The Runaway


By Hollie Overton

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A psychologist working for the LAPD goes on a dangerous journey through Los Angeles’ criminal underworld to track down her missing foster daughter in this gripping new thriller by the author of the international bestseller Baby Doll.

You’ll do anything to protect her. But you’ll have to find her first.

When LAPD forensic psychologist Becca Ortiz agrees to foster teenage runaway Ash, she knows she will love and protect her as her own daughter.

Ash may have turned her back on her old life on the streets, but there is still one person who she can’t bear to lose. Now he is about to drag her back into a dark world where nothing and no one is safe.

How far will Becca go to save her daughter?

And can she find her before it’s too late?

For more from Hollie Overton, check out:
Baby Doll
The Walls


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It’s a work of art, thought sixteen-year-old Ash as she gazed down at her forearm at the delicately inked tattoo. This wasn’t Ash’s first tattoo, she had four others, but this one, with its lifelike image of a human eye, an elaborate sword piercing through it, was special.

“Now you’re one of us,” her boyfriend, Nate, said, smiling at her, his blue-gray eyes sparkling. She watched as Nate’s family huddled around, inspecting the final product. Ash had always been an outsider, afraid to get close to people. Nate had changed all of that.

Leslie, the sweet-faced seventeen-year-old from Padre Island with dimples and streaks of purple through her brown hair, smiled and high-fived Ash.

“Nate’s right. You’re so badass. You didn’t even flinch,” she said approvingly, holding her wrist up to show off her matching tattoo. Ash smiled back at her, watching as Leslie flitted away toward the center of camp.

Kelsey and Andrea, the hipster couple from Portland, weren’t the chatty types, but even they seemed pleased, patting Ash on the back before they moved away. Eli, the youngest of the group at fifteen, giggled, pushing his platinum-blond hair out of his eyes as he held up his own forearm to Ash to reveal his matching tattoo, like he was a superhero and they were activating their powers. “It’s awesome, Ash. We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thanks, E,” Ash said, squeezing his hand. He blushed, and hurried over to the center of camp.

“That kid’s got it bad,” Nate said teasingly.

Ash shrugged, offering up an exaggerated hair flip. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Nate laughed. “Agreed.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. A groan interrupted the moment. Until now Vic, the family’s resident tattoo artist, had been silent, but he was shaking his head, with a mock look of disgust. “Can we cool it with the PDAs? Mo’s here with dinner and I’m about to lose my appetite,” he said as he carefully packed his needles into a small black bag.

Ash laughed. Nineteen-year-old Vic was the most serious of the group. At first, Ash had found him a bit unnerving. He was a mountain of a man at six foot five, with arms the size of tree trunks, and his entire face was covered in tattoos, not an inch to spare. The others had warned her it would be impossible to win Vic over, but Ash always loved a challenge.

“Sorry, Vic. Can’t stop. Won’t stop,” Ash said, planting another kiss on Nate, who laughed. Vic rolled his eyes, but Ash clocked the hint of a smile. She was finally making progress.

“Hey, Vic, mind giving me and my girl a few minutes alone?” Nate asked.

Vic nodded, glancing down once more at his handiwork. “It really is amazing,” Ash replied.

This time she got an honest-to-goodness smile as Vic shuffled away to join the others. Mo, the family’s matriarch, had arrived and was handing out sandwiches. She offered Ash a friendly wave. Ash waved back. “The food is here, and I know you’re hungry.” Nate was always hungry. “We should join the others,” she said.

“Let them wait,” Nate said, staring back at her with those worshipful eyes. Sometimes his intensity made Ash uneasy, as though she weren’t quite worthy of his devotion. He pulled Ash closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. The folding camp chair sagged under their weight. She didn’t care. She loved being here in his arms, watching as the sun disappeared into the horizon, light bouncing off the downtown city skyline.

Moments like this, Ash could almost forget where she was. Then a rat the size of a housecat would scurry by in search of food, or a junkie would let out a bloodcurdling scream, or a sharp, pungent odor would invade her nose and Ash would be reminded that none of this was normal. Nate was homeless, living here on the streets of Skid Row. They all lived here, Leslie, Eli, Vic, Mo, and the others, joining thousands of homeless men, women, and children. They called themselves the Tribe, a makeshift family that looked after one another. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Ash was glad he’d found people to look out for him. Nate deserved that.

