home to the Detroit area to help her sister, Jody, who now has a baby of her own. The sisters are living with Anna's friend Cooper and his PTSD dog, Sparky, on an urban farm in Detroit. Anna's conflicted, though, because she's broken her engagement to handsome federal prosecutor Jack, and she's not sure of her feelings for Cooper, who was badly wounded while in the service. But she has to put her personal life on hold when college student Emily Shapiro goes missing soon after accusing a fraternity boy, who also happens to be the son of the state's lieutenant governor, of raping her. Dylan Highsmith is both wealthy and without shame when it comes to his exploits with women. When Jack recruits Anna to work on a task force investigating Emily's disappearance, she's reunited with her FBI buddy, Agent Samantha Randazzo. Together, the two women race against the clock to find the missing girl and stop college officials from shoving the issue under the carpet. Anna has become a better-rounded and more interesting character since Leotta (Speak of the Devil, 2013, etc.) moved her back to the Detroit area, and while this book is a timely look at a subject that's making headlines across the country, it's a bumpy read. The college boy, Dylan, is almost a parody of a rich bad boy, Emily's parents are unbelievable in their reactions to their daughter's disappearance, and former love Jack's sudden emergence in Detroit come across as contrived. The book is also dotted with information about rape on college campuses that makes it feel like the author's simply slotting in Internet search results instead of prose. Billed as "ripped from the headlines," Leotta's latest proves entertaining enough but feels more like a book that's ripped from Google. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
In Leotta's fifth series entry (after A Good Killing), Washington, DC, sex crimes prosecutor Anna Curtis is visiting her sister in Michigan when Jack, her ex-fiancé, asks her to help out on a task force investigating assaults on the state's college campuses. Freshman Emily Shapiro, whose father is the university president, has gone missing. Circumstances surrounding her disappearance implicate Dylan Highsmith, a popular fraternity member and the son of Michigan's lieutenant governor. Emily's video diary purports she was raped earlier in the semester and even details Dylan's disciplinary hearing at which Emily testified. As Anna and Jack probe the case, they uncover a corrupt academic system, complicated family dynamics, and crime scene evidence that isn't necessarily what it seems. VERDICT Fast paced with strong, vivid characters, this installment succeeds as a stand-alone, so readers new to the Anna Curtis series can easily follow. With a focus on a timely, important issue, this will be high on the to-read list of readers who appreciate the works of Lisa -Scottoline, Linda A. Fairstein, and Gillian Flynn.-Carolann Curry, Mercer Univ. Lib., Macon, GA © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
The Last Good Girl 1 The guy had beautiful white teeth and a dimple that appeared when she made him laugh, but all Emily could think was, College is where romance goes to die. They stood on prime real estate, belly-up to the bar at Lucky's, pressed together by the swell of bodies around them. The air was thick with sweated perfume, cheap beer, and the recycled breath of hundreds of young adults in their sexual prime. The boy drained his Bud, set the bottle on the bar, and issued a mating call. "Wanna do shots?" Translation: Wanna get wasted, get laid, get out of my bed, and never to talk to me again? There were no boyfriends in college. There were only hookups. Emily smiled at the boy, tilting her head cutely to the side. To the world, she probably looked like any other carefree girl basking in a Friday night. It made her wonder how many of these girls were just like her. Pretending. Maybe all of them, in one way or another. "Sure," she said. The dimple reappeared. The boy turned to wave over a bartender. Over the hum of conversation and Pitbull, Emily heard the bells of the clock tower outside, striking midnight. Twelve solemn bongs marking the start of March 24, 2015. She'd heard those bells chiming on the hour, every hour, her entire life. As a girl, she'd lain in her pretty pink bedroom listening to their bass chimes, wondering what it'd be like when she was a college student herself, the adventures and grown-up secrets that would finally be revealed to her like beautiful presents to be unwrapped, one by one. That seemed like a very long time ago. Tonight, the chimes meant Dylan and his friends would walk into the bar soon. She had to get out of here. The bartender delivered two shot glasses filled with shimmery blue potion. "I'm sorry," she told the boy. "You're totally nailing the