Giveaway – Root Of All Evil by Liz Milliron @partnersincr1me @LizMilliron

Root of all Evil

by Liz Milliron

September 18 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Root of all Evil by Liz Milliron

Rumors of a meth operation in rustic Fayette County catch the attention of Pennsylvania State Trooper Jim Duncan. When he learns that Aaron Trafford, a man who recently dodged a drug conviction, has returned to the county, the conclusion seems obvious. Trafford has set up a new operation.

Meanwhile, assistant public defender Sally Castle’s colleague, Colin Rafferty, has become uncharacteristically nervous and secretive. Her suspicion that he’s hiding something serious is confirmed when she learns of a threatening visitor and discovers a note on his desk stating, “You’d better fix this”

Colin’s subsequent murder is the first frayed thread in a complex web of deceit. Jim fears Sally’s stubborn determination to get justice for her friend will put her in a killer’s crosshairs, but Sally won’t rest until she finds answers–even if it costs her everything.

Get wrapped up in the thrilling world of Liz Milliron’s Laurel Highlands Mystery series! From the captivating Root of all Evil to the latest release, Thicker Than Water, this gripping series is a must-read for any mystery lover. Don’t wait, grab your copy today!

Praise for Root of all Evil:

“With a compelling plot, engaging concept and characters worth cheering for, Root of all Evil will keep you rooted to your seat.”
~ Kathy Valenti, Agatha-nominated author of the Magging O’Malley mysteries

“Big city crime encroaches on the lush backdrop of Pennsylvania’s rustic Laurel Highlands in this tense and gritty debut. Liz Milliron has crafted a tightly written, heart-pounding tale of suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat from page one until its explosive conclusion.”
~ Annette Dashofy, USA Today bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

“Lawyers, guns and money; Root of all Evil is a true page-turner.”
~ Bruce Robert Coffin, bestselling author of the Detective Byron Mysteries

Root of all Evil is a gripping read! Sally Castle and Jim Duncan are complex characters with genuine depth, and the pacing is impeccable. Tensions on multiple levels will keep you turning the pages of this riveting police procedural.”
~ Cynthia Kuhn, author of the Agatha-winning Lila Maclean Academic Mysteries

“Fast-paced, authentic and compelling – this tightly written procedural is action-packed and full of heart. Milliron definitely knows her stuff – what a wonderful new voice in crime fiction!”
~ Hank Phillipi Ryan, nationally best-selling author of Trust Me

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery – Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 14, 2018
Number of Pages: 301
ISBN: 9781947915053 (ISBN10: 1947915053)
Series: Laurel Highlands Mystery (#1)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Sally Castle studied the menu for a moment, then put it down. “I’ll try the Fero lemberger and a tower of onion rings, please.” She looked across the table at Colin Rafferty, her colleague from the public defender’s office. The usual crowd at Lucky 7, men and women in varying levels of business and business-casual clothing, milled around their table. “Split them with me?”

“Sure. A bottle of Miller Lite for me.” He slid the beer list back in the holder.

“Miller Lite?” Sally asked as the waitress jotted down their order and walked off. “How long have you worked in Fayette County again?”

Colin shrugged. “Almost two years and I know. You have some great local brews. I’m not a beer connoisseur.” He fiddled with the position of the salt and pepper shakers.

Had it been that long? “Anything new this week?” she asked, leaning on the table, the dark brown wood reflecting the muted overhead lighting.

He pushed away the cut-glass shakers. “Got assigned a new case today. De’Shawn Thomas, misdemeanor possession. This will be the third time I’ve been in court with him for the same damn charge. What the hell is the point?” He averted his gaze, studying Uniontown’s well-dressed business-class, all relaxing at the end of a hard week.

Sally remembered the young hotshot who’d arrived believing public defense was rock bottom. Their regular end-of-week outings were part of trying to change that. Sometimes she thought she was getting somewhere. Other times, like now, maybe not. “Colin, I know it’s frustrating. But say you were in a high-priced private practice. Is defending someone’s trust-fund kid from his third DUI in six months any different?”

“No.”

The waitress reappeared with the beer and a glass of red wine. Colin took his bottle. “Red wine with onion rings?”

Sally sipped the wine, which had a unique aftertaste: a hint of oak and a slight peppery kick. The menu said it was good with grilled meats and she could taste why. “Sure.” It would go great with the classic bar finger-food.

They killed five minutes with small talk about their work until the waitress returned with the appetizer. Sally leaned forward to inhale the delicious sweet smell from the tower of fried snacks, then picked one off the top. “Got any big weekend plans?” she asked before biting into it. Sweet, salty, slightly greasy, and a burst of flavor from the herb seasoning in the crust. Yes, perfect with her wine.

He tore apart an onion ring and popped half in his mouth. “There’s a film noir festival tomorrow. The Killers. D.O.A. Might go to that.”

“Film noir. One of my faves.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join me.” He finished off the other half of the onion ring, wiped his fingers, and took another swallow of beer. “Then it’s my mother’s sixty-fifth birthday on Sunday. After the year she’s had, we’re doing it up big.”

“How is your mom?”

“Good. Three months out, the doc is still happy with her numbers. The big thrill for her? Her hair is back.”

Sally pointed at him. “Hair is important. Unlike men, women rarely look good bald. It’s terribly unfair.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, the party should end soon enough to get home to watch the Steelers game.”

She rolled her eyes and took a second onion ring. “You and your football.”

“Hey, I may not care much about the beer, but I do love the sports.”

The door opened, letting in a breeze that sent the pile of napkins on their table to the floor. Sally leaned over to pick them up. Above her, she heard Colin mutter and it sounded a lot like profanity. She sat up with the napkins and brushed hair from her forehead.

Colin’s lighthearted expression had evaporated. He rearranged the standup cards listing available desserts and beers, trying to obscure his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

He ducked his head, his chest almost flat to the table. “A guy I don’t want to see just walked in.”

Sally craned her neck as she looked toward the door, but even the height of the bar-style chair didn’t allow her to see well over the crowd. She lifted herself up.

“Get down!” Colin hissed, pulling at her sleeve.

“What the hell?” She dropped back into her chair, still not seeing anyone who would upset her colleague this much. “Who is it?”

His gaze darted around the room. He took a hurried gulp of beer and stood. “Never mind. I have to go to the men’s room. Be right back.” He headed toward the restrooms, snaking his way through the crowd, bending frequently to make sure he was behind other people, and keeping out of sight of the door.

Once again, Sally tried to see through the crowd, but no one caught her eye. Who had walked in who would upset Colin so much?

Jim Duncan took his bottle of Black Magick imperial stout and thanked the bartender. Why had he agreed to meet Zelinsky here? The bar, popular with the downtown Uniontown business scene, was way too crowded. He should have insisted on a quieter place to catch up with his fellow Pennsylvania State Trooper. Someplace where he could sit, get a bite to eat, and get Zelinsky’s impression of his new trainee.

As Duncan scanned the crowd for Zelinsky, his gaze lit on another person. Sally Castle, sitting all by herself. Maybe this was a good place after all. Zelinsky could wait a few minutes. Duncan took a circuitous route to Sally’s table and came up beside her. “Only you would pair red wine and onion rings.”

She started, but relaxed when she recognized him. “Red wine goes with anything, I’ve told you this before.” She lifted her glass and winked.

A good sign. “You here by yourself?”

“No.” She pointed at the empty chair and a Miller Lite bottle. “After work drinks with a friend.”

“Your friend likes Miller Lite?” Clearly a friend without good taste.

She suppressed a laugh. “Colin isn’t a beer snob, Jim. Not everyone has your discerning palate.”

“Colin.” Sally was here with another guy. A bad sign.

“Colin Rafferty. We work together.” She grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

A man in a dark blue suit edged behind Jim. “Sally, we’ve been friends how long?”

“A year or so.”

“You have other friends. Some of them are men. I wasn’t jealous of what’s-his-name, the baseball trainer.”

She brushed hair from her face. “Anyway, why are you here? This isn’t your scene, all the suits.”

“I’m on training duty for a new trooper. It’s her second month. I want to talk to the previous FTO, get her impressions.”

Sally took a bite of onion ring. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I don’t like to let what happened before color my opinion, but I feel like I’m having a hard time connecting with Aislyn McAllister. That’s the trainee’s name. Thus far, she’s not very talkative. Hasn’t shared anything besides the fact she’s from Natrona Heights in the two shifts we’ve worked so far. I hope it’s not me.”

“I’m quite sure it’s not you. You’re one of the nice guys.”

He lifted his beer in thanks. “It’s a point of pride. I can count on one hand the number of folks I’ve had to fail out of training.” The Black Magick was excellent, bourbon flavor with chocolate notes. “By the way, I’m working first shift tomorrow. Supposed to be a great day if you’d like to go out on the reservoir with Rizzo and me.” Rizzo, his golden retriever, loved Sally. The weather forecast was calling for a perfect fall day: blue skies, mild temperatures, fluffy clouds. The water would be filled with boaters trying to cram in as much outdoor time as possible before the winter snows froze everything solid.

“I might be meeting Colin for a film noir festival.” She took in his expression and a smile spread across her face. “Ah ha! You are jealous.”

Duncan had a horrible track record with women. Just ask his ex. However, after a year of friendship, maybe this was Sally’s way of telling him she was sick of waiting for him to make a move. “Do you want me to be?” He studied her face.

Sally flushed and turned her attention back to her food.

Okay, maybe not. He paused. “You come here a lot?” With the friend who drinks Miller Lite?

“Every Friday. I’ve been mentoring Colin this last year and it’s part of our ritual.” She tore a piece of onion ring off the stand on the table. “Speaking of Colin, where the hell is he?”

Ah, she was mentoring. He should have known Sally wouldn’t date a man who made such horrible choices in beer. Duncan looked around, even though he had zero idea what this guy looked like. Everybody was paired up, chatting, and snacking after a hard week’s work.

“He said he was going to the men’s room. I didn’t think guys took that long.”

