A coming-of-age romantic mystery -- that takes place, in part, along historic Route 66 -- written by USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Brant!*  ~Sometimes the only road to the truth...is one you've never taken.~      Until I found Gideon's journal in the tool shed -- locked in the cedar box where I'd once hidden my old diary -- I'd been led to believe my brother was dead. But the contents of his journal changed all that.  THE ROAD TO DISCOVERY Two years ago, Aurora Gray's world turned upside down when her big brother Gideon and his best friend Jeremy disappeared. Now, during the summer of her 18th birthday, she unexpectedly finds her brother's journal and sees that it's been written in again. Recently. By him. THE ROAD TO DANGER There are secret messages coded within the journal's pages. Aurora, who's unusually perceptive and a natural puzzle solver, is hell bent on following where they lead, no matter what the cost. She confides in the only person she feels can help her interpret the clues: Donovan McCafferty, Jeremy's older brother and a guy she's always been drawn to -- even against her better judgment. THE ROAD TO YOU Reluctantly, Donovan agrees to go with her and, together, they set out on a road trip of discovery and danger, hoping to find their lost brothers and the answers to questions they've never dared to ask aloud.      In that expectant space between silence and melody, our trip began...*AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE     I could count on one hand the things I knew were true about Donovan McCafferty:      He was twenty-three -- just over five years older than I was.      He'd escaped into the Army at age eighteen and, except for a few quick but memorable visits, hadn't returned to Minnesota until this past winter.      He had an excellent mechanical mind.      And he made me very nervous.      Underneath my skin, every nerve fiber was fast twitching. Just thinking about Donovan always did that to me but, this time, it was also about the trip. I couldn't have been more eager to get on the road to Crescent Cove, and I really didn't want to make a stop at Donovan's workplace. But, awkward though it would be, he knew a few things I didn't and might signal to me (whether he realized it or not) some very useful directions.      It was 7:05 p.m. by the time I got to the shop, and I parked a fair distance from the entrance. They closed at seven, but the work light in the back was on and two out of the three garage doors were still open. I knew he was in there. Not because I'd caught even one glimpse of Mr. Tall, Dark and Intense yet, but because the only other car in the lot was a crimson Firebird Trans Am with the giant bird decal in black and gold across the hood. His, of course.      I pushed open my car door, grabbed my tote bag with my brother Gideon's journal tucked safely inside and inhaled several lungfuls of the cloying summer air. So early in June and already every breath was wrapped in sticky-sweet bugginess.      I didn't make it more than five steps before he came out. A solid, broad-shouldered, six-foot-two mass of frequently impenetrable emotions. Not impenetrable enough this time, though. Even at a distance of half a parking lot, I detected two powerful sensations that crashed, one after the other, into my awareness:      One, he was hugely curious about why I was here.      And, two, he very much wished I hadn't been.      He walked up to me and cleared his throat. "Car trouble, Aurora?" He glanced at my hand-me-down, smoke-blue, five-year-old Buick Century, which had done nothing but purr contentedly during my drives around town. Donovan was the type to have noticed this, so I could tell he knew it wasn't the car.      I shook my head. "I need to show you something," I told him. "Privately."