horny-but-caring-frat-boy thing. Maybe put your hand gently on my shoulder when you look in my eyes? Try it on one of them." She gestured to all the shiny, uncomplicated girls who thought their prince was behind the next $1 pitcher of beer. Emily missed being one of them. "I gotta go." She picked up the first shot glass and downed the blue drink, then shotgunned the second one too. She tossed a twenty on the bar, grabbed her white North Face jacket, and threaded her way through the crowd. Preya and the other girls were somewhere in here, but Emily couldn't see them. Wrapping her silvery scarf around her neck, she pushed out the front door and into the quiet night. She coughed on the cold air. March was Michigan's ugliest month. Dirty snow huddled at the curb, trapped in the purgatory between white powder and the warm April sun. Across the street, the bell tower shone like a warning as its twelfth chime echoed over shivering trees. The night seeped through Emily's sweater, pulling goose bumps from her skin. She shuddered, zipped her jacket, and looked down the street--right at what she feared most. A raucous bunch of Beta Psi boys rounded the corner. Dylan was in front, of course. He was the alpha dog in any pack of males. Tall and swaggering, dressed in clothes that were both effortlessly casual and painfully expensive, he could be a poster boy for fratty privilege. The other guys clustered around him, vying for position. Emily froze a few feet from the entrance to Lucky's. Its cone of light still surrounded her. Dylan's eyes locked on hers. He smiled, walked over, and stood in her space. Too close. The other boys formed a semicircle around her. She felt unsteady. "I don't want any trouble," she said. "Doesn't seem that way," Dylan drawled. "Seems like you're doing everything you can to stir the pot." "Whore," said one of Dylan's minions. The kid snorted, cocked back his head, and spat. His phlegm arced through the air, reflecting the light from the bar's neon signs, glittering and ugly. Everyone watched the loogie as it hung suspended for a moment at the top of its arc. Then it headed back down and splatted on her boot. The boys' laughter was loud and vicious. Anger pulsed through her gut, more acidic than any shot at Lucky's. "You're disgusting," she told Dylan. "And you can't even fight your own fights." Dylan frowned at his friends, and they stilled. Their silence was more ominous than their laughter. Emily was keenly aware that she could not control this situation. "Head in," Dylan told the other guys. "I'll be right there." "You sure, dude?" "Yeah." The boys did what they were told. Music pulsed then quieted as the bar's door swung open and shut. Emily tried to move away, too, but Dylan's hand clamped onto her arm. They faced each other, a boy and a girl alone on an empty stretch of sidewalk, breathing fog into the night. "Have you thought about what you're doing?" he said. "Like, really thought about it? Because, it's kinda crazy that this is how you want to play it." "I'm not playing." His fingers squeezed her arm through the puffy coat. "You know what this means for you? You are done." "Oh, Dylan." She smiled. "I'm just beginning. I'm writing an editorial too. It'll be in next week's Tower Times." "Bitch," he said slowly. "My family will end you." "I know who your family is. And pretty soon they'll know who you are too." Emily yanked away her arm away and strode off, warmed with the satisfaction that her words had cut him. For a moment, she heard nothing but the sound of her footsteps clacking triumphantly on the pavement. The whisper of wind through trees. A car passing, its tires slicing through salty slush. Then footsteps, sharp and angry, behind her. She glanced back. Dylan was following her. "Leave me alone!" she yelled. He strode faster. His hands were fists. On her left were shops, closed for the night--dark. On her right was North Campus Street, then campus itself--darker. Trees, dorms, the library. A little farther in was the president's house and the pretty pink bedroom of her childhood. None of these places offered safety. Ahead, the lights from the shops ended in a yawning stretch of black. It was a block-long hole dug out for construction, surrounded by a chain-link fence. Students called it the Pit. She hugged her purse and tried to walk faster, but her ankle-high boots had disastrously high heels. Dylan wore rubber-soled boat shoes. The slap of his footsteps grew louder, closer. She broke into a run. So did he. She looked over her shoulder--he was right behind her. Wind whipped her long brown hair into her eyes. She shoved it back, stumbled, and pushed herself harder. She was running as fast as she could when she felt his breath on her neck. Excerpted from The Last Good Girl: A Novel by Allison Leotta All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.