“Not usually.” Duncan set his beer on the table. He stood and stretched to his full six-foot-three so he could see over the crowd. “Caucasian, early thirties, white shirt, dark suit, gold tie?”

“That’s Colin. You see him?”

“Yeah, he’s by the restrooms. Looks like he’s arguing with someone.” Duncan dropped back down, the crowd of people blocking his view.

Sally’s eyebrows puckered. “Who’s he arguing with? Can you tell?”

Duncan took a pull from his beer. “A guy in a suit. He had his back to me. Hold on.” He stretched up again, pushing up on the table to try for a bit more height, and looked in the direction of the restroom.

Rafferty was nowhere in sight.

***

Excerpt from Root of all Evil by Liz Milliron. Copyright 2018 by Liz Milliron. Reproduced with permission from Liz Milliron. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Liz Milliron

A recovering technical writer, Liz Milliron is the author of The Laurel Highlands Mysteries, set in the scenic Laurel Highlands and The Homefront Mysteries, set in Buffalo NY during the early years of World War II. She is a member of Pennwriters, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers and The Historical Novel Society. She is the current vice-president of the Pittsburgh chapter of Sisters in Crime and is on the National Board as the Education Liaison. Liz splits her time between Pittsburgh and the Laurel Highlands, where she lives with her husband and a very spoiled retired-racer greyhound.

Catch Up With Our Author:
LizMilliron.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @mary1414
Instagram – @LizMilliron
Twitter/X – @LizMilliron
Facebook – @LizMilliron

 

 

Tour Participants:

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Join In For a Chance to WIN!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Liz Milliron. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – Dead By Proxy by Manning Wolfe @partnersincr1me @manningwolfe

Dead By Proxy by Manning Wolfe Banner

Dead By Proxy

by Manning Wolfe

September 18 – October 13, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dead By Proxy by Manning Wolfe

In this lawyer on the run action suspense, attorney Quinton Bell loses the trial of his career, and possibly his life.

Dead By Proxy takes you on a heart-pounding journey through the life of a criminal defense attorney, whose world is wiped out. When Quinton loses a career-defining case, he finds himself being hunted by the very client he tried to save.

As Quinton navigates the treacherous path of survival, he is running from a powerful and relentless adversary who will stop at nothing to see him silenced. Finally landing in Houston, he hides in plain sight while re-inventing his new life as a trial lawyer.

When he’s forced to take on a high-profile murder case, he exposes himself and those he loves to danger. With each passing moment, the noose tightens, and he must draw on every ounce of wit to outsmart those who still want him dead.

Will Quinton Bell find a way out, or will he forever be a target in a deadly game of cat and mouse?

Dead By Proxy is the first book in the edgy Proxy Legal Thriller Series. If you like memorable characters, smart gritty action, and jaw-dropping twists, then you’ll love Manning Wolfe’s fast-paced page-turner.

Praise for Dead By Proxy:

“A riveting read that expertly teams courtroom drama and legal maneuvering with imminent danger, spine-tingling suspense, a touch of romance, and non-stop action. Talk about an adrenaline rush!”
~ Reedsy

“Manning Wolfe just put herself on my list of must-read authors!”
~ John Ellsworth

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Starpath Books, LLC
Publication Date: September 2023
Number of Pages: 275
Series: The Proxy Legal Thriller Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Byron was not jaded or trapped into being an attorney as many he knew were and he was not in it for the money, although that part was nice. And, he was not naive, as he was aware of severe injustices in the criminal justice system and felt improvement was needed. Byron continued to be on the playing field because he was one of the last true believers. The system was the best available right now and he actually trusted the outcome, most of the time.

Having deceased parents, one semi-estranged sibling in California, and no current plans to marry, Byron embraced the law as his mistress and his life. He simply loved it all. As most careers went, loving it meant he was devoted to it and good at it. He never glossed over a precedent or twisted a legal argument beyond its parameters. He was thrilled every time he set foot in a courtroom to do battle for his client, guilty or innocent.

Across the aisle, the prosecutor, Sebastian Roberts, relished this chance to incarcerate another criminal. Roberts moved his short spark-plug-of-a-body, decorated with a vest and bright paisley bow tie, around the courtroom as he laid out the federal government’s view of the case. He looked at Byron and his client, then back to the twelve chosen members of the jury.

Byron organized his thoughts, felt excitement tingle through his fingers and toes, and stood up at the defense table. In defending Killian Tyrone, Byron’s opening argument went something like this: “Your Honor and members of the jury. Today, I’d like to introduce you to my client, Killian Tyrone, the accused in this case. Now, I know what the prosecutor said about what he did, and that is probably swirling around in your brain right now, but I’d like for you to take a step back and listen to both sides of the story before you make a decision about my client’s behavior, guilt, or innocence. You also heard his inference about defense attorneys, that would be me.” He smiled and the jury laughed. “I’ll leave it to you to decide, but I have no intention of tricking you or trying to hide the ball.”

Byron pointed at his co-counsel, Michael, a shorter, younger version of himself, but with brown eyes. “My colleague, Michael Everett, and I will present Mr. Tyrone’s side of the case and, when we’re finished, I’m certain that you will find him not guilty.”

Byron smiled at the jury and took pride in the fact that when he won, he won fair and square, and he instilled these principles in his protégé, Michael. Byron encouraged Michael not to be blinded by the legal system, nor be immune to the tricks of the trade. Byron used the tools expertly, but he wanted to win with an equal playing field, or not at all, and the law allowed for plenty of ways to win. To Byron, what was the point if cheating was involved? That only proved he was the best cheater, not the best lawyer.

***

Excerpt from Dead By Proxy by Manning Wolfe. Copyright 2023 by Manning Wolfe. Reproduced with permission from Manning Wolfe. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Manning Wolfe

MANNING WOLFE, an award-winning author and attorney, writes cinematic-style, smart, fast-paced thrillers and crime fiction. Manning was recently featured on Oxygen TV’s: Accident, Suicide, or Murder, and has spoken at major book festivals around the world.

* Manning’s legal thriller series features Austin attorney Merit Bridges, including Dollar Signs, Music Notes, Green Fees, and Chinese Wall.

* Manning’s new Proxy Legal Thrillers Series features Houston attorney Quinton Bell, including Dead By Proxy, Hunted By Proxy, and Alive By Proxy.

* Manning is co-author of Killer Set: Drop the Mic, and twelve additional Bullet Books Speed Reads.

As a graduate of Rice University and the University of Texas School of Law, Manning’s experience has given her a voyeur’s peek into some shady characters’ lives and a front-row seat to watch the good people who stand against them.

Catch Up With Manning Wolfe:
www.ManningWolfe.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @manning-wolfe
Instagram – @manningwolfe
Twitter – @manningwolfe
Facebook – @manning.wolfe
Learn more about Manning Wolfe on Amazon!

 

 

Tour Participants:

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ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Manning Wolfe. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – Citizen Orlov by Jonathan Payne @partnersincr1me @jon7payne

Citizen Orlov by Jonathan Payne Banner

Citizen Orlov

by Jonathan Payne

September 4-29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Not every fishmonger can be a secret agent.

Journey to an unnamed mountainous country in central Europe at the end of the Great War. Enter Citizen Orlov, a simple fishmonger and an honest, upright citizen, who answers a phone call meant for a secret agent and stumbles into a hidden world of espionage and secrecy. Recruited by the Ministry of Security, he is sent on assignment to safeguard the king.

But Orlov soon discovers that his ministry handler, the alluring femme fatale Agent Zelle, is planning not to protect the king but to assassinate him. Caught in a web of plot and counterplot, confusing loyalties, and explosive betrayals, Orlov finds himself on trial for murder. Given the opportunity to clear his name, he finds that the lives of his friends, mother, and fellow citizens hang in the balance.

Praise for CITIZEN ORLOV:

“A triumph—and an answer to that age-old question of what would have happened had Gogol, Kafka and G. K. Chesterton collaborated on a thriller. A timeless work which will, I fear, be forever timely.”
~ Dixe Wills, author of Places to Hide and New World Order

“Jonathan Payne’s Citizen Orlov is a stunning debut! A page turning, down-the-rabbit-hole delight, told with equal measure of wit and suspense. A timeless classic for our current moment; a paranoid and comic thriller with a surprise on every page. I loved it!”
~ Don Scardino, Producer/Director, 30 Rock, New Amsterdam

“Highly engaging, and written with an engaging lightness of touch, Citizen Orlov marks the debut of a comic novelist to watch for the future.”
~ Dr. Adam Lively, Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing & Programme Leader, MA Novel Writing, Middlesex University

“The blend of action and picaresque buffoonery flatteringly calls Conan Doyle’s Brigadier Gerard tales to mind, and Payne pulls off a genuinely surprising conclusion. This auspicious debut announces a bright new voice in comic suspense.”
~ Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

[An] odyssey that seems part Kafka, part ‘Alice in Wonderland.
~ Wall Street Journal

Book Details:

Genre: Espionage Thriller
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: May 2023
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN: 9780744309010 (ISBN10: 0744309018)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

On a frigid winter’s morning in a mountainous region of central Europe, Citizen Orlov, a simple fishmonger, is taking a shortcut along the dank alley behind the Ministries of Security and Intelligence when a telephone begins to ring. He thinks nothing of it and continues on his daily constitutional, his heavy boots crunching the snow between the cobbles.

The ringing continues, becoming louder with each step. A window at the back of the ministry buildings is open, just a little. The ringing telephone sits on a table next to the open window. Orlov stops, troubled by this unusual scene: there is no reason for a window to be open on such a cold day. Since this is the Ministry of either Security or Intelligence, could an open window be a security breach of some kind?

Orlov is tempted to walk away. After all, this telephone call is none of his business. On the other hand, he is an upright and patriotic citizen who would not want to see national security compromised simply because no one was available to answer a telephone call. He is on the verge of stepping toward the open window when he hears footsteps ahead. A tight group of four soldiers is marching into the alley, rifles on shoulders. He freezes for a second, leans against

the wall, and quickly lights a cigarette. By the time the soldiers reach him, Orlov is dragging on the cigarette and working hard to appear nonchalant. The soldiers are palace guardsmen, but the red insignia on their uniforms indicates they are part of the elite unit that protects the Crown Prince, the king’s ambitious older son. Orlov nods politely, but the soldiers ignore him and march on at speed.