“You’re too quiet. What’s going on up there?” Nate asked, his finger lightly tapping her temple.

“Just thinking about us,” she said with a kiss. Her phone buzzed, the familiar text alert. It was her foster mother. Got stuck on a case. Running late. You order the pizza. I’ll pick it up. Home by eight thirty. Xoxo

Ash’s eyes flitted back to her newly inked tattoo. She was so caught up in the moment, everyone cheering her on and encouraging her to get the tattoo, that she hadn’t thought about Becca. Not her smartest move. Her foster mother was going to be pissed.

Ash blamed Nate. He made her careless. All the promises she’d given to Becca, her probation officer—even her therapist—went out the window once he came along. When she wasn’t hanging out with him, she was thinking about when she could see him again.

Not wanting Becca to worry, Ash quickly responded. Can’t wait. I’m starving. Hope you had a good day. See ya soon. She hit send and turned back to Nate. “I have to go,” Ash said softly.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“No. She would worry.” Ash wound her arms around Nate’s neck. “You could always come with me.”

His entire body tensed. “I can’t and you know it,” he said.

Ash couldn’t hide her annoyance. “Are you serious? Jesus, Nate, I’ve been sneaking around for three months. Lying to Becca about us for three months.”

Nate’s carefree demeanor vanished, his grip loosening on her. “Please don’t do this, Ash. Not now. Not tonight.”

That’s what he always said. Not now. Not tonight. This isn’t a good time. Don’t ruin it.

“All I’m asking is for you to come to dinner, so Becca knows you exist. One night. That’s all.”

“Then what? She welcomes me with open arms, no questions asked? Nothing about how we met? Where we met? No questions about my parents? Or where I live and go to school?”

They’d had this discussion before. Ash understood Nate’s concern. He was a minor—as were many of the others. If Becca found out they were living on the streets, she would be legally obligated to report it.

“I’ll run interference. Keep the interrogation to a minimum. I’m good at that,” Ash said, trying to keep her voice light.

Nate wasn’t having it. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. “I can’t do it, Ash. It’s not just me. I can’t put the family at risk.”

Ash stepped away from him, pushing her dark hair out of her face. What about what Ash was risking? “So I do all of this lying and sneaking around behind Becca’s back. I even get this damn tattoo for you…”

“For me? I didn’t force you to do anything. You said it was cool. You said it would bring us closer together,” Nate said, frustration clouding his face.

Ash sighed. “I know, and I wanted to do it. I just don’t understand why you can’t do this for me,” Ash said. She hated how weak and needy she sounded.

“And I don’t understand why you want to screw up what we have,” Nate said, his voice rising.

“You okay, Ash?” Ash turned to see Eli eyeing Nate warily. He’d puffed his chest out as though he was attempting to make himself larger. A surge of appreciation flooded through her.

“We’re fine, Eli,” Nate snapped before Ash could speak.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Eli said, not backing down. Ash was surprised. Eli looked up to Nate, always following him around, asking him to teach him a new chord on his guitar. He was such a sweet kid. Crush or no crush, she appreciated his support. But she could handle Nate.

“I’m fine, E. Go finish your food. We’ll be over in a minute.” Eli hesitated. He didn’t leave, standing his ground.

“Jesus, Eli, give us some fucking space,” Nate shouted. Eli flinched just as Mo appeared.

“Okay, what is going on here and how can we resolve it?” she asked. Mo was the oldest of the Tribe, mid-forties, with ruddy sunburnt skin and gray-streaked brownish hair that she always wore in a ponytail with a tie-dyed scarf. She was regarding them curiously, as though they were some kind of sociological experiment she was documenting.

Eli startled, eyes cast downward. “Nothing, Mo. It’s nothing,” Eli said as he hurried away. Nate didn’t say a word, staring down at his scuffed sneakers. As far as Nate and the others were concerned, Mo could do no wrong. Ash wasn’t so sure. There was something about Mo’s excessive cheerfulness, always wearing this slightly off-kilter smile. She reminded Ash of a puppet she once saw at the local library, the puppet master pulling its strings tighter and tighter until it was impossible to distinguish a smile from a grimace. Mo placed a gentle hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Relationships are complicated. I understand and value that. I’m happy to offer some insight if you’d like.”

