Started yesterday, March 30th, 2013. First ebook bought from and for Kindle PaperWhite which I bought for Eur 114 instead of Eur 129 (Germany) on Promo from Amazon.De . Yes, after 2 Sony eReaders (PRS-505 and PRS-T1) I switched.
I was ready to switch since the disappointing PRS-T2 was announced.
I hoped to hold out till October 2013, that being the supposed date for the next Sony.
I contemplated other readers, but in Germany the offers are slim and expensive.
Currently I think the Kindle Paperwhite is the best Hardware for the price.
A few things could be better in the Software - the browser, the firmware should switch to Android 2.3 or greater (it is some Linux-Clone).
Barnes & Nobles Nook is still not available in Germany, I would have at least liked to look at it, before buying something other.
Kobo is no-go for me, bad shop, Software-Updates are hit-or-miss.
Tolino: Good Hardware, for the price it is a close second to the Kindle PW. But the Software lacks basic things ( Dictionary, Landscape-Mode) now and as we have an Oyo in the family (my parents) I am highly suspicious of buying something on mere promises - "will get better with next update".
Ok, all this has nothing to do with the book, sorry for the rant.
Book starts slow, no page-turner.
Not too sure if the 2for1 special was a good idea, cheaper than both books, but more expensive than each as a single.
Oh and there are old reviews on Amazon.Com that say the Kindle Edt. is shoddy, bad formatting, with spelling/gramar-mistakes, no TOC etc. .
This Edition is obviously corrected, TOC for both books, and so far no mistakes I noticed.
[Update: Tell No One]
At least 2 wrong words, I informed Amazon, nice touch to built such an option in the reader. As the words exist, but are obviously wrong in that context (ifs instand of if, gel instead of get, you can search for it), they cannot be flagged by a spell-/grammarcheck, I can understand that they slipped through. There may be more, which I forgot, so sorry, I cannot inform Amazom/the Publisher.

As for the book, finished "Tell No One". Started too slow for me, and for some reason I did not like the main person. Gets better later, and a lot of times I thought "I did not see that coming" - while I criticised other books for not enough twists, it is the opposite here: rather too many and a lot at the ending chapters. Would rate 3.5 or 3.75 if possible, but so far I think 4 point are too much for this book.

But I will read "Gone for Good" now and rate both together. Oh, and finished Tell No One late at night, reading till 02:30 am on April 2nd 2013.
[Update: finished Gone for good]
For some reason I liked Gone for Good more. Both have the same writing style and complicated twists, both have too many. And too much background on to many persons. Gone for good was a faster read, started earlier as a page-turner, but then I kinda knew what to expect.
There are a few thing which could and should have been cut for a faster read.
For some reason I expected a bloody ending. I will not spoil the fun in saying what happened.
Even after the grand finale came one more twist.
So I rate this with 4 stars, but beware, that may be too much, for too much background, too many too complicated twists.
And I would suggest not read the 2 books back2back as I did.

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This was also a book, the had be from the begining to end. I was like in the book , I was David,felt for the guy as he was trying to dodge the cops. great book! ( )

