$15 GC – Heroic Measures by Joel Shulkin MD @partnersincr1me

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HEROIC MEASURES

by Joel Shulkin, MD

September 16-20, 2024 Book Blast

Synopsis:

Heroic Measures by Joel Shulkin, MD

Death Benefits

 

Stephen Englehart, an Armed Forces medical examiner. dedicates his life to bringing peace to the families of fallen soldiers. Tagged as one of the best, he’s able to spot forensic clues others miss. But when the body of a US Marine, supposedly burned beyond recognition, shows up with hardly a scratch, even Stephen is stumped. Were the bodies switched? Then, in the middle of the autopsy, the impossible happens.

The soldier wakes up.

Something incredible—and dangerous—is happening to the military’s elite, and Stephen may be the only one who can figure it out. And when Stephen’s sister, a Green Beret, goes missing, the entire military machine seems designed to stop him from finding her. To find the truth and save his sister, one man must stand against an army. Can he be the hero he never thought he could?

Praise for Heroic Measures:

“A rollercoaster ride filled with thrills and intrigue.”
~ Reader’s Favorite

“A high-octane blend of action and intrigue where the momentum rarely lets up.”
~ Book Viral Reviews

“A powder-keg combination of military, medical, and technothriller. Buckle in for a wild and suspenseful ride.”
~ Meg Gardiner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Rips through twists and turns that will make you dizzy.”
~ Lisa Black, New York Times bestselling author

“If you want a fast, heart-pounding thriller that you can’t put down, make Heroic Measures your next read.”
~ Jennifer Graeser Dornbush, crime author

“If you love a good thriller, Heroic Measures is a must-read…With plot twists around every corner, this novel will have you hooked from the very first page, making it a great choice for just about any reader.”
~ Book Nerdection

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller (forensic military thriller with superhero and sci-fi tropes)
Published by: Zero Dark Publications
Publication Date: September 17, 2024
Number of Pages: 382
ISBN: 979-8990018808
Series: Death Benefits
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | BookBub | Goodreads || Additional Formats & Editions – including Hardcover and Audio

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The first thing US Marine Corporal Mark Greenwood noticed when he woke up half-buried in a sand dune was the intense heat. He hated the heat. He hated the desert.

So, when he realized he was on fire, he was downright pissed.

“Shit!” he shouted, and patted his burning arms. He rolled in the sand until he managed to douse the flames on his head and shoulders.

When he was sure he was no longer burning, he stood and assessed his situation. He was outside the ruins of what looked like some kind of medical building. Chunks of rubble lay scattered around him, half burying the broken and charred bodies of what he assumed had once been human men. A smoke trail rose from inside the building and twisted away on a dust devil. The interior walls glowed amber. Mark sniffed the air. Odors of propellant, charcoal, and blood assaulted him. An air traffic control tower loomed over him, and beyond it, an air strip stretched toward the horizon.

Pain shot through his skull. Electric.

He jammed one palm against the back of his head—it felt wet, sticky. He gnashed his teeth.

“Relief,” he whispered. “Relief, damn it.”

A cool wave washed over his body. The pain subsided.

The corporal lowered his hand. Blood covered it. Blood and some kind of grayish stuff.

The world around him shimmered, like a mirage. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten, then opened them again. Blinked several times. No more shimmering. Better.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt pain like that. Something must’ve hit him hard. But he didn’t have time to figure out what it was.

“Foxtrot team,” he said into his radio, his voice deep and raspy. “What’s your position?”

The radio crackled and hissed.

“This is Greenwood. Hostiles are down. I repeat. Hostiles are down. Awaiting orders.”

Still no response.

“Sergeant, where the fuck are you?”

Automatic rifles popped in the distance. Mark scanned the ground. Where was his M27?

More gunfire. Well, he didn’t need a rifle, anyway.

Pebbles kicked up in a wake behind him as he sprinted across the sand.

Something felt off. His right leg wobbled with each footfall. He had to fight to keep his six-foot frame balanced as he ran. After a few seconds, he stopped and looked down.

A jagged piece of white bone poked through his Combat Utility Uniform below the knee. The camouflage was stained black.

“Shit on a stick.” Mark bent over to push the bone back into place. Pain shot up his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he kept his fingertip pressed on the bone and started counting. He could feel the bone weaving together, and when he reached sixty, he let go. The bone still felt unstable, but it would have to do. He resumed his sprint.