The telephone is still ringing. Someone very much wants an answer. Orlov stubs his cigarette on the wall and approaches the open window. The telephone is loud in his right ear. Peering through the gap, he sees a small, gloomy storeroom with neatly appointed shelves full of stationery.

Finally, he can stand it no longer. He reaches through the window, picks up the receiver, and pulls it on its long and winding cable out through the window to his ear.

“Hello?” says Orlov, looking up and down the alley to check he

is still alone.

“Thank God. Where have you been?” says an agitated voice, distant and crackly. Orlov is unsure what to say. The voice continues. “Kosek. Right now.”

“I’m sorry?” says Orlov.

“Kosek. Agent Kosek.”

Orlov peers into the storeroom again. “There’s no one here,” he says.

“Well, fetch him then. And hurry, for God’s sake. It’s important.”

Orlov is sorely tempted to end the call and walk away, but the voice is so angry that he dare not.

“One minute,” he says, and lays the receiver on the table. He opens the window wider and, with some considerable effort, pulls himself headfirst into the storeroom, where he tumbles onto the floor. Picking himself up, he slaps the dust from his overcoat, opens the storeroom door, and peers along the hallway; all is dark and quiet.

With some trepidation, Orlov returns to the telephone. “Hello?” he says.

“Kosek?”

“No, sorry. I’ll have to take a message.”

The caller is still agitated. “Well, focus on what I’m about to say. It’s life and death.”

Orlov’s hands are shaking. “Hold on,” he says, “I’ll fetch some paper.”

Before he can put the receiver down, the caller explodes with anger. “Are you a simpleton? Do not write this down. Remember it.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” says Orlov. “I’ll remember it.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here it is. We could not—repeat not—install it in room six. Don’t ask why, it’s a long story.”

The man is about to continue, but Orlov interrupts him. “Should I include that in the message: ‘it’s a long story’?”

“Mother of God,” shouts the man. “Why do they always give me the village idiot? No. Forget that part. I’ll start again.”

“Ready,” says Orlov.

This time the man speaks slower and more deliberately, as if to a child. “We could not—repeat not—install it in room six. You need to get room seven. It’s hidden above the wardrobe. Push the lever up, not down. Repeat that back to me.”

Orlov is now shaking all over, and he grimaces as he forces himself to focus. He repeats the message slowly but correctly.

“Whatever else you do, get that message to Kosek, in person. No one else. Lives depend on it. Understood?”

“Understood,” says Orlov, and the line goes dead.

***

Excerpt from Citizen Orlov by Jonathan Payne. Copyright 2023 by Jonathan Payne. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jonathan Payne

Jonathan Payne is a British-American writer based outside Washington, D.C. He holds a Master of Arts degree in Novel Writing from Middlesex University, London. His short fiction has been featured at the North London Story Festival and in magazines including Turnpike, Twist in Time and Fiction Kitchen Berlin. Before moving to the United States, he worked for the British government on matters of national security. When not writing or reading, he can be found in the boxing gym.

Catch Up With Jonathan Payne:
www.JonathanPayne.org
Goodreads
BookBub – @jon7payne
Instagram – @jon7payne
Twitter – @jon7payne

 

 

Tour Participants:

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ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jonathan Payne & CamCat Books. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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  • If you like what you see, why don’t you follow me?
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Review & Spotlight – Tropical Scandal by David Myles Robinson @DMRobinsonWrite @pumpupyourbook

https://amzn.to/482xd4X

Title: Tropical Scandal

Author: David Myles Robinson

Publisher: Bluewater Press, LLC

Pages: 291

Genre: Legal Thriller/Suspense/Mystery

 MY REVIEW

I must confess, it was the tropical cover that made me pause and check out the book. Then, the blurb mentions that it is based ‘somewhat on bizarrely true events’, I had to read it.

I have not read any of the previous books in the series and I don’t feel like it impacted my enjoyment of Tropical Scandal, though I always recommend beginning at the beginning, if you can. It helps to keep from stumbling over references to earlier books.

The descriptive writing made it easy to visualize the intriguing characters. The storyline is in depth, convoluted, twisting and turning, keeping me reading, because there was no way this was going to be an easy mystery for me to solve. I don’t read a lot of legal thrillers, but David Myles Robinson led me through the investigation and court proceedings, step by step.

Greed runs rampant. Flawed characters abound. Some I cared for, others I think get their just desserts. All in all, I enjoyed my time in Hawaii and would love to visit again.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Tropical Scandal by David Myles Robinson.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
3 Stars

BOOK BLURB

When Pancho McMartin, Honolulu’s top criminal defense attorney, takes on the case of Dayton Kalama, a young drug dealer accused of murdering his grandmother (tutu), Pancho is faced with a daunting amount of evidence pointing squarely at Dayton. But as Pancho, together with his private investigator, Drew Tulafono, gradually pull back the layers of deceit, they begin to uncover hints at what is beginning to look like the biggest scandal ever to hit Hawaii’s legal community. This book is pure fiction, but is inspired by true, scandalous events which shook Honolulu’s legal community to its core.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/482xd4X

Book Excerpt

I was surprised when my current lover, Padma Dasari, asked me to meet with Isaac Goldblum, a legendary Hawaii trial attorney who, now in his eighties, was an alcoholic still representing clients. I had made known my intolerance for those attorneys who fell prey to addiction

yet refused help—all while still accepting clients. They were walking malpractice cases who risked everything they’d worked for in their own lives—not to mention the lives of their

clients—by living and working as functional drunks or addicts.

Being a trial attorney was stressful. Being a criminal defense trial attorney was particularly stressful. Aside from the relatively rare innocent defendant, our customer base was composed of criminals who, generally speaking, were not the warmest and fuzziest people to deal with day in and day out.

Whether they were guilty or innocent, their lives were in our hands—a situation only the most jaded and burned-out counsel didn’t find stressful.

My surprise didn’t arise from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum. She was the former medical examiner for the city and county of Honolulu, and just as I had cross-examined her many times in her capacity as coroner, so had Goldblum. My surprise arose from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum had been one of my early heroes. He was most famous for having won an acquittal for two Hawaiian teenagers who had been charged with the murder of a prominent haole (Caucasian) businessman. The public outcry against the Hawaiian kids had been reminiscent of the uproar in the Deep South when young black men were charged with the rape of white women. It was scary. Goldblum was vilified for taking the case.

As he later said in an interview for the Honolulu Advertiser, he knew that anything short of proving who the real killer was would fall on deaf ears. His cross-examination of the

businessman’s administrative assistant, who’d been having an affair with the dead man’s wife and who ultimately confessed to the murder, was nothing short of brilliant.

I had shared my early hero worship of Goldblum with Padma, but I had also made it clear that I now harbored a healthy dose of contempt for the man, who seemed intent on destroying his own legacy. At the time, Padma had not tried to defend Goldblum.

We were enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon at Padma’s Kahala Beach condo when she broached the subject of my meeting with Goldblum. “He lives here, in the next building,”

she said. “He’s invited us to stop by for a cocktail at about four.”

I stared out from her oceanfront lanai at the tranquil ocean.

The palm fronds on the coconut trees fronting the beach barely twitched. One lone puff of a cumulous cloud hovered in the bright blue sky.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would I want to go have a drink with a drunk who should have put himself on inactive status years ago?”

Padma stared back at me with her piercing dark eyes. I half expected her to admonish me for being too judgmental—a trait I seemed to have developed in recent years. “Isaac asked to

meet with you. We know each other from court, and he knows I live in this building, and he knows we’re in a relationship. I think he came to me rather than you because he knows—or at

least suspects—that you aren’t much of an admirer of his.”

Padma had been born in India and had done volunteer work as a doctor in Bangladesh, but she had lived and worked in the United States for most of her adult life. Nonetheless, she

still retained the remnants of an accent, which was melodic and soothing. No doubt she was a calming influence on many people grieving the loss of a loved one. She had been instrumental in

helping my mother in New Mexico get through the early stages of the loss of my father. Just the tone of her voice seemed to take the wind out of my judgmental sails.

“Okay, but do you know why he wants to meet?”

She gave a small shake of her head. “Something about a case. That’s all I know.” She paused for a beat. “Look, I know he’s a drunk and you hate the fact that he’s still going to court, but you have to admit: drunk or sober, the man knows the law and probably still has pretty good instincts. I doubt he would ask to meet with you if he didn’t think it was important.”

I resisted the temptation to make a snide remark and instead looked at my watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. “Why’d you wait until now to tell me about this?”

Padma’s beautiful brown face broke into a mischievous grin. “So you wouldn’t have time to obsess about it.”

I laughed. “Jesus, Padma. We’re not even married and you play me like a fiddle.”

“I love the fiddle,” was her only retort.

About the Author

David Myles Robinson has always had a passion for writing. During the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, while in college, Robinson worked as a free-lance writer for several magazines and was a staff writer for a weekly minority newspaper in Pasadena, California. Upon graduating from San Francisco State University, he attended the University of San Francisco School of Law. It was there that he met his wife, Marcia Waldorf. In 1975 the two moved to Honolulu, Hawaii and began practicing law. Robinson became a trial lawyer and Waldorf eventually became a Circuit Court judge.

Upon retiring in 2010, Robinson completed his first novel, Unplayable Lie. He has since published eight more novels.

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Giveaway – Reckoning by Baron Birtcher @partnersincr1me

RECKONING by Baron Birtcher Banner

RECKONING

by Baron Birtcher

September 4 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Ty Dawson is a small-town sheriff with big-city problems, in this riveting crime thriller from the award-winning author of Fistful of Rain.

As lawman, rancher, and Korean War veteran, Ty Dawson has his share of problems in the southern Oregon county he calls home. Despite how rural it is, Meriwether can’t keep modernity at bay. The 1970s have changed the United States—and Meriwether won’t be spared.