Ash wasn’t sure why this rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn’t like Mo had made such great life choices. “What I’d like is to talk to Nate in private,” Ash said.

Nate stiffened, but Mo didn’t react at all, her smile unwavering. “Didn’t mean to intrude. If either of you change your mind and need my counsel, you know where to find me.”

Mo slipped away, leaving Ash alone with Nate. He kept his voice low, speaking through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing. “How could you talk to her like that? You know what Mo means to me. What she’s done for me.”

“You know what Becca means to me. What she’s done for me. You just don’t care.”

Nate didn’t speak. A long, awkward silence lingered. The last thing Ash wanted was to pick a fight. There was a simple solution to all of this. She reached out, taking Nate’s hand in hers, keeping her voice low. “Mo and the others don’t need to know. I won’t say a word. Just say you’ll come to dinner.” She stared at him with pleading eyes. Come with me. Come with me.

He shook free from her. “Damn it, Ash, I said no. Don’t ask me again,” Nate snapped.

This time he was practically shouting. Stunned, Ash took a step back. She turned and saw the others, now eyeing her with suspicion, all their goodwill seeming to vanish.

“Guess you better get back to your family,” she said. She turned and headed down the street, expecting Nate to follow her, begging her to come back. He didn’t. It wasn’t until Ash rounded the corner that tears began to fall. She glanced down at her arm, a stinging sensation setting in, as if the tattoo were suddenly mocking her. All of Ash’s excitement, that sense of belonging and closeness, vanished. She wasn’t Nate’s and she certainly wasn’t part of this family. Not even close.


An hour later, Ash unlocked the door and slipped inside the elaborate two-story Silver Lake craftsman, lovingly remodeled and filled with handmade furnishings and dozens of scented candles. After the grit and grime of Skid Row, being back in this well-lit, perfectly maintained home was a jolt to the system.

Freud, Becca’s raucous pit bull mix, burst into the hall, barking loudly, his tail wagging furiously, demanding to be petted. Ash bent down and hugged Freud tightly, allowing him to lick her face, his tail thumping loudly in excitement. She knew things were bad when even Freud’s presence wasn’t enough to cheer her up. “Come on, buddy. I’ve gotta clean up.”

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom and peered into the mirror, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks tearstained. She splashed cold water over her face, grabbed her concealer, and went to work. The last thing she wanted was for Becca to start asking questions. She eyed her phone, willing Nate to call or text. All she wanted was for him to say he was sorry and that they’d figure things out together. She wanted to know there was some kind of plan.

Downstairs, Freud began furiously barking, signaling Becca’s arrival. Ash couldn’t think about Nate now. She had to survive this dinner. She caught sight of the tattoo in the mirror, bright red and raw, and quickly reached for her favorite oversized Dodgers hoodie. She would have to explain the tattoo eventually, but she didn’t have the energy. Not tonight.

Ash hurried downstairs and found Becca in the kitchen, dressed in her standard uniform of khakis, button-down, and her LAPD windbreaker. “Sensible clothes for a sensible lady,” Ash liked to tease.

“Sorry I’m late. I swear to God they must have gone to Sicily for this pie,” Becca said with a rueful smile as she placed the pizza on the counter. She kicked off her shoes and hurried over to the fridge, pulling out the salad fixings. “How was the mission today?” Becca asked.

There it was. Another one of Ash’s lies. She used to volunteer three times a week at the Downtown Mission, teaching photography classes and helping out in the soup kitchen. Since she met Nate, those evenings were spent with him and the Tribe.

“It was fine,” Ash said. “Nothing new to report.”

Usually, Becca wanted more details, requiring Ash to come up with elaborate stories about her volunteer work. Tonight though, Becca seemed tired, not at all her usually inquisitive self.

Ash watched as Becca began pulling china and cutlery from the cabinet. Before Ash moved in, she’d never even seen china, except on TV. Growing up with her birth mom, Faye, Ash learned to scrounge for food. Usually it was straight out of a can, her mother passed out in another room or off on one of her dates. Not Becca. The entire Ortiz family took food very seriously. Each night they’d sit down at the dining table for dinner, even the nights Becca worked late, even if it was only takeout.