The Humvee stood perched atop a dune half a klick away, the front passenger tire flat. He spotted Lance Corporal John Kirby inside the armored turret, manning the M2 cannon. He couldn’t see Sergeant Grant or the others.

Movement caught his eye. Off to the left.

Two soldiers holding rifles raced toward the Humvee.

A fly buzzed by his ear. Mark swatted it away and focused.

Hostiles!

Something popped inside his skull. Tiny shocks jolted his brain, forcing him to stop running. He pressed both palms against his head and roared in agony.

“Relief. Relief. Relief.”

The pain washed away. He lowered his hands.

Eliminate all resistance.

The voice came from inside his head. Toneless. Genderless. Commanding.

Adrenaline surged through his body. The last remnants of pain vanished.

Mark squinted. The hostiles were only a quarter klick from the Humvee. Why wasn’t Kirby shooting at them? It was almost like . . .

Eliminate all resistance.

With a grunt, Mark ran. Harder. Faster. He closed the distance in less than five seconds.

The hostiles turned and raised their rifles.

He ripped their weapons away, snapping their wrists. The hostiles screamed.

He tossed one rifle to the ground and swung the other with both hands. The stock smashed in the face of one of the hostiles. The other tried to run. Mark shot him in the back, turned, and finished off the one he’d battered.

Another fly buzzed in his ear. He wiggled his finger in the canal until it stopped. Fucking desert bugs.

Someone shouted from the Humvee.

The M2 roared to life, fifty-caliber rounds whizzing through the air.

Mark froze. Why was Kirby firing at him?

A round slammed into Mark’s shoulder, ripping a hole through the muscle. He screamed and forced himself to stare through the haze of white-hot pain at the Humvee turret.

No, it wasn’t Kirby. Son of a bitch. That was why he hadn’t shot at the hostiles. The man at the cannon was a hostile.

Another round grazed his thigh. Rage burned a swath through his body. He threw away the rifle and dashed toward the Humvee.

The cannon kept firing at him. He ignored the rounds pummeling his body armor, even the ones that managed to penetrate his side and abdomen.

Mark scrambled over the Humvee’s hood and leaped onto the roof.

The hostile punched at him. Mark caught the fist and twisted, hearing and feeling a loud crack.

That earned a scream. Mark grabbed the hostile’s throat with his other hand. He squeezed, and the neck snapped.

Mark hurled the lifeless body onto the sand.

“Greenwood!”

The voice sounded familiar. Mark looked down.

A US Marine stood next to the Humvee, aiming an SSW40 grenade launcher at him. It took a moment for the corporal to recognize Sergeant Gardner Grant. He was about Mark’s height and build but lacked the hard edges. On the ground nearby, another Marine nursed her injured leg with one hand and leveled an M18 pistol with the other. Corporal Micaela Deodato.

Grant’s eyes widened, his lips twisting into a grimace as he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

Mark tried to process a response but couldn’t. He’d just saved them from the hostiles. Why were they pointing guns at him?

“Why did you kill those men?”

Again, Mark stumbled over the question. But this time he was able to find an answer. “I was following orders.”

“Not my orders. Whose?”

Eliminate all resistance.

The world shimmered. That fucking fly buzzed in his ear again.

Mark rubbed his eyes and squinted.

Something about Grant’s face wasn’t right. It looked like him—but it wasn’t. Mark glanced at Deodato. Same with her. Their eyes were cold. Distant.

They’d flipped sides.

Mark swung the M2 around and locked on to Grant.

“You traitors!” he shouted.

“Corporal,” Grant said, keeping the SSW40 trained on Mark. “Stand down.”

Sweat streamed down the corporal’s cheeks. His shoulders tightened. This was total FUBAR. His whole team couldn’t have betrayed him.

Eliminate all resistance.

He tightened his grip on the cannon. It didn’t matter. He had to complete his mission.

“Get down, Sergeant!” Deodato shouted. Her pistol fired.

Bullets streaked toward Mark. One grazed his cheek. The other buried itself in his arm. He roared and rotated the M2 in her direction. The cannon spat at Deodato, and she crumpled to the ground.

The SSW40 in Grant’s hands made a heavy thump-thump sound. Grenades whizzed toward Mark.

The world exploded.