A standoff looms when the US Fish & Wildlife Service seeks to separate longtime cattleman KC Sheridan from his water supply—ensuring the death of his livestock. If that’s not enough trouble, a Portland detective is found dead in a fly-fishing resort cabin. Though the Portland police, including the victim’s own partner, are eager to write off the tragedy as a suicide, Ty has his own thoughts on the matter—as well as evidence that points to murder. His suspicions soon mire him in a swamp of corruption that threatens nearly everyone around him. Turns out that greed and evil are contagious—and they take down men both great and small . . .

Praise:

“Combines the mystery and honesty of Craig Johnson’s Longmire with the first-person narration of a fiercely independent Oregon character.”
~ Sheila Deeth, author of John’s Joy

“A masterful work of a time gone by . . . Ty Dawson is a cowboy, lawman, father and philosopher like none other.”
~ Neal Griffin, Los Angeles Times–bestselling author of The Burden of Proof

“Outstanding… Readers will crave more from Dawson.”
~ Publishers Weekly

Book Details:

Genre: Neo-western crime thriller
Published by: Open Road Integrated Media
Publication Date: June 2023
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 978-1-5040-8280-8
Series: Sheriff Ty Dawson Series, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Open Road Media

Read an excerpt:

Prelude:

A TRANSITIVE NIGHTFALL

NO CHILD IS brought into this world with any knowledge of true evil. This they learn over the passage of time. In my experience as a Sheriff, and as a rancher, I have found this precept to be true.

Time passes nevertheless, even if it passes slowly. Here in rural southern Oregon, sometimes it seemed as if it hadn’t moved at all, advancing without touching Meriwether County, except with glancing blows.

That is, until the day it caught up with us all, and came down like a goddamn hammer.

CHAPTER ONE

ORDINARILY, AUTUMN IN Meriwether County would come in hard and sudden, like a stone hurled through a window. But this year it snuck in slow and mild, lingered there deceitfully while we waited for the axe to come down.

The sky that morning was turquoise, empty of clouds, the altitude strung with elongated V’s of migrating geese and a single contrail that resembled a surgical scar, the narrows between the high valley walls opening onto a broad vista of rangeland some distance below. I had expected ice patches to have formed on the pavement overnight, but the weather had remained stubbornly dry, even as temperatures closed in on the low thirties. I tipped open the wind-wing and let the chill air blow through the cab of my pickup as I stretched, and drank off the last dregs of coffee I had brought for the long southward drive from the town of Meridian.

I had received a phone call at home the night before from an unusually distressed KC Sheridan. I had known KC for as long as I can remember, a pragmatic and taciturn cattleman whose family history in the area dated back to the late 1800s, much like that of my own. Three generations of Sheridans had stretched fence wire, planted feed-grass and run rough stock across deeded ranchland that measured its acreage in the tens of thousands, and whose boundaries straddled two separate counties, one of which was my jurisdiction.

But the decade of the ’70s thus far had not been any kinder or gentler to cowboys than to anyone else, and KC and his wife, Irene, had found themselves increasingly subject to the fulminations and intimidation of both local and federal government. While the Sheridan ranch had once numbered itself among a dozen privately held agricultural properties in the region, KC now found himself surrounded on three sides by a federally designated wildlife refuge that had swollen to encompass well over three hundred square miles; a bird sanctuary originally conceived under the auspices of President Theodore Roosevelt’s white house. All of which would have been perfectly fine and acceptable to the Sheridan family, given the understanding that the scarce water supply that ultimately fed into the bird sanctuary belonged to the Sheridans by legal covenant, as it had for nearly a century.

I turned off the paved two-lane and onto a gravel service road, headed in the direction of the ridgeline where KC sat silhouetted against the bright backdrop of clear sky, mounted astride his chestnut roping horse. KC climbed out of the saddle as I parked a short distance away, switched off the ignition and stepped down from my truck. KC trailed the horse behind him as he moved in my direction, took off his hat and ran a forearm across his brow, then pressed it back onto his head. His hair and his eyes shared a similar shade of gunmetal grey, and the hardscrabble nature of his existence as a rancher had been recorded in the deep lines of his face.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about these goings-on, Sheriff?” KC asked, and cocked his brim in the general direction of a reservoir that was the size of a small mountain lake. Two men wearing construction hardhats were surveying a line on the near shore where a third man studied a roll of blueprints he had unfurled across the hood of his work truck.

“Is that who I think it is?” I asked.

“They aim to fence off my water. My cows won’t last a week in this weather.”

“Have you talked to them, KC?”

He nodded.

“’Bout as useful as standing in a bucket and trying to lift yourself up by the handle. It’s the reason I finally called you, Ty. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The vein on KC’s temple palpitated as he cut his eyes toward the foothills and spat.

“I’ll have a word with them,” I said. “You wait here.”

A wintry wind had begun to blow down from the pass, pushing channels through the dry grass and the sweet scents of juniper and scrub pine. A harrier swept down out of a cluster of black oaks and made a series of low passes across the flats.

I averted my eyes as the sun glinted off the US Department of Fish & Wildlife shield affixed to the driver side door of a government-issue Chevy Suburban. The man studying the blueprints didn’t bother to lift his head or look at me as I stepped up beside him.

“Care to tell me why you and your men are trespassing on private ranch land?” I asked.

The man sighed, scrutinizing me over the frames of a pair of steel-rimmed reading glasses. He had a face that put me in mind of an apple carving, and a physique that resembled a burlap sack filled with claw hammers.

“Who the hell are you now?” he asked.

“Ty Dawson, Sheriff of Meriwether County. That’s the name of the county you’re standing in.”

He took off his reading glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket, hitched a work boot onto the Suburban’s bumper and offered me an approximation of a smile.

“Well, Sheriff, I’m with Fish and Wildlife—that’s an agency of the federal government, as I’m sure you’re aware—and I have a work order that says I’m supposed to put up a fence. And that’s exactly what me and my crew are doing here.”

I gestured upslope, where KC Sheridan stood watching us, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You’re on that man’s private property,” I said.

The government man made no move to acknowledge KC.

“I don’t split hairs over those types of details, Sheriff. The work order I’ve got lays out the metes and bounds of the line, and me and my crew just install the fence where it says to. It ain’t brain surgery.”

“Scoot over and let me have a look at that site map.”

“I oughtta radio this in.”

“You do whatever you think you need to,” I said. “But do it while I’m looking at your map.”

He lifted his chin and looked as though he was conducting a dialogue with himself, then finally stepped to one side. I studied the blueprint for a few moments, looked out across the rock-studded range and got my bearings.

“Looks to me like the boundary line for the bird refuge is at least a hundred yards to the other side of this reservoir,” I said. “Your map is mismarked.”

“The agency doesn’t mismark maps, Sheriff.”

“They sure as hell mismarked this one. You need to stop your work until this gets sorted out.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Care to repeat that? There’s clearly been a mistake.”

“No mistake. You need to step away, Sheriff.”

“Let me explain something to you,” I said, removing my sunglasses. “It’s the law in the State of Oregon that the water that comes up on Mr. Sheridan’s property belongs to Mr. Sheridan. Period. If you fence off his reservoir—especially this late in the season—you’re not only stealing his water, you’re murdering his herd.”

The agency man lifted his foot off the bumper, set his feet wide and faced off with me. He slid both hands into the back pockets of his canvas overalls and rocked back on his heels.

“Now it’s my turn to try to explain something to you, Sheriff: I been given a job to do, and I intend to do it. If you don’t walk away right this minute and leave me to it, I will be forced to radio this in. Long and the short of it is, the guys who will come out here after me will have badges, too. And their badges are bigger than yours.”

“I won’t allow you to trespass onto private property, steal this man’s water and kill his livestock.”

He glanced at his two crewmen staking the line then turned his attention back to me.

“You going to arrest us?” he asked.

“What is it with you agency people? Why is it that your first inclination is to slam the pedal all the way to the floor?”

“When me and the boys come back out here, it won’t just be the three of us no more.”

“I’m finished talking about this,” I said. “Pack up your gear and go.”

I could feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I picked my way back up the incline where Sheridan stood waiting for me.

“I can tell by your stride that you had the same kind of dialogue experience I had with that fella,” KC said.

“Bureaucrats with hardhats.”

“I ain’t no cupcake, Dawson. But, you know that those sonsabitches have been tweaking my nose for years.”

“Those men are part of a federal agency, KC, make no mistake. If you’re not careful, they’ll try to roll right over the top of you.”

“What do you call what they’re doing right now? I don’t intend to lay down for it.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

“What, then?”

“Get on the phone and call Judge Yates up in Salem,” I said. “Ask him if he can slap an injunction on these clowns until we get it sorted out.”

Sheridan’s horse pinned back his ears and began to shuffle his forelegs, responding to the tone our conversation had taken. KC calmed the animal with a caress of its neck, dipped into the pocket of his wool coat, snapped off a few pieces of carrot and fed it to the gelding from the flat of his palm.

“I’ll do it, Ty, but I swear to god—”

“KC, you call me before you do anything else, you understand?”

***

Excerpt from RECKONING by Baron Birtcher. Copyright 2023 by Baron Birtcher. Reproduced with permission from Baron Birtcher. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Baron Birtcher

Baron R Birtcher is the LA TIMES and IMBA BESTSELLING author of the hardboiled Mike Travis series (Roadhouse Blues, Ruby Tuesday, Angels Fall, and Hard Latitudes), the award-winning Ty Dawson series (South California Purples, Fistful Of Rain, and Reckoning), as well as the critically-lauded stand-alone, RAIN DOGS.

Baron is a five-time winner of the SILVER FALCHION AWARD, and the WINNER of 2018’s Killer Nashville READERS CHOICE AWARD, as well as 2019’s BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR for Fistful Of Rain.

