Katherine Carlyle

I had to read it three times to make sure: on page 21 of the novel that bears her name, Katherine Carlyle leans over the side of Rome's Ponte Mazzini and drops her phone into the Tiber. Her phone?! On purpose?!? My heart fluttered from the vertigo. Next to go is her laptop, left behind on the street, and then she heads north, with enough money to hold her for a while and the rest left to chance. Age nineteen, her mother dead and her father distant, she rolls the dice again and again, leading her into danger, into friendship, and further and further north, and the feeling of vertigo never departs.