***

Excerpt from Heroic Measures by Joel Shulkin, MD. Copyright 2024 by Joel Shulkin, MD. Reproduced with permission from Joel Shulkin, MD. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Joel Shulkin, MD

Joel Shulkin, MD is the author of Adverse Effects and Toxic Effects, the first two novels in the Memory Thieves series, and he has penned award-winning short stories and poetry. A developmental-behavioral pediatrician and United States Air Force veteran with a master’s inpublic health, Joel lives in Florida with his wife, two daughters, and two puppies.

Catch Up With Joel Shulkin, MD:
AuthorJoelShulkin.com
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Instagram – @drjoelshulkin
Threads – @drjoelshulkin
Twitter/X – @drjoelshulkin
Facebook – @drjoelshulkin
TikTok – @drjoelshulkin

 

 

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$30 GC – Lethal Standoff by DiAnn Mills @partnersincr1me @diannmills

Lethal Standoff by DiAnn Mills Banner

LETHAL STANDOFF

by DiAnn Mills

September 2-27, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Lethal Standoff by DiAnn Mills

Justice can be elusive.
Family secrets can be deadly.

The stakes are high, and the clock is ticking in a volatile criminal case filled with unanswered questions. And Carrington Reed is running short on time to piece together clues that will solve the puzzle.

Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is called to the scene when reports come in that fifteen hostages are being held by the Kendrix brothers in an abandoned house in south Texas. When she arrives on site, Carrington quickly learns that the brothers are armed and refuse to release their victims, a group of undocumented immigrants, until the local police identify their father’s murderer.

Working closely with Levi Ehrlich, a handsome investigative reporter who has covered some of Carrington’s negotiations in the past, she finds herself being undeniably drawn to him. Carrington digs deeper into the death of the Kendrixes’ father and begins to notice that some details surrounding his death aren’t adding up.

As Carrington investigates the brothers’ claims and tries to piece together their motive for taking innocent people captive, it soon becomes clear that they are trying to hide something and that revenge for their father’s death may not be what they’re really bargaining for after all. To protect the hostages and ensure the brothers don’t carry out the rest of their sinister plot, Carrington must get to the bottom of one family’s secret and the truth they’re trying so hard to hide before time runs out.

Award winning author DiAnn Mills delivers pulse-pounding romantic suspense about secrets, betrayal, and finding a path to forgiveness.

Praise for Lethal Standoff:

“DiAnn Mills delivers another pulse-pounding thriller you’re going to love. Lethal Standoff combines gripping tension with a captivating mystery, skillfully woven by DiAnn’s signature storytelling. She navigates the high-stakes world of hostage rescue, proving once again why she’s a master of the genre.”
~ Jerry B. Jenkins, author of the Left Behind series and The Chosen novels

“In Lethal Standoff, DiAnn Mills works magic―weaving suspense and intrigue into a heart-pounding hostage thriller. Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is a hero with heart who refuses to quit even when it means risking her own life for strangers. Don’t miss this high-stakes gambit set in south Texas that will keep you flipping pages to the very end.”
~ Andrews & Wilson, bestselling authors of Dark Intercept

“Warning: do not start this book if you intend to put it down any time soon. This is a roller-coaster ride. A bullet-biter. A heart-thumper. This is DiAnn Mills at her best.”
~ Eva Marie Everson, bestselling author and CEO of Word Weavers International

“Lethal Standoff has everything I look for in a great novel! Alongside a heartwarming romance, the plot and themes of this page-turner are pulled from current events and offer a hopeful, triumphant message for readers. Highly recommended.”
~ Deborah Raney, author of Breath of Heaven in the Camfield Legacy series

Lethal Standoff Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 3, 2024
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 9781496485106 (ISBN10: 1496485106)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Tyndale House Publishers

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

SEPTEMBER – CARRINGTON

My role as a hostage negotiator often plunged me into the evil designs of the human mind. I embraced the responsibility and possible danger because it’s my identity— a one-woman battlefront determined to free others from victimization.

The challenge excited me, but fear of failure stalked me, and respect for human life was my constant companion. Too often innocent lives depended on my ability to negotiate their safe release without anyone getting hurt. The demands, rewards, and sometimes the defeats with tragic outcomes kept me awake at night. How could I have done things differently? My apprenticeship began when I was eight years old, but thinking about those days didn’t change the past. Right now, lives were in jeopardy. . . .

I’d driven ten minutes out from a critical situation on a Wednesday afternoon when my cell phone rang. My contact, a detective from the Houston Police Department, had spent several hours talking to an angry man who held his wife and son hostage.