“Are you okay?” Ash asked Becca as she began setting the table.

“Kind of a terrible day,” Becca said, sighing heavily as she pushed her long black hair out of her eyes. “We lost a jumper. Married, two kids. I don’t think we could’ve done anything to stop him, but…” Becca trailed off.

Ash could see Becca’s hands were trembling, her eyes ringed red. Becca was a shrink who worked with the LAPD. Her unit was dispatched to all kinds of calls involving crazy people, which meant she saw a lot of terrible shit. Ash hadn’t even thought about what Becca might be dealing with. Here she was moping around about a fight with her boyfriend, while Becca was watching someone end their life.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ash asked, working hard not to seem distracted.

“Actually, I thought we could eat and then I might take a bath, get to bed early.”

Ash’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Sure. That sounds good.”

They dished up the pizza and salad, settling at the dining table to eat. They discussed Ash’s latest photography project and upcoming spring break. Eventually, the conversation waned, Ash and Becca caught up in their own thoughts, and they ate in silence.

Half an hour later, Ash was back in her room, sprawled out on her king-sized bed, Freud curled up at her feet. When Ash first moved in, she couldn’t believe this giant bed was all hers. She’d never seen anything so luxurious in her entire life. The blankets were so soft that she used to say it was like lying on clouds.

The first few weeks Ash slept on the floor. One morning Becca found her there, shook Ash awake, and sank down onto the floor beside her, Freud joining them. “Sweet girl, what in the world are you doing down here?”

Ash’s face flushed as she thought about all the excuses she could give. She opted for the truth. “It’s so nice here, but I don’t want to get used to all of this in case you change your mind and send me away.” She could still remember Becca’s shocked expression. “This bed is yours. This home is yours. You’re not going anywhere.”

Sometimes though, Ash wanted to go back to when she didn’t care about Becca. She’d gotten good at not caring. Her birth mother taught her that. Faye wasn’t much of a talker, but her hands were quite expressive. The palm strike across the face when Ash was four. The quick jab to the ribs when she was five. By the time Ash turned six, she learned to manage the pain, but the betrayal never got easier. How could her mother, the woman she loved most in the world, want to see her suffer?

Ash gave up on answering that question. She was thirteen the last time it happened. Faye lunged at her, hatred burning in her eyes. Ash finally had enough. She smashed the woman in the head with her algebra textbook and grabbed the three hundred bucks she had saved from under her mattress. Two hours later Ash was on a Greyhound bus, bound for LA.

Growing up in a shitty trailer park on the outskirts of Macon, Georgia, Ash spent years daydreaming about where she’d go if she had the courage to run away. TV always made it seem like breaking into show business was easy. Ash figured why not. She thought once she arrived in LA, some hotshot agent would make her famous. Or maybe she’d get on one of those reality shows. She had a decent voice, better than most of the singers she saw. She envisioned shopping on Rodeo Drive and lounging at the Beverly Hills Hotel while waiters attended to her every need.

The second Ash stepped off the bus, she was confronted with a much different reality. The ugliness wasn’t just lurking beneath the glittering lights, it was front and center. The city streets were covered with discarded beer bottles, fast-food wrappers, and used condoms. The Hollywood Walk of Fame was teeming with emotionally unstable vagrants jostling for space alongside desperate wannabe actors in superhero costumes, all of them trying to make a quick buck from the horde of selfie-obsessed tourists.

Ash worked hard to keep a low profile, steering clear of the cops. She’d heard plenty of stories about how shitty foster care was. She’d already survived a hellish existence with Faye. No way was she going back to another. Which was how Ash ended up living on the streets.

Her first year had been a special kind of hell. Ash had created a system: sleep during the day, keep it moving at night, and always be on the lookout for potential threats. She had done her best to stay clean, washing up in park bathrooms and in shelters. People were always eager to offer a few dollars to a cute kid, and she had learned to pick pockets so she hadn’t starved. She’d done her best to avoid the pervs, and had learned to fight back when she had to. A chance encounter with Becca had changed everything. Together they’d built a home. The last thing Ash wanted was to ruin it. It was selfish though, because she didn’t want to lose Nate either. She wanted them both.