About the Author Harlan Coben is the winner of the Edgar, Shamus, and Anthony awards. His critically acclaimed novels have been published in thirty-three languages around the world and have been number one bestsellers in more than half a dozen countries. In addition to the Myron Bolitar series (Deal Breaker, Drop Shot, Fade Away, Back Spin, One False Move, The Final Detail, Darkest Fear, and the upcoming Promise Me), he is also the author of Tell No One, Gone for Good, No Second Chance, Just One Look, and The Innocent. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. _Chapter One Eight Years Later_
Another girl was about to break my heart. She had brown eyes and kinky hair and a toothy smile. She also had braces and was fourteen years old and– "Are you pregnant?" I asked. "Yeah, Dr. Beck." I managed not to close my eyes. This was not the first time I'd seen a pregnant teen. Not even the first time today. I've been a pediatrician at this Washington Heights clinic since I finished my residency at nearby Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center five years ago. We serve a Medicaid (read: poor) population with general family health care, including obstetrics, internal medicine, and, of course, pediatrics. Many people believe this makes me a bleeding-heart do-gooder. It doesn't. I like being a pediatrician. I don't particularly like doing it out in the suburbs with soccer moms and manicured dads and, well, people like me. "What do you plan on doing?" I asked. "Me and Terrell. We're real happy, Dr. Beck." "How old is Terrell?" "Sixteen." She looked up at me, happy and smiling. Again I managed not to close my eyes. The thing that always surprises me–always–is that most of these pregnancies are not accidental. These babies want to have babies. No one gets that. They talk about birth control and abstinence and that's all fine and good, but the truth is, their cool friends are having babies and their friends are getting all kinds of attention and so, hey, Terrell, why not us? "He loves me," this fourteen-year-old told me. "Have you told your mother?" "Not yet." She squirmed and looked almost all her fourteen years. "I was hoping you could tell her with me." I nodded. "Sure." I've learned not to judge. I listen. I empathize. When I was a resident, I would lecture. I would look down from on high and bestow upon patients the knowledge of how self-destructive their behavior was. But on a cold Manhattan afternoon, a weary seventeen-year-old girl who was having her third kid with a third father looked me straight in the eye and spoke an indisputable truth: "You don't know my life." It shut me up. So I listen now. I stopped playing Benevolent White Man and became a better doctor. I will give this fourteen-year-old and her baby the absolute best care possible. I won't tell her that Terrell will never stay, that she's just cut her future off at the pass, that if she is like most of the patients here, she'll be in a similar state with at least two more men before she turns twenty. Think about it too much and you'll go nuts. We spoke for a while–or, at least, she spoke and I listened. The examining room, which doubled as my office, was about the size of a prison cell (not that I know this from firsthand experience) and painted an institutional green, like the color of a bathroom in an elementary school. An eye chart, the one where you point in the directions the Es are facing, hung on the back of the door. Faded Disney decals spotted one wall while another was covered with a giant food pyramid poster. My fourteen-year-old patient sat on an examining table with a roll of sanitary paper we pulled down fresh for each kid. For some reason, the way the paper rolled out reminded me of wrapping a sandwich at the Carnegie Deli. The radiator heat was beyond stifling, but you needed that in a place where kids were frequently getting undressed. I wore my customary pediatrician garb: blue jeans, Chuck Taylor Cons, a button-down oxford, and a bright Save the Children tie that screamed 1994. I didn't wear the white coat. I think it scares the kids. My fourteen-year-old–yes, I couldn't get past her age–was a really good kid. Funny thing is, they all are. I referred her to an obstetrician I liked. Then I spoke to her mother. Nothing new or surprising. As I said, I do this almost every day. We hugged when she left. Over her shoulder, her mother and I exchanged a glance. Approximately twenty-five moms take their children to see me each day; at the end of the week, I can count on one hand how many are married. Like I said, I don't judge. But I do observe. After they left, I started jotting notes in the girl's chart. I flipped back a few pages. I'd been following her since I was a resident. That meant she started with me when she was eight years old. I looked at her growth chart. I remembered her as an eight-year-old, and then I thought about what she'd just looked like. She hadn't changed much. I finally closed my eyes and rubbed them. Homer Simpson interrupted me by shouting, "The mail! The mail is here! Oooo!" I opened my eyes and turned toward the monitor. This was Homer Simpson as in the TV show The Simpsons. Someone had replaced the computer's droning "You've got mail" with this Homer audio wave. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I was about to check my email when the intercom's squawking stopped my hand. Wanda, a receptionist, said, "Your, uh, hmm, your, uh . . . Shauna is on the phone." I understood the confusion. I thanked her and hit the blinking button. "Hello, sweetums." "Never mind," she said. "I'm here." Shauna hung up her cellular. I stood and walked down the corridor as Shauna made her entrance from the street. Shauna stalks into a room as though it offends her. She was a plus-size model, one of the few known by one name. Shauna. Like Cher or Fabio. She stood six one and weighed one hundred ninety pounds. She was, as you might expect, a head-turner, and all heads in the waiting room obliged. Shauna did not bother stopping at Reception and Reception knew better than to try to stop her. She pulled open the door and greeted me with the words "Lunch. Now." "I told you. I'm going to be busy." "Put on a coat," she said. "It's cold out." "Look, I'm fine. The anniversary isn't until tomorrow anyway." "You're buying." I hesitated and she knew she had me. "Come on, Beck, it'll be fun. Like in college. Remember how we used to go out and scope hot babes together?" "I never scoped hot babes." "Oh, right, that was me. Go get your coat." On the way back to my office, one of the mothers gave me a big smile and pulled me aside. "She's even more beautiful in person," she whispered. "Eh," I said. "Are you and she . . ." The mother made a together motion with her hands. "No, she's already involved with someone," I said. "Really? Who?" "My sister." We ate at a crummy Chinese restaurant with a Chinese waiter who spoke only Spanish. Shauna, dressed impeccably in a blue suit with a neckline that plunged like Black Monday, frowned. "Moo shu pork in a tortilla shell?" "Be adventurous," I said. We met our first day of college. Someone in the registrar's office had screwed up and thought her name was Shaun, and we thus ended up roommates. We were all set to report the mistake when we started chatting. She bought me a beer. I started to like her. A few hours later, we decided to give it a go because our real roommates might be assholes. I went to Amherst College, an exclusive small-Ivy institution in western Massachusetts, and if there is a preppier place on the planet, I don't know it. Elizabeth, our high school valedictorian, chose Yale. We could have gone to the same college, but we discussed it and decided that this would be yet another excellent test for our relationship. Again, we were doing the mature thing. The result? We missed each other like mad. The separation deepened our commitment and gave our love a new distance-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder dimension. Nauseating, I know. Between bites, Shauna asked, "Can you baby-sit Mark tonight?" Mark was my five-year-old nephew. Sometime during our senior year, Shauna started dating my older sister, Linda. They had a commitment ceremony seven years ago. Mark was the by-product of, well, their love, with a little help from artificial insemination. Linda carried him to term and Shauna adopted him. Being somewhat old-fashioned, they wanted their son to have a male role model in his life. Enter me. Next to what I see at work, we're talking Ozzie and Harriet. "No prob," I said. "I want to see the new Disney film anyway." "The new Disney chick is a babe and a half," Shauna said. "Their hottest since Pocahontas." "Good to know," I said. "So where are you and Linda going?" "Beats the hell out of me. Now that lesbians are chic, our social calendar is ridiculous. I almost long for the days when we hid in closets." I ordered a beer. Probably shouldn't have, but one wouldn't hurt. Shauna ordered one too. "So you broke up with what's-her-name," she said. "Brandy." "Right. Nice name, by the way. She have a sister named Whiskey?" "We only went out twice." "Good. She was a skinny witch. Besides, I got someone perfect for you." "No, thanks," I said. "She's got a killer bod." "Don't set me up, Shauna. Please." "Why not?" "Remember the last time you set me up?" "With Cassandra." "Right." "So what was wrong with her?" "For one thing, she was a lesbian." "Christ, Beck, you're such a bigot." Her cell phone rang. She leaned back and answered it, but her eyes never left my face. She barked something and flipped the mouthpiece up. "I have to go," she said. I signaled for the check. &... ( )