“Carrington, we have the information you requested,” Detective Aaron Peters said. “The man inside the home is the owner, Nick Henderson. Age thirty-five. Married to Christine. He’s holding his wife and eight- year- old son at gunpoint. Yesterday, he was served divorce papers, and we believe this is in retaliation.”

Hurt. Rejected. Probably a lit stick of dynamite. “You talked to him from the outside?”

“We’ve routed his calls through our mobile command center. I tried talking to him. Got nowhere. He hung up on me.” Aaron blew out his frustration.

Domestic calls were the most dangerous, often violent, causing me to appreciate my Kevlar vest. I had a handgun in my purse, but I could count on one hand the times I’d pulled it. Never used it. “All right. I’m nearly there. SWAT in place?”

“Yes, two have clear shots. Not an action I want to take unless necessary.”

“Me either. What are Henderson’s demands?”

“Just to leave him alone or he’ll pull the trigger on his family.”

Cool, calm focus settled on me. My ability to mediate critical discussions depended on my wearing emotional blinders to the outside world. “When did the problem start?”

“The wife phoned 911 at 8:00 a.m. today. I don’t know how long he was there before she reached out to us. We’ve been called here twice in the past month for domestic abuse.”

I glanced at my watch, and it neared 4:00 p.m. “Have HPD negotiators been talking to him?”

“Yes. Henderson hung up on them too. He’s drinking. Slurring his words. Seems to have trouble concentrating.”

Alcohol could make him more volatile. Flashing lights appeared on the residential street ahead. “I’m parking now. Give me five minutes.”

“I’m standing beside my car in front of the house.”

“Aaron, do you have Henderson’s work history?”

“Fired three months ago from Home Depot, where he held a management role. They walked him out of the store in front of his employees.”

The man definitely had nothing to lose.

Phone in hand, I hurried from my parked truck and raced to where police cars barricaded the entrance to the street where Henderson held his family. A reporter blocked my way between vehicles. She rammed a mic in front of my face.

“Carrington Reed, do you think this standoff will have a peaceful resolution?”

My blood boiled. The last time I had verbally unleashed on her aggressive means to get the best story, she lied in her article about my concern for those in danger. I paused long enough to give her eye contact. “My goal is always a peaceful solution. Excuse me, I need to talk to HPD.”

“Are the police advocating a violent takedown?”

“No.” I sidestepped around her and ignored her shouts.

Aaron stood in front of the home and waved. He had the appearance of average—average height, weight, gray eyes, brown hair, and shoulder span— but nothing about his physical appearance showed his intense scrutiny of a crime scene. His rating as one of HPD’s finest hit my respect button.

“Good to see you. I’d like the man’s cell number,” I said. “I assume my cell phone is routed through the command center too?”

“Sure thing.” He gave me the information. “The wife’s name is Christine, and the son’s name is Rand.”

I nodded my thanks and pressed in the digits. A man answered on the second ring.

“Nick, this is Carrington. I’m standing beside a police car outside your house, and I’d like to help you.”

“I . . . leave me alone.” He spoke fast and loudly. “I’m busy.”

“What do you need?”

“You can get rid of all those cops. I can’t breathe.”

I expected a more belligerent response. “Nick, I can’t do that. These officers are here to protect you in case someone tries to break into your home and hurt you.”

“I’d kill my wife and kid first.”

“Tell me why you feel that way.”

“They deserve it for the way they’ve treated me.” He stumbled over his words. “I’m a good husband and dad.”

“I’m sure you’re great at both. Tell me what’s hurting you.”

***

Excerpt from LETHAL STANDOFF by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2024 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 weaves memorable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels with threads of romance. 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, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.

DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, an active member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers, Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers. DiAnn continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. 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 on:
diannmills.com
Goodreads – @diannmills
BookBub – @diannmills
Instagram -@diannmillsauthor
YouTube – @diannmills
Twitter/X – @diannmills
Facebook – @diannmills
Pinterest – @diannmills
LinkedIn – @diannmills

 

 

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$20 GC & Review – Secrets & Photographs by A K Ramirez @partnersincr1me

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SECRETS AND PHOTOGRAPHS

by A. K. Ramirez

June 17-28, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

All I had to do was see the title on the fantastic cover for Secrets & Photographs and I jumped right in. I was immediately drawn into Marissa’s world.