Exhausted from the stress of the day, Ash felt her eyes flutter closed. Her phone buzzed. She jolted upright, reaching for it. Please be Nate. Please be Nate. She held her breath.

It was.

Relieved, Ash clicked on the message. A grainy video appeared on-screen. Nate sat alone in his tent, guitar in hand, strumming lightly. “This song goes out to my girl,” he said with an overexaggerated twang. He began to sing, belting out Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Achy Breaky Heart.” Nate wasn’t big on country music, not like Ash, but he sang the hell out of the song. Ash laughed, watching the video two more times. No one could make her laugh like Nate.

Another message appeared on-screen. I’m a total fucking idiot. Of course the Tribe is important to me but so are you. Name the time and place and I’ll meet Becca. Dinner. Lunch. Brunch. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.

Ash blinked back tears, her heart soaring. She wondered if the last few hours were as miserable for him as they were for her. She glanced at the time. It was almost midnight. If she left now, she could see Nate and make it home before Becca ever woke up. Ash texted back a heart emoji, wanting to surprise him, and hurried out of bed, quietly slipping on her jeans and sneakers.

Becca monitored Ash’s Uber usage, so Ash Googled the number of a cab company and scheduled a pickup. She pulled her hoodie back on and grabbed a fifty-dollar bill from her drawer, part of the money she’d received from Becca for her sixteenth birthday. She smoothed out the comforter, a force of habit, and tiptoed downstairs. Freud trailed after her, nudging Ash with his wet nose. She plied him with treats to keep him quiet, and slipped out of the house undetected. Ash rushed down the street, relieved to see the cab already waiting for her.

She sank back into the seat, anxiously staring out the window, the empty streets zipping by. Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled onto Alameda Street, a block from Nate’s campsite. Ash never came down here this late, knowing the dangers lurking in the shadows. Her stomach fluttered as she eyed the dozens of bodies lined up alongside the sidewalk, some in tents, others sleeping on the sidewalk. She quickened her pace. She would be safe with Nate. She always was.

She rounded the corner and spotted the Tribe’s camp. Despite the late hour, everyone was gathered in a semicircle outside Mo’s tent. She found Nate, standing on the outer edge of the group, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, his shoulders slightly hunched as he stood beside Leslie. Ash stepped off the curb. She was so focused on Nate she didn’t even see the first punch land. Eli’s guttural scream got her attention. She turned her head and watched as his nose shattered, blood pouring down his face. Eli gazed back at his attacker. Ash couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Vic towered over Eli, a sneering scowl on his face. She stood frozen, watching in horror as the others descended. Ash recognized Kelsey and Andrea, but the rest were a blur of fists and legs. A mob on speed.

The shock wore off and Ash knew she had to act. She broke free and raced across the street. “Stop. Fucking stop it,” she shouted at them.

As if on cue, they all whirled around, eyes widened in disbelief. Vic took a menacing step forward. “Stay out of it, Ash,” he barked. A terrified Eli used this distraction as his opportunity to attempt an escape, crawling toward Ash, blood streaming down his face, staining his gray T-shirt.

“Help me. Please,” he begged. Ash saw it then—that familiar look of betrayal, and she was transported back to her childhood, cowering in her room, her mother wielding a belt. No mercy. No escape. People knew what Faye was doing to her. The bruises, the cuts. Neighbors, teachers, the church ladies. No one intervened. No one said a word. They’d all turned their backs on her. Ash couldn’t do that to Eli.

“Stop! Get away from him,” she said again, this time with more force. It was useless. Vic grabbed Eli by the hair and he was swallowed up by the mob. They unleashed more punches and kicks as Eli curled into himself.

Helpless, Ash spun around to see Nate and Leslie looking on in silence. They were in shock. That was the only explanation. Ash grabbed Nate’s arm and shook him. “You have to make them stop.” He stayed completely still. Leslie blinked furiously as though she couldn’t believe what was unfolding, but she did nothing.

The old Ash would’ve stayed out of this—no, the old Ash would have run away and never looked back. Running was what she did best, but things had changed. Ash had changed.