He has also had the honor of having been named a finalist for the NERO AWARD, the LEFTY AWARD, the FOREWORD INDIE AWARD, the 2016 BEST BOOK AWARD, the Pacific Northwest’s regional SPOTTED OWL AWARD, and the CLAYMORE AWARD.

Baron’s writing has been hailed as “The real deal” by Publishers Weekly; “Fast Paced and Engaging” by Booklist; and “Solid, Fluent and Thrilling” by Kirkus.

“YOU WANT TO READ BIRTCHER’S BOOKS, THEN YOU WANT TO LIVE IN THEM” — Don Winslow, NYT Bestselling author

“BIRTCHER IS PART POET, PART PHILOSOPHER, AND A CONSUMMATE WRITER” — Reed Farrel Coleman, NYT Bestselling author

“REMINISCENT OF THE LATE, GREAT ELMORE LEONARD” — Shots Magazine (UK)

Catch Up With Baron Birtcher:
Instagram – @baronrbirtcherauthor
Facebook

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

 

 

JOIN IN ON THE GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Baron Birtcher. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – Precious Burdens by Avery Sterling @PumpUpYourBook @AverySterling17

Title: Precious Burdens

Author: Avery Sterling

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Pages: 324

Genre: Historical Romance

BOOK BLURB

Sarafina di Ramonicci sets sail for America as the promised bride in an arranged political marriage.
Taken prisoner at sea, she clashes with her captor and demands freedom, only to discover he is planning her future husband’s demise, with her as a pawn in their deadly feud. The challenge of escape tests her loyalty to family, human decency, and love.

Captain Nye Tarquin is a dangerous man. Left to die on the streets of New Orleans, he swears retribution on the man responsible. When he makes Sarafina part of his plan, he isn’t prepared for the fiery vixen aboard his ship, nor his desire to claim her as his own. When passion overtakes honor, he’s torn between his heart and his need for justice.

EXCERPT

A grin formed on his lips. “She belongs to me now,” he said, his voice was as cool as his expression. “And when Cornell comes for her, I’ll be waiting to return the favor… only I’ll succeed, where he did not.”

   Sarafina’s fingers curled around her goblet. “What makes you think he’ll come for her?”

   “He has several reasons to take the bait. Cornell will demand satisfaction for his humiliation.”

   “His humiliation?” She sat up straighter. “What about hers? Do you understand what people will think when they find out she was held hostage here? If her intended is murdered and she’s left stranded, this will leave her utterly alone. What will become of her, then?”

   “She’ll marry someone better than the likes of Cornell, I hope,” he replied dryly.

   She slammed her goblet down and flew to her feet. “And who would want her?”

   He remained seated. “I’m doing her a great service,” he said calmly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “You have no idea the kind of life she would’ve been subjected to.”

   “So, you’re her savior now?”

   The captain pushed off his chair, and straightened to his full height. She kept her glare locked with his, but keeping it steady was becoming as difficult as her breathing. “Maybe,” he said.

   “That’s an absurd notion,” she replied.

   “Is it?” he asked. He stepped towards her, and she stepped back in unison, until the back of her legs hit the chair.

 ABOUT AVERY STERLING

Avery Sterling’s love for the romance genre began in her teen years when she picked up her first novel. She was captivated by the sweeping scale of emotions brought about by the words. The experience catapulted her towards learning the art of wielding a breathtaking adventure, with a love that felt authentic. Wanting to inspire people with her own thoughts and words, she finished her first novel at sixteen. It was a step towards understanding the essence of what she wished to create.

Most of her youth was spent traveling, searching out the romance and beauty in her everchanging world. From the waves that crashed against the rocky shores of Downeast, Maine, to the warm breezes of the Caribbean, she discovered that love was universal, apparent in its grandest and simplest of forms. Her goal is to write novels an audience can relate to, one that conveys the truth and nature of love… with all that steamy romance.

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Giveaway & Review – DiAnn Mills’ Facing The Enemy @partnersincr1me @diannmills

Facing The Enemy by DiAnn Mills Banner

Facing The Enemy

by DiAnn Mills

September 4 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

I was so excited to get a signed copy of Facing The Enemy by Diann Mills for the tour. It was and great adventure and all I had hoped for in a mystery novel.

MY REVIEW

I love the cover and title for Facing The Enemy by Diann Mills. This is my first novel by Diann Mills, but now she is on my radar.

Ya gotta have a good bad guy to have a good good guy 🙂 and Risa fits that good guy bill, along with her partner/boyfriend, Gage.

Her troubles begin when her brother, Trenton, is killed by a hit and run driver. She learns the kill was meant for her. She has been estranged from her drug addicted brother, but he wanted to meet her to begin over. His life would be ended before he had the chance. Because of a warning left for her, she begins to work undercover, letting everyone think she has left the FBI and is now a college professor. That is where she meets Carson, and everything begins to come together.

In the beginning, Gage doesn’t know she is working undercover, but when he finds out, they team up to chase the leads supplied by Carson. More FBI agents will fall. It takes a brazen villain to take out FBI agents, as if they are gang bangers or cartel members.

Risa and Gage work in the violent crimes against children division of the FBI. They complement each other, her being a bit headstrong and him more down to earth. She is reminded of that when they travel together to track down Carson.

It is not her fault that men do wrong and she it takes some time for her to accept that God gives man free will. It is up to them what they do with it.

Her dad was a race car driver and taught her how to drive. She is Speed Racer and leaves Gage white knuckled. I love that about her. I used to be a bit of a Speed Racer in my younger years and love that I can relate to a character in a personal way. It adds that little bit extra that makes me like the character more.

As the good guys fall and the body count rises, it’s obvious that someone with an awful lot of power, untouchable, is at the head of the organization. Is it one person? Is it a syndicate?

A problem, for me, started in Chapter 62. I wasn’t surprised by it. It seems to be a common occurrence in romantic suspense novels and hard to get around.

The action and adventure travels throughout the country as they dodge bullets, cars and those that want them dead. It becomes difficult to tell who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. Innocent lives are sacrificed, stolen. It’s disgusting when defenseless children, and women who cannot defend themselves, are used for someone’s monetary gain. They are some of the most despicable people in the world and my feelings toward them, fictional or otherwise, get my blood boiling. We can only hope that Karma comes back to bite them!!!!!!!!

I do love that a piece of the author’s personal life is the start of Risa’s story. Will it end here? Will there be a sequel? Is this a series? As far as, will it end here, I think one story is told and one is open ended. As far as a sequel or series, I think the answer could be yes.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Facing The Enemy by Diann Mills

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

For the past five years, FBI Special Agent Risa Jacobs has worked in the violent crimes against children division of the Houston FBI. She’s never had reason to believe there’s a target on her back . . . until now.

When the long-awaited reunion between Risa and her brother, Trenton, ends in tragedy, Risa is riddled with guilt, unable to cope with the responsibility she feels over his death. On leave from the FBI, Risa returns to her former career as an English teacher at a local college, only to see her past and present collide when one of her students, Carson Mercury, turns in an assignment that reads like an eyewitness account of her brother’s murder, with details never revealed publicly.

Alarmed by Carson’s inside knowledge of Trenton’s death, Risa reaches out to her former partner at the FBI. Special Agent Gage Patterson has been working a string of baby kidnappings, but he agrees to help look into Carson’s background. Risa and Gage soon discover their cases might be connected as a string of high-value thefts have occurred at properties where security systems were installed by Carson’s stepfather and children have gone missing. There’s a far more sinister plot at play than they ever imagined, and innocent lives are in danger.

DiAnn Mills delivers romantic suspense fans a heart-pounding thriller about loss, betrayal, and finding the strength to trust again!

Praise for Facing The Enemy:

“Riveting! In her signature style, Diann Mills expertly weaves a gripping tale of ever-increasing danger. Captivating, authentic characters along with surprising twists and turns drew me deeper into this engrossing thriller and kept me on the edge of my seat until the last page. I still can’t stop thinking about it!”
~ Elizabeth Goddard, bestselling author of COLD LIGHT OF DAY

“I’m a longtime reader of suspense thrillers, but DiAnn Mills’ latest, FACING THE ENEMY, made me gasp with surprise. The issues involved in the story—adoption and the families who long to love children—are close to my heart, and that emotional connection held me by the heartstrings. Not to be missed! ”
~ Angela Hunt, author of WHAT A WAVE MUST BE

Facing The Enemy Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 2023
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9781496451941 (ISBN10: 1496451945)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | ChristianBook

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Houston, Texas
July 29
Risa

Twelve years ago, my younger brother fell into an abyss of drugs and alcohol. He chose his addictions over Mom and Dad—and me. Prayers for healing fell flat, but none of us gave up, proving our belief in unconditional love. Then yesterday he called, and my hopes skyrocketed. Trenton said he missed me and wanted to make amends with his family, beginning with his older sis. We chose to meet at a popular restaurant for a late dinner within walking distance of my apartment.

A knock on my cubicle jolted me back to reality. Gage, my work partner, towered in the entryway and grinned. “Hey, what’s going on?”

The sound of his voice caused me to tingle to my toes. “Thinking.”

“Obviously, you were a million miles away.” His blue-gray eyes bore into mine, the intensity nearly distracting me.

I leaned back in my comfy, ergonomic chair. “My brother called.”

“Trenton? The guy you haven’t seen in years?”

“The same.”

“And?”

“He wants to meet tonight for dinner, to talk about making amends.”

Gage shook his head. “Risa, he has a record a mile long. He’s planning on manipulating you, squeezing every penny he can get.”

I picked up an old photo of Trenton and me as kids. Dad had snapped it while we were in our tree house. I swiped at a piece of dust, then replaced it beside my photo of Mom and Dad. “I must give him a chance. He’s my brother.”

“What if he’s gotten himself in over his head and needs his FBI agent sis to bail him out?”

I bit into my lower lip. Gage’s words had a level of truth, even if I didn’t want to admit it. “I want to hear him out.”

Gage stepped closer. “I don’t want to see you hurt. Remember three years ago when he called you from a bar demanding money, cursed you until you hung up?” The soft gentleness in his whispered tone said more than friend to friend. “Think about canceling the dinner or let me go with you.”