She needed her two best friends, but…one had been murdered and the other was lost to her. She thought it was easier for her to be a cop than a friend, as she stood at Allie’s graveside, staying focused and numb. Tunnel vision made her a good detective, but not so good a friend or sister.

Kudos to her, her strength in dealing with physical and mental ailments thrown at her.

I wondered who her love interest would be.

Uh oh. I have a lot of characters to sort through, as I try to find the villain. I love when they hide in the pages and I have make a mental list of can they or can’t they be who I’m looking for. I love damaged, dysfunctional characters and we have plenty of them in Secrets & Photographs by A K Ramirez. I find it hard to read them, not knowing which way they will twist and turn.

One mystery is solved, but we have an ongoing mystery that feeds my need for the next book in the Marissa Ambrose Witness Series.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Secrets & Photographs by A K Ramirez.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

The Marissa Ambrose Witness Series

 

How do you stop a killer you can’t even see?

It’s been two years since Detective Marissa Ambrose nearly lost her life working the Couple’s Killer case, but time hasn’t stopped the vivid nightmares. She still carries the heavy guilt of her partner’s death, and the Seattle Police Department refuses to support her theory that the suspect they arrested had an accomplice. With her ex-husband regretfully out of the picture, Marissa was supposed to be focusing on adjusting back to something resembling normalcy in her quiet tourist town. Then the letters came.

Unmarked envelopes full of photographs have been arriving at Marissa’s door. Candid shots of her at home. Now, Marissa is certain the missing murderer is stalking her, tracking her every move to finish what he started. As she obsesses over the strange images, the Seattle PD unexpectedly asks for her help. A serial killer is on the loose and targeting members of the Port Townsend community. Despite a personal connection to the first victim, Marissa agrees to pin her badge on once more.

The photographs are piling up and the suspect can’t be seen by surveillance cameras. Like a ghost, this killer is haunting her.

Praise for Secrets and Photographs:

“This book is Amazing!! I couldn’t put it down. I need book 2!!!”
~ Nicola Jamieson

“We love a messy family and a plot thick with dark and winding paths. Truly enjoyed this book and read it very quickly! I am very excited to get a signed copy of the next book that was just released!! AK Ramirez is “one to watch” in the crime/thriller genre. You have a fan for life now.”
~ Molly Badgett

“I had the pleasure of meeting this author in Richmond at a convention. I really enjoyed the story. The author pulls you in from the first page. Quick read”
~ Chris Kennedy

“A friend recommended this book to me as I was looking for a new mystery novel and I was so sad when it ended because I wanted more! The writing was exceptional and the story captivated me. Twists I didn’t expect had me reading this book in record time. Absolutely recommend!”
~ Melissa Brown

“I’m a sucker for a good crime novel and this one kept me hooked. I also love books set in the Pacific Northwest – I might be biased since I live in the PNW but I thought the author did a good job of using the coziness of Port Townsend to contrast with the horror of the crimes. I’m looking forward to reading book 2!”
~ April O’Brien

“I was hooked on the book from the beginning. It was a great read. I really enjoyed it and would recommend it to anyone that likes mystery and suspense.”
~ Diana

“I wasn’t sure how much I enjoyed this book at the beginning. It felt like it was moving very slowly. In fact, I was wondering if there was ever going to be a murder when I was about a third done. Then a couple minutes later, a murder! That’s when the book sped up! I had a little trouble keeping the two investigations separate. The twist was great! And I did enjoy how the two cases crossed. I felt for Marissa that no one believed her and was thankful when the police started listening to her. She’s a great detective and I’m looking forward to revisiting her and hopefully solving the big mystery soon!”
~ CMC

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery Thriller
Published by: 4 Horsemen Publications
Publication Date: November 15, 2022
Number of Pages: 362
ISBN: 9781644506639 (ISBN10: 1644506637)
Series: Marissa Ambrose Witness Series, #1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | 4 Horsemen Publications

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Marissa felt cold. She couldn’t see anything, a blindfold tied tightly against her eyes. Music blared against her ears, the throbbing in her head synced with the beat of the music. The cold, rough concrete burned her bare legs, and every time she attempted to adjust them, she felt sharp sensations rush through. She was stiff and cold and tired. Her right hand was handcuffed to something that felt heavy and unbreakable, though she tried to pull away. Time had blurred, and her mind swam, unable to focus on anything. She was thirsty, hungry, and tired. Marissa had never been so frightened in her life.