She took a few steps forward, ready to throw herself into the fight. A second later, she felt Nate’s arms around her as he lifted her off the ground. “We have to go. Now,” Nate said, each word punctuated. Ash struggled against him, but it was futile. Nate had at least three inches and thirty pounds on her.

“We can’t just leave him,” Ash screamed.

Nate tightened his grip, silently half dragging, half carrying Ash away. She caught a glimpse of Mo. Her arms were crossed.

“Mo, you can end this,” Ash yelled. They’d listen to Mo. They always listened to her. She was their leader. The guru of the streets.

Everything was happening so quickly, but Ash could have sworn she saw a smile on Mo’s face. It was as if she was actually enjoying this.

“Nate, goddamn it, let me go,” Ash shouted, struggling against him. He didn’t stop, carrying her farther and farther away from the brawl. There were dozens of people camped out on the street, men and women in dirty clothes, and tents and sleeping bags, but no one paid them any attention. It was as though Ash were completely invisible, her distress unremarkable in this vast sea of despair.

Nate carried her another two blocks before stopping in a vacant alley. His breathing labored, he finally set her down. “We’re good, Ash. We’re okay,” Nate insisted over and over, his arms still wrapped around her.

“Okay? You think we’re okay?” Ash asked, shoving Nate hard. She wanted to jolt him free from whatever stupor he was in.

“It’s… it was nothing,” he said.

Ash shook her head. This wasn’t nothing. Nate swore these people were good and kind. She believed him. Fuck, she even got a tattoo for him. That stupid Tribe tattoo. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to help Eli. A million thoughts flickered through her brain. Ash didn’t trust cops. In her experience, they were generally useless. There was only one person she trusted. Ash fumbled for her phone.

“What are you doing?” Nate demanded.

“I’m calling Becca,” she said. Before Ash could press her number on speed dial, Nate grabbed her wrists, pinning them and the phone together. From the start, Nate swore that he would always protect her. Ash winced. “Ow. Nate, you’re hurting me.”

Nate instantly released her, regret clouding his expression. “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m so sorry, but you can’t tell anyone what happened.”

“Screw that. Eli’s hurt. We have to tell someone. He needs help.”

“No, stay out of it. This is family business,” Nate said.

“Family business? What does that mean?”

“Mo said Eli violated the code. We have to send a message,” Nate said.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. The more Nate said, the worse things got. Code? What code? What kind of a message? She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

Tears pricked at Ash’s eyes. She could feel the panic building. She rubbed her hands on her faded blue jeans. Becca always said, “When things get hard, most people panic. The ones who survive remember to breathe.”

“I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to go,” Ash said. She needed to get away from him; she needed to think about what she was going to do.

Nate went to stop her. This time his touch was gentle, his voice urgent. “Ash, promise you won’t tell anyone. Promise me?”

Ash hesitated. “Ash, please,” he said.


  • "In this nail-biter...Overton shines a light on the plight of the mentally ill, foster children, and the homeless while building plenty of tension. Fans of bighearted thrillers will find a lot to like."—Publishers Weekly
  • "A twisty ending ties together this moving exploration of street life, betrayal, and reconciliation."—Booklist
  • "If you love police procedurals, you'll want to get your hands on Hollie Overton's The Runaway ASAP."—
  • "What a compulsive read! A brilliant first novel that kept me transfixed and entertained until the very last page."—New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen on Baby Doll
  • "A suspenseful and satisfying psychological thriller by a writer who has hit her stride."—Dallas Morning News on The Walls
  • "Compelling ... Overton throws in enough twists, turns, and surprises to keep the reader wondering what on earth can happen next."—Publishers Weekly on Baby Doll
  • "Moves at breakneck speed."—Stylist on Baby Doll
  • "Overton spins a fast-moving, increasingly compelling tale."—Booklist on The Walls

On Sale
Aug 6, 2019
Page Count
448 pages

Hollie Overton

About the Author

Debut author Hollie Overton was raised by her single mother, and Hollie — an identical twin herself — draws on her unique childhood experiences for her first novel, Baby Doll. Overton’s father was a member of the notorious Overton gang in Austin, Texas, and spent several years in prison for manslaughter. Hollie is a television writer and resides in Los Angeles.

Learn more about this author