Emotion rose thick in my throat. “You mean well, and I—” Catching myself, I nearly said love. “I appreciate your concern. But I’ll be fine. Want me to call you afterward?”

He nodded. “I can run by if you need to talk.”

I peered into the face of the man I adored. “I will. Promise.”

#

I arrived early at the restaurant to meet Trenton, anticipating his contagious smile perfected by an overpaid orthodontist. The phone attempted to keep my attention, but my mind swirled with how I wanted tonight to move forward against the reality of what had happened in the past.

The host approached me. Trenton walked behind him, towering several inches above the short man. I held my breath and stood, not feeling my legs, only my pulse speeding at the sight of my brother.

Trenton chuckled low, the familiar, dazzling, heart-crunching expression that had always touched me with sibling love. Clear brown eyes captured mine. Gone were the dilated pupils and bone-thin body. My brother held out his buff arms, and I rushed into them.

“Risa, you look amazing,” he whispered. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Nothing could have kept me away.” I stepped back, noting the miracle before me. Telling Mom and Dad wasn’t a part of tonight’s plan, but I wished they were here. We’d all be blubbering. I swiped at a tear and feared a humiliating sob would replace my already-fragile composure. “I want to remember this moment forever.” Please stay strong this time.

“Me too, Sis.” He gestured to the booth. “Sit, and let’s talk and eat.”

I slid in and he took the opposite side of the table. A server presented us with menus and asked for our drink order.

“We’ll have two Dr Peppers,” Trenton said.

He remembered my favorite drink. No mention of alcohol. I breathed in deeply to steady myself. I wanted our reunion to be special, not me a weeping mess. “I’ve missed you.”

Trenton cocked his head, and the mischievous brother from days gone by appeared. “I’ve been clean for four months. Working steady and enrolled in night school for the next college term.” He took my hands, and his features grew serious. “But before I say another word, I’m sorry. I promise you, I’ll never hurt you, Mom, or Dad again. Please forgive me for the mess I made of my life and dragging my family through the stench of it.”

I’d heard this before, from his teen years into his twenties. Dare I believe our prayers had been answered? “I forgave you years ago. All we ever wanted for you is a healthy body and mind.”

“Thanks, Sis. I know you’ve heard this ‘I’m sorry’ junk before, but I’m well on my way.”

His words warmed me like a quilt on a chilly night. “I can see it, feel it. Why tell me first instead of Mom and Dad?”

“Great times with you growing up that never left me.”

Memories rushed over me . . . The time we went camping by ourselves and it snowed. Birthdays. Christmases. All the treasured times I believed had vanished into the chasm of addiction.

The server returned with our drinks, and Trenton released my hands.

“Have you decided on your order?” the server said.

Neither of us had picked up our menus, but I often frequented the restaurant and ordered a vegan dish. Trenton opted for their pork chop and fixings.

“And I’ll take the bill.” He pointed at me. “No arguments.”

“My treat when we have dinner again.”

“Got it.”

“You were about to tell me something about us.”

He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Two things stand out. The first one happened when I was four, so that made you ten. You were watching me trying to climb an oak tree in the back yard. I was crying because my short legs couldn’t swing high enough. Then I felt your hand on my shoulder. You boosted me up onto the branch. Climbed up with me. No long after that, Dad built us a tree house.”

“I loved that tree house. You had your space and I had mine.”

“What I’ll always remember is what you said to me. ‘Trenton, I’m your big sis. I’ll always help you. I promise.’”

I blinked back the ocean of hopeful tears. “Thanks. I remember our times in the tree house, our private little world.”

“One more reason I contacted you. I was six and you were twelve. For three summers, Mom and Dad put me in swimming lessons, but I couldn’t put my head underwater. Not sure why. You convinced Mom and Dad that you could teach me how to swim. So every day we went to the neighborhood pool, and at the end of two weeks, I was swimming. I trusted you.”

I took a deep breath. Be aware of manipulation, Risa. “Thanks.” I raised a finger. “I remember being a high school junior and this jerk of a guy followed me home. Wouldn’t leave me alone. You punched him in the nose.”

Trenton laughed. “My voice hadn’t changed yet, but I wasn’t going to let him bother you.”

“That’s love, Brother.” Oh, Trenton, let this be for keeps. I’m afraid to believe the nightmare is over.

“And we’ll make many more crazy times together. Do you have plans for Saturday morning? I volunteer at a community center for kids at risk. We have a mixed basketball team, and I could use some help with the girls.”

I shivered. What a blessing to have my brother back. “All I need is a time and place.”

“You never fail me, Sis.” He took a long drink of his Dr Pepper. “Are you writing?”

I grinned. “Dabbling here and there.”

“I never understood why you left a safe job as a college prof and writer to the dangers of the FBI?” He shrugged. “Other than your wild side that you kept more in check than I did.”

“Teaching and writing short stories with a few successful publications failed to fill my adventure deficit. Every time I read about a crime, I wanted to be the one working the case. Dad said I couldn’t create a crime and solve it—I had to be actively involved.”

“Your personality better fits law enforcement. Still married to the FBI?”

I wiggled my shoulders. “Of course. Five years ago, I moved to the Violent Crime Division, specifically Crimes Against Children. It’s stressful and emotional, but protecting children suits me.”

He frowned. “Because of me?”

I blinked. “A little. My main reason is what happened to the little girl who lived across the street from us.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry her death still bothers you. Isn’t there a special team for finding missing kids?”

“Child Abduction Rapid Deployment or CARD. They’re an elite, specialized team, and that’s all they do. That’s not my role, but we often work together.”

“What do you investigate?” Trenton seemed interested in my job, another first.

“My partner and I investigate kidnappings, pedophiles, pornography, online predators, human trafficking, involuntary servitude, parental kidnapping, and any other situation that fell into the ‘violent crimes against children’ bucket.”

“I remember you were the neighborhood babysitter.” He gave me his unforgettable impish grin. “And I also remember how much fun you had learning how to handle a car at high speeds.”

I couldn’t conceal my laughter. “Guess I’m part daredevil. Blame Dad for that. I remember loving to watch him race cars.”

“He’d still be at it if Mom hadn’t insisted his speed-loving days were over.”

“When he taught me to drive, I learned a lot of tricks,” I said.

“He already knew I was danger on wheels and asked Mom to teach me.” He laughed. “Any potential brothers-in-law?”

I waved off his remark. My thoughts swept to Gage. Maybe I had found him, but that was a future conversation. “Nope. My job scares them off. I had more dates during my stint as a dull college professor.”

“You dull? Never. You just haven’t found the right guy. Pray about it, and if there’s a guy good enough for my sis, he’ll appear.”

I startled. “Did you say pray?”

“Think about it. Who but God could have turned me around? Helped me walk away from drugs, alcohol, and so-called friends?”

Even in his good days, Trenton had steered away from mentions of faith. Maybe he had changed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.” He chuckled. “You always had more words in one day than I had in a week. But honestly, no more jail. No more being tossed out of an apartment because I couldn’t pay the rent. No more waking up and not remembering the night before.”

Wow. A true miracle. I swiped at happy tears. “I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad.”

He leaned over the table as though to tell me a secret. “I’ll do the honors very soon.”

When our food arrived, he asked to say grace. I was so glad our eyes were closed, or he’d have seen a leaky faucet. We chatted through dinner. Laughed about some of the goofy things we’d done as kids. Time seemingly stopped, and my half-full cup of blessings spilled over with joy.

“Will you tell me about your healing journey?” I said.

“You can hear for yourself when I talk to Mom and Dad.” He moistened his lips. “Do you trust me enough to walk you back to your apartment and call them from there? I mean, does your building have a lobby area with a little privacy?”

“It does, but you can call from my apartment. Trenton, they will be incredibly happy.”

“I hope so.”

I was so focused on our conversation that I didn’t think I tasted my favorite dish. We finished and he paid the bill. Outside the restaurant, a few people mingled, and the night sky hosted a half-moon, alerting me to how long Trenton and I had talked. I breathed in thankfulness and expectations for a positive tomorrow. At the crosswalk, we waited for the pedestrian sign to signal our turn.

“How long have you lived in this fancy high-rise?” he said as we ambled across the street.

“Two years. I like the busyness and excitement.”

“It must be in your DNA. One day, I want a small place in the country where it’s quiet.”

“Never for me. I’ll visit you though.” The humid heat mixed with exhaust fumes spiraled around us. “What are you taking in college?”

“Psychology. See if I can’t help a few kids understand life and avoid pitfalls.”

“Incredible. I’m so pro—”

Trenton grabbed my shoulders and thrust me several feet ahead next to the curb. I landed on my side and rolled over. What—?

A horrible thud.

A woman screamed.

Tires squealed.

Horns blew.

Stinging pain radiated up my leg, side, arm, and head. In agony, I managed to roll over and glance at the street.

My brother’s body lay in the intersection, a twisted mass of flesh and blood.

***

Excerpt from FACING THE ENEMY by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2023 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

DiAnn Mills

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She is a storyteller and creates action-packed, suspense-filled novels to thrill readers. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure?

Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.

DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers, Jerry Jennings Writers Guild, Mystery Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.

DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers:
DiannMills.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @DiAnnMills
Instagram – @diannmillsauthor
X – @diannmills
Facebook – @diannmills
YouTube – @diannmills

 

 

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Giveaway – Moccasin Trace by Hawk MacKinney @GoddessFish



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on he tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

It is July of 1859, a month of sweltering dog days and feverish emotional bombast. Life is good for widower Rundell Ingram and his hazel-eyed, roan-haired son, Hamilton. Between the two of them, they take care of Moccasin Hollow, their rustic dogtrot ancestral home, a sprawling non-slave plantation in the rolling farming country outside Queensborough Towne in east Georgia. Adjoining Ingram lands is Wisteria Bend, the vast slave-holding plantation of Andrew and Corinthia Greer, their daughter Sarah and son Benjamin.