Someone grabbed her by the arm, squeezing tight as they unlocked her cuff from whatever she was attached to and ushered her along. She whimpered in protest and tugged away from the fingers that dug into her. She thought she heard a laugh in her ear over the music before that hand shoved her hard. She nearly toppled over but fell into another set of hands that caught her in their arms. These weren’t as rough and didn’t grip her as tightly. They held her up as she pulled her legs back under her, and one of the hands rubbed her arm where the other had aggressively gripped. She could feel his breath on her neck as his lips touched her ear, whispering something she couldn’t quite hear.

She gasped, sat up with a start, and sighed, acknowledging she was safe in her room. Ellie was lying on top of her legs, her cold nose poking at her in concern. She rubbed Ellie’s ears, feeling her heartbeat slow to normal. Her chest heavily convulsed as tears fell down her cheeks. Pulling the dog in close, she hugged her tight—a solid reminder she was no longer in that place but inside her bedroom, in her home. Safe.

“Good girl,” she whispered, gripping Ellie’s fur. The shepherd leaned in close, burying her cold nose into her neck.

Leaning back, Marissa glanced over at her clock. It was nearly five.

“Come on. Let’s go downstairs.”

With a heavy sigh, she shifted as Ellie bounced off the bed and toward the door. Marissa swung her legs over the side and winced, aches traveling through her body from her heels as they hit the floor.

“It’s going to be a day,” she mumbled and forced herself to stand.

It was still dark outside, and she was sure the air outside was cold, but the old house was warm. It may have been old, but her mom had updated everything except for the walls. Marissa wandered into the bathroom; she could still hear Ellie bouncing in the hallway, excited to start her day. She did not share the dog’s enthusiasm.

She washed her hands and stared at the reflection that stared back at her. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, and dark circles were under her eyes. Marissa remembered when she took pride in how she looked, brushed her hair several times a day, and had a whole skincare routine. She had been a beauty queen when she was younger. It all seemed so pointless now. Her eyes drifted from her face down to her shoulder with the long, dark scar. Then they drifted to the scar that ran from the bottom of her collarbone across her chest. Her tank top covered most of it, but she knew the rest ran down her side and to her back. She was full of scars now.

She turned the light off and followed Ellie to the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs. It was the same every morning: the stairs were always daunting. Her ankles locked up like they usually did, forcing her to take slow and precise steps. Once she reached the bottom, she headed to the kitchen and opened the back door, letting Ellie bound out into the dark yard. Sunrise was still a way off, but the sky was beginning to lighten.

She went to the cabinet above the sink and dug out her meds. Since her recovery from the events at the warehouse, Marissa had received a long list of diagnoses: fibromyalgia brought on by trauma, panic attacks, PTSD, and arthritis. Not to mention a rapid heart rate they couldn’t pin down, chronic migraines—so many meds.

Putting on her tea kettle, she set up her teacup and waited for the water to boil. It had taken some time, but Marissa had made her childhood home her own again. Her mom had signed the house over to her while she healed, which gave her full rein to do as she pleased with the place, taking the opportunity to downsize without selling. Port Townsend was not where Marissa thought she would be, especially after so many years in Seattle. She loved the city: the noise, the crowds, the food. The fact that almost everything was open until at least midnight. Not like this tourist town, which felt like it had a town-wide bedtime of 9 p.m. It was known as a charming, quaint town by the sea, and as far as she was concerned, it had lost its charm decades ago.

Slowly but surely, the house was coming together. She sighed, grabbed her hoodie off the hook by her back door, and threw it over her head while letting Ellie back inside. Her mom had done all the hard stuff, remodeling the upstairs and downstairs to an open-concept floorplan and updating the plumbing and electricity. Marissa could see her front door, the living room, the dining room, and a study from the kitchen. Below the stairs was a full bathroom.

As the tea kettle screamed, she poured the water into the cup and watched the steam rise. This was not where Marissa expected to be at thirty-six. Growing up, all she wanted was to get the hell out of this town. She would be married to her high school sweetheart with kids, living in a big city, and making detective. The funny part was, Marissa had married her high school sweetheart. Twice. They’d also had two divorces. She had been living in a big city, owning not one but two properties in Seattle. She had made detective, reaching incredible heights as one of the youngest promoted in her unit. And now, she was back in her childhood home, divorced and alone, still a detective but benched for the unseen future. It felt like a punishment.

Of course, some of it was her doing. She had pushed Jared away and moved back home. Her nightmare wasn’t only when she slept. Her precinct had done all but call her a liar during her recovery when she told them there was more than one assailant. She couldn’t see, so it was simply her word. She had undergone so much; she couldn’t have been sure. That was what her unit had said because it didn’t fit into the profile the SPD had given. People she had trusted with her life didn’t have her back.

She paused for a moment before retrieving the hidden key from her hutch and carefully climbing onto her counter. Despite telling herself she wouldn’t, most mornings she would pull down the box. She winced, pain stretching through her leg as she reached the top of her cabinets to recover a lockbox. Once it was on the counter, she paused as her feet hit the ground. She hoped that one day, something new would stand out. Some tangible clue she could hold in her hands. Ellie came right alongside her and whined, sensing her discomfort. Marissa stretched a hand down, scratching her ear as she unlocked the box and let the photographs pour out onto the countertop. There were candid shots of her going about her day, walking down the street, leaving the bakery, checking her mail. A good stack of them was just Jared. Sometimes they would arrive weekly, and sometimes she would go a few weeks without receiving anything. Or maybe it was just a good reminder of why this was her life now. Why she had chosen to be here, alone. A reminder that her life was in danger.

Local cops and SPD, while agreeing she was a victim of a stalker, wouldn’t connect it to that case because before the warehouse, Marissa hadn’t received any photos. She had been given police protection across the street, but she knew no one had taken her seriously. In the eyes of the law, she hadn’t been threatened and couldn’t identify anyone. She only had pictures that appeared on her doorstep or in her mailbox. She kept them safely locked away, spending most of her days trying hard to forget them. But too often, she found herself thumbing through them. It had become an almost daily ritual.

Once she was satisfied the tea had steeped long enough, she returned the photos to the box and put everything back in its place. Her former partner, Tom, would tell her dwelling over the same pieces of evidence wouldn’t get her anywhere. He had always given her advice like that. He had been so much like the older brother she’d never had, having been the oldest of three sisters. Taking her mug with both hands, she headed out to the backyard, not bothering to turn the light on. She stretched out on her swinging bench and scrolled through her socials. Occasionally, she found her eyes wandering over the backyard, watching for anything or anyone out of place. She knew there was always an officer across the street, watching over her and her home, but they hadn’t proven very helpful yet. They hadn’t managed to see who or how things were being left on her doorstep.

The early morning air was chilly and quiet. The only noises she could hear were Ellie’s panting as she plopped herself down next to Marissa and the occasional breeze blowing by. She glanced at the clock on her phone. Barely any time had passed. Putting her feet up, she finished her tea, put the empty cup down on the side table, and looked out into her dark yard. She needed to rest, but she knew sleep would keep eluding her. She didn’t want to sleep anymore; the nightmares had worsened.

If she had stopped to think about it, she would have realized why. All that mattered was every time she closed her eyes, she was back there again.

***

Excerpt from Secrets and Photographs by A. K. Ramirez. Copyright 2024 by A. K. Ramirez. Reproduced with permission from A. K. Ramirez. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

A. K. Ramirez

A.K. Ramirez is a mystery writer tucked in a corner of the Pacific Northwest. She likes to weave mystery, and family drama with a little bit of romance all in one. She has participated in NaNoWriMo on and off for years, reaching her goal three times with three different novels, in both the mystery and fantasy genres. When she isn’t writing, she runs a dog training, boarding, and daycare facility or spends time with her husband, kids, and pack of dogs.

Catch Up With A.K. Ramirez:
www.akramirezwrites.com
Goodreads
Instagram – @AKRamirezWrites
Threads – @AKRamirezWrites
Twitter/X – @AKRamirezWrites
TikTok – @AKRamirezWrites
Facebook – @AKRamirezWrites

 

 

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Brace Yourself for 2050 Psycho Island by Phil M Williams @PhilWBooks

Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

I love books that flow smoothly and Psycho Island made me work. The back and forth between characters confused me in the beginning. I figured they would come together and it would flow smoother once they did…and it did.

I love books about the haves and have nots. I love when a book can get me riled up having me cringe with shivers running up and down my spine. I love psychopaths, I mean reading about them. I love apocalyptic and dystopian books. The title and cover won me over, before I ever read the blurb. I’m not sure where I saw the book, but I picked it up on a free day and I am so glad I did. I had to begin reading it ASAP, but because it took me a while to get into, I kept putting it down and picking it up.