Both families share generations of long-accepted traditions, and childhood playmates are no longer children. Against this rustic idyll of hard work and gracious living comes inflexible discord and divided loyalties that mutilate ties of blood and bond, tearing at their lives as smoke and battle no longer so faraway crashes and maims ever closer. Ahead of the on-coming ranks of Blue, foragers and bumlers burn, loot, scavenge and kill. Hamilton faces agonizing sacrifices with dreadful consequences. With little else than his wits, he tries anything to protect Sarah, their unborn child, his sickly father, and Sarah’s family.


Read an Excerpt

Back at his post behind the oaks, it wasn’t long before the Trace crowded up with a hodgepodge mishmash of wagons and carts headed as far from Augusta as they could get. As he silently watched, it seemed the whole of the Parish was on the move. His thoughts jarred by the hurried plunge of a rider coming toward him through the canebrake. He dropped to one knee, his rifle to the ready, just as Nat and one of Ben’s mules busted into the clearing.

Nat hauled up, slid off the mule, “Mister Ben said to git the word to you — Yankie patrols spotted this side of Sandersville. They burnin’ ever’thing, barns, houses, killin’ what they don’t take. Tearin’ Jericho out’a ever’thing they git their hands to.”

Hamilton grabbed his mare’s reins, pulled into the saddle, “Get back to the Bends. Tell Ben you found me, and Nat — keep a sharp eye out. Advance lookouts could be anywhere.”

Hamilton, off in a mad tear, nudged the mare faster. Wind whistled in his ears, low hanging limbs slashed his sweaty face, horses’ hooves flinging clods high behind him. Yankies moving that fast wouldn’t ask questions; they’d burn, move on, Sarah and their child be refugees like the pitiful wagons he’d seen. He reined up next to the porch, his horse skidding as he swung out of the saddle.

Bessie was on the front porch, “See you comin’ fast.” Pistol in her hand, she threw quick glance out across the fields. “Nat find you?”

“Yeh…he’s on his way to let Ben know…they might be making a wide sweep into Augusta from this side.”

“Missy’s cramps reg’lar, an’ you be the only help. Yankie or no Yankie, Missy an’ that chil’ in her belly need both of us.”

“If it’s their main bunch they’ll have bummers way ahead of their army.”

“Lordy mercy — nobody gonna stop that ceptin’ the Lord.” Bessie shoved her pistol deep in her pocket. “Don’t matter how many trompin’ ’bout, ain’t nobody gittin’ twixt me’n Missy an’ her chil’. When the Lord say that baby come, fightin’ gonna wait, but Jehovah sure gonna have a handful.”

“I’ll keep watch out by the barns.”

Bessie started inside and stopped, “Maybe watchin’ from the barn ain’t the best next thing. Mistress Corinth’a be upset we don’t let her know her grandchil’ comin’ so she can come help. When she do, young Benjamin alone in that big house settin’ there all big an’ white. You knows what I means — Yankies cain’t miss it. Bein’ hot-headed he won’t budge, an’ now ain’t the time for bein’ spiteful ’bout which soldiers got the most bullets — git shot dead. You’n me both know how that cut down Mistress Corinth’a.”

“Might be best to get Mother Greer here while we can,” said Hamilton fighting his own fear.

“If Mistress Corinth’a come she best while it daylight. Missy’s cramps likely won’t be reg’lar for a spell. ‘Fore things git busy, time is now to hotfoot over there, an’ git back here quick-like.”

“Tell Papa where I’m headed.”

“Don’t need tellin’ Mister Rundell, he been up ‘fore daybreak, his gun primed and ready. We manage…you make double-sure your butt git back here in one piece.” Shook her head, “Sweet Lord…what a mixed-up world you bringin’ this chil’ into.”

Hamilton was into the saddle. Gave the mare her head, didn’t bother with gates, jumped the fences, pushed her to a full-out gallop. He stayed clear of the Trace, cleared hedgerows and fences, splashed through slough bogs. Before he realized it, he burst through a squatter’s camp, scattering pots, pans, campfires, ramshackle shelters, and stampeded several horses. Startled poachers reached for rifles. He spurred the mare and disappeared into the brush, leaving them with nothing to aim at. Racing faster, he finally caught glimpses of the white unperturbed columns of the Bends. As he came out onto the wide buggy approach to the house, he glanced behind, making sure no one was on his tail.

About the Author:
In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk MacKinney has authored several works of fiction—historical love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series: Hidden Chamber of Death, Westobou Gold, Dead Gold, Curse of the Ancients, and Blood of the Dragonfly.

Hawk’s science fiction novels include The Bleikovat Event, Vol I in The Cairns of Sainctuarie Science Fiction Series, followed by Vol II, The Missing Planets, and Vol III, Inanna Phantom.

Hawk MacKinney served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history. He has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel. He now makes his home in Augusta, Georgia, where he writes full-time.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/698008.Hawk_MacKinney
Website: https://www.hawkmackinneyauthor.com/
Buy Links: https://www.amazon.com/Moccasin-Trace-Hawk-MacKinney-ebook/dp/B0CB24VY52
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/moccasin-trace-hawk-mackinney/1008084042

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Giveaway – The Queen Of The Poor by Alan Gold @xpressotours #alangold #thequeenofthepoor

The Queen of the Poor
Alan Gold
Publication date: August 9th 2023
Genres: Adult, Historical

Angela Burdett-Coutts was a wealthy woman who used her money, class and prestige to make a tangible difference for those less fortunate. She would become one of the most outspoken and dedicated philanthropists of her day. Throwing herself into the causes she valued the most, her charity work became renowned, earning her recognition from none other than Queen Victoria herself.

Coutts the bank was founded in 1692 but really took off when Thomas Coutts took over at the beginning of the 19th Century. He made a fortune, and left it to his second wife, 40 years younger and an actress. When she died, she left it all to Thomas’ granddaughter, Angela Burdett-Coutts.

Suddenly, Angela became the second wealthiest woman in England after Queen Victoria. She had to hire bodyguards to keep fortune hunters away. But because of her wealth and also because her father was a radical politician, she moved in the most interesting circles of Victorian society, where she met and has numerous affairs with famous people, like the chemist Michael Faraday and many others including Charles Dickens and the Duke of Wellington.

She caused something of a scandal with her radical lifestyle, but because of her wealth, and the fact that she spends most of her money on charity, opening schools for impoverished children, helping Dickens with the housing for the poor, housing prostitutes and getting them off the streets she’s almost beyond criticism…. until, at the age of 66, she caused absolute shock and outrage, because she chose to marry her 29-yearold secretary called William Lehman Ashmead Bartlett. Whilst this in itself does not appear particularly shocking, as he was, like her father, a Member of Parliament, the astonishing age gap left society aghast. Whilst she was sixty-seven, he was just twenty-nine years old.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

When Harriot Mellon Coutts and the duke had married, it had caused a sensation, mainly because he was twenty-three years younger than she was. Also, despite her previous marriage to the late Thomas Coutts, she was still known far and wide in British aristocratic society as ‘the actress’. Appearing at the reading of his wife’s will wasn’t something which the duke would countenance, not with all her damnable relatives pointing and sniggering.

Explanation (On her death in 1837, her property and fortune went to her step granddaughter, selected as heir after careful scrutiny of the possible recipients, who as a condition of the inheritance adapted her name to Angela Burdett-Coutts.[7])

Author Bio:

Alan Gold began his career as a journalist, working in the UK, Europe, and Israel. In 1970, he emigrated to Australia with his wife, Eva, and now lives in St. Ives, Sydney, where he divides his time between writing novels and running his award-winning marketing consultancy.


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Giveaway – 25 To Life by John Lansing @partnersincr1me @jelansing

25 to Life by John Lansing Banner

25 to Life

by John Lansing

August 21 – September 15, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

25 to Life is the fifth and latest installment in the Jack Bertolino series, written by John Lansing in the propulsive, cinematic, page-turning style he has become known for.

Gloria Millhouse, a beautiful African American law student, is working with the Project for the Innocent. She has done extensive research on inmate Carl Forbes, who she believes was wrongfully arrested, convicted and incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit, the sexual assault and brutal murder of a teenage girl in Los Angeles twenty-three years ago. Gloria dies in a car crash on Malibu Canyon Road after questioning powerful, politically-connected men who were witnesses at Carl’s trial and knew the victim personally. Private investigator Jack Bertolino is brought on to discover the truth behind Gloria’s death. Was her crash simply a random accident or a conspiracy to prevent the courts from reopening the case and granting Carl Forbes a new trial? Jack believes that Gloria was murdered, and as the body count rises, it becomes clear that if Jack can find Gloria’s killer, he will also find the man responsible for the teenager’s assault and murder. And Carl Forbes can walk out of prison a free man.

Praise for 25 to Life:

“Los Angeles–based private investigator delves into a murder with ties to a wrongfully convicted man in Lansing’s detective novel.”
“The author packs this latest installment in the Jack Bertolino series with new and returning characters. Gloria’s mysterious death is the catalyst, but it’s this vibrant cast that truly propels the tense narrative. The author’s incisive writing sets Jack on the investigation right away, and succinct chapters breeze by as he compiles a suspect list and looks into a host of crimes. Even as the culprits become more apparent, Jack must still prove they’re guilty. It all leads to a superb ending and the unmistakable sense that this series is nowhere close to slowing down.”
“Razor-sharp characters propel a taut, suspenseful thriller.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Crime/Thriller
Published by: White Street Press
Publication Date: September 2023
Number of Pages: 276
ISBN: 979-8-9885 166-1-3
Series: The Jack Bertolino Series, 5
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | More

Read an excerpt:

ONE

Gloria was embarrassingly beautiful first thing in the morning. Her lively intelligent eyes, were the color of cocoa. Her perfect skin was a shade darker. She blew steam over the rim of her coffee cup, steeling herself for the day. Gloria mentally repeated the bullet points she wanted to make with her next group of interviewees.

Mug shots of Carl Forbes, a teenage African American boy, were taped to her mirror. A daily reminder of her life’s work. She quickly gathered her overflowing briefcase and iPad, and locked the apartment door behind her.