Once we got on the island, I didn’t put it down until I was done. The depth of depravity was truly terrifying. Some of the characters were no longer human, they were animals. It’s one thing to do evil to save your life, if there is no other way. It’s another thing to do it for sport. Of course, I wondered where their food would come from. I mean, how much is left in the demolished buildings? Are there any animals on the island…other than the wicked people? Being female…well…let your imagination run wild and I think it still won’t get you there.

This is one of those books, that I wish the characters could do unto others…You know. Switch places with the ones who put them on the island.

Looking at the Phil M Williams photo makes me wonder…he sure does look normal, doesn’t he? But, where his mind takes him? Wicked evil imagination! I watched the book trailer after I read the book and I think it hit me harder than it would have if I watched it before, because everything I read matched the video.

Warning: There is violence!!!!!!!! Every kind that you can imagination, and some you can’t.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

Disagree with the government? Low social credit score? They might send you to Psycho Island.

The American dream is a mirage. The gap between the haves and the have-nots is wider than ever before. The haves live a life of opulence, with robotic domestics and self-driving vehicles. The have-nots struggle to survive, their jobs long since replaced by automation, with only Universal Basic Income standing between them and starvation.

Crime is nearly nonexistent, thanks to the surveillance state and the test. Ubiquitous cameras and facial recognition software deter and detect would-be criminals, and the test identifies psychopaths with 99.59% accuracy. Citizens who test positive receive a one-way ticket to US Penal Colony East. The have-nots call it Psycho Island.

In 2050, people struggle for their piece of a shrinking pie. Derek Reeves is one of those people, a small farmer, his business hanging by a thread. His wife, Rebecca, dreams of the finer things in life. Jacob Roth, CEO and member of the most powerful banking family in the world, sweeps Rebecca off her feet and gives her the lifestyle she craves.

Summer Fitzgerald’s pregnant. Like all prospective parents, she wants a designer baby. These children vastly outperform natural-born children. Unfortunately, her nurse’s salary and her fiancé’s low-level tech job don’t pay enough to give their little bundle of joy the must-have advantage in the new economy.

Naomi Sutton is a congresswoman with her eye on the White House. Unwilling to take campaign donations with strings, she lacks the budget or the connections for a serious run at the presidency. In a town of sharks, she’s the only one who truly cares about the people. Will she compromise her ideals to sit on the throne of power? Will she make good on her promise to close Psycho Island?

In 2050, the seeds of discontent are growing. The elites will stop at nothing to maintain their dominance. But the people are awakening to the rigged game. And they’re very, very angry.

Buy this twisty page turner before it’s banned by the powers that be.
A 2021 Finalist National Indie Excellence Award
Adult language and sexual content.

  • Genres: Apocalyptic, Dystopian, Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction, Suspense, Thriller
  • 408 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published January 22, 2020 by Phil W Books

ABOUT PHIL W WILLIAMS

Phil M. Williams is the author of twenty-five books primarily in the thriller genre. His thrillers span many subgenres, such as: murder mysteries, political, domestic, dystopian, legal, psychological, and technothrillers. His stories often feature regular Joes and Janes in extraordinary situations that are ripped from today’s headlines.

Williams lives in central Pennsylvania with his wife, Denise. When not writing, he can be found tending their permaculture farm.

If you’d like to read two of his thriller novels for free. Go to http://PhilWBooks.com.

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Giveaway – Fighting Fate by Diana Munoz Stewart @XpressoTours @dmunozstewart

Fighting Fate
Diana Muñoz Stewart
Publication date: June 20th 2023
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Risking herself to rescue others. No problem. Risking her heart on love? Problem.

Dada
As a Guild operative, I’ve seamlessly taken on dozens of false identities. Going undercover as a nun? No problem. But when my routine mission turns into a hunt for a vicious serial killer, I’m forced to join forces with Sion Bradford. Problem. The sexy, ex-soccer player doesn’t, for one minute, believe I’m a nun. Too many lives are at stake to tell him the truth. So, why am I struggling to keep the faith?

Sean
Learned a lot since leaving sports to go chase down degenerates. Mostly, how to spot a liar. Not that I need that skill when it comes to Dada. The woman’s every shade of hot, knows self-defense, and is a great kisser. Plainly, she’s rubbish at being a