Gloria slid behind the wheel of her Fiat, the color of a pistachio, and headed for her first appointment with Councilman Mark Corcoran.

Gloria’s interview with the councilman wasn’t going well. Saying she worked with Project for the Innocent did her no good. Corcoran had agreed to give her ten minutes of his time, but the officious man had already checked his watch twice.

“I’m a big fan of your program,” Corcoran said. His unblinking eyes used to intimidate had no effect on Gloria. “But I believe your client is a guilty man. I followed the case—hell, we all knew the kid. Quiet type, lived a few blocks over, didn’t run with our set. Hard to believe him capable of such brutality, but he confessed to the crime.”

Gloria was prepared for this. “Carl says the arresting officers tortured the confession out of him. He was seventeen years old. Thirty-six hours without food or bathroom facilities. And look at the photograph, it’s clear he’d been beaten.”

The councilman glanced at the photo and handed it back. “He was picked out of a lineup.”

“Eyewitnesses are notoriously undependable. If the cops coerced the confession, it’s not a stretch to think they might have manipulated the lineup. And none of his DNA was found on, or in the victim’s body. Shelley Goldstein had been sexually assaulted before she was murdered. I believe Carl was set up. He’s already served twenty-three years for a murder he didn’t commit.”

Corcoran wasn’t moved. “Shelley was a lovely rich girl. None of the boys in our neighborhood stood a chance in hell with her. Sorry, but there’s nothing more I can add.”

“I was told you had a big crush on her.”

“We all had crushes on her. Who were you talking to?” All attitude now.

“I don’t reveal sources.”

Corcoran rose from his power desk, “Good luck with the case. I respect what you’re doing.”

Gloria understood an exit line when she heard one. She nodded, and walked out.

Gloria was early for her next interview. She grabbed a latte from her favorite coffee house, and took a window seat. She called Professor Ted Andrews who ran Project for the Innocent and filled him in on her less than stellar performance. Her mentor wasn’t pleased.

“It’s a little early in the game to be burning bridges” Ted said.

“I know, you’re right. I get it. But he was so arrogant.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing a good job.” Ted counseled her to take a few days, consolidate her notes, and then they’d revisit the case. Not what Gloria wanted to hear. And then as an afterthought, “I think I’m being followed.”

That caught the professor’s attention. Gloria explained it was an SUV with tinted windows. She’d picked up a strange vibe. She made a few off-the-wall turns, and he was gone. She started questioning herself, said it was probably nothing. The professor reminded her when they exonerate one of their clients, someone else’s career and reputation sustains damage. It’s a dangerous business. He tells her to trust her instincts. Gloria took that to heart and signed off.

Hanna Cook was standing on the postage-sized porch of a tired California bungalow in Del Rey. She was pushing fifty but giving sixty a run for its money.

“So, what can I tell you about the bastard?” Hanna asked, droll.

Gloria shared a conspiratorial grin. Put the subject at ease, she’d been taught, and they might share their secrets.

“Do you remember the case? It was back in 2000. The sexual assault and brutal murder of a young co-ed.” Gloria reached into her briefcase, “This is a picture of Carl when he was seventeen.” She handed Hanna the photo.

“What did Kevin have to do with it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He’s on record as being part of the team who arrested the young man.”

“No,” she said wistfully, handing the photo back. “The less I knew, the better off I was. Kevin was an angry man who never should’ve been a cop. Went to his head. That, and the rye whiskey. Only thing that made him feel good … then it made him mean. When he wasn’t getting his kicks arresting dirt-bags, he’d start in on me.”

“Was he ever cited for physical violence?”

“Once or twice. It wasn’t like it is now. People with their cell phones, and cameras. And just try to arrest a cop back then for slapping around his wife…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gloria said, and decided to drop the hammer. “Carl claims your ex, and his partner, beat him into giving a false confession.”

Hanna considered that. “I almost shot Kevin one night. Had his gun. He woke up staring down the barrel. I started to cry and he slapped the thing out of my hands and gave me something to cry about. First call I made after they unwired my jaw was to a lawyer.”

The conversation was going nowhere. Nothing but conjecture to corroborate her inmate’s story.

It was dusk as Gloria made her way toward Twin Dragon Restaurant. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a gray Ford Expedition several lengths behind her. Was it the same SUV she saw before? There were lots of SUVs in LA. When she checked again, it was gone.

Gloria pulled her car onto the side street next to the restaurant. All was quiet. She draped a sweater over her briefcase in the rear compartment, locked up, and hoofed it around to the front entrance to pick up her order.

Five minutes in and out. When Gloria emerged, her hands were full and the smell was incredible. She rounded the corner—and had to look twice to make sense out of what she was seeing. Broken shards of glass fanned out around the back of her car. She took another tentative step forward and could clearly see the shattered rear window of her Fiat.

Her heart pounded, and her breath came in fits and starts. She prayed she was wrong. Yet as she neared her car, her worst fears were realized.

Her briefcase was gone.

Her throat went dry, and she stifled tears. She set the bag of food on top of her car and took in the scene. She looked around her car, checked the traffic on Pico, and the quiet side street for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing. No one who could have witnessed the break-in. No one who cared that she was caught in a nightmare.

Gloria did a quick mental inventory of everything in her briefcase and came to the sickening realization her iPad and four months of hard work had been stolen. In some instances, information and notes of interviews that took hours to create, and hadn’t been copied. The flood gates opened and tears streamed down her cheeks. Light-headed, she had to lean against the car to keep her balance.

Was it an opportunistic crime? The thief saw an object, did a smash and grab. Could it have been that simple?

What else could it have been? The SUV? Gloria knew she was paranoid now. Scared silly. She grabbed a few napkins out of her takeout order and whisked the shards of glass that had landed on her front seats onto the curb. She turned on her headlights and pulled out, driving toward home.

Her head was still swimming. Gloria pulled to a stop, grabbed her cell phone and called her father.

After she told him what had happened, he quickly replied:

“Look, darling, don’t go home to an empty apartment,” he said with a tenderness that belied his courtroom reputation. “I don’t want you to be alone. Drive over the hill and spend the night. We can file a police report in the morning and set you up with a rental car.”

“I’ve got Chinese.”

“Shrimp with black bean sauce?”

“And Kung Pao.”

“I’ll chill the chardonnay. I don’t want you to worry. Drive safely, honey.”

“Okay, Dad. Thank you.”

Gloria clicked off, feeling loved, and headed for the Las Virgenes exit off the 101.

Malibu Canyon Road was two lanes of driving pleasure. Winding blacktop cutting through deep canyons and steep cliffs with sandstone outcroppings. It came to a dramatic end, revealing the Pacific Ocean and Malibu.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The missing rear window of her Fiat created a strange whistle as she powered the small car around the curves at forty-five miles an hour. Her rumbling stomach got the better of her, and Gloria rummaged around the bag with one hand and plucked out a dumpling. She smiled, took a bite, and glanced at the rearview mirror.

A large SUV appeared around one rocky turn, moving fast, and she hoped the driver wasn’t going to be a pain, and force her to pick up the pace.

Gloria made short work of the dumpling and used two hands to maneuver around a tight curve. Her discomfort swelled as she realized the SUV was closing the distance. Headlights on high beam. Her body tensed as she realized the vehicle bearing down on her was a gray Ford Expedition.

Gloria wondered if she was going mad. It looked like the same car she’d seen before. No, it was impossible, she thought, but picked up her pace. Fifty miles an hour was pushing it around the tight curves, and as fast as she was willing to go. Screw the driver.

The SUV was tracking her now. Tight on her fender. Headlights blinding. She grabbed her cell phone and hit her father’s number with one hand. Gloria slid around the next turn, and the phone dropped out of her hand.

“Back off!” she shouted over the whine of air thundering through the broken rear window as her speedometer hit sixty miles an hour. The SUV loomed in her rearview and she instinctively pushed the car to sixty-five, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Gloria drifted over the broken white line as a car blasted by from the opposite direction, horn blaring, scaring the crap out of her. She came dangerously close to skidding onto the narrow gravel shoulder and colliding with the sheer cliff face.

And then, oh Christ, she felt the SUV nudge the back of her car.

Gloria stomped pedal-to-metal. Her small sedan rocketed to seventy miles an hour.

The SUV tapped her rear bumper again.

Gloria’s eyes teared. She was losing it but fought to keep the car on the road.

The SUV slammed into her harder. “Stop it!” she cried.

And then the power punch. Five thousand pounds of steel rammed her compact car.

Gloria couldn’t hear her squealing tires over the sound of her own screams as she went into a death spin.

Gloria knew she was going to die a moment before her car came out of the 360 on the opposite side of the road, barreling toward the cliff at seventy miles an hour.

Her Fiat smashed into the rocky berm and went airborne.

Time stood still.

The only sound: the whistling wind and Gloria’s beating heart.

The rock-strewn riverbed grew in size, filling her field of vision as she dropped out of the sky and bore witness to her impending death.

The pistachio Fiat that had brought Gloria so much joy in life burst into flames on impact and enveloped her broken body.

***

Excerpt from 25 to Life by John Lansing. Copyright 2023 by John Lansing. Reproduced with permission from John Lansing. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

John Lansing

John Lansing is the author of four thrillers featuring Jack Bertolino—The Devil’s Necktie, Blond Cargo, Dead Is Dead, and The Fourth Gunman—as well as the true-crime non-fiction book Good Cop Bad Money, written with former NYPD Inspector Glen Morisano. He has been a writer and supervising producer on Walker, Texas Ranger, the co-executive producer of the ABC series Scoundrels, and co-wrote two MOWs for CBS. The Devil’s Necktie is in development at Andria Litto’s Amuse Entertainment, with Barbara DeFina attached as a producer.

A native of Long Island, John now resides in Los Angeles.

Find out more on:
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Goodreads
BookBub – @JohnLansing
Instagram – @johnlansingauthor
Twitter – @jelansing
Facebook – @devilsnecktie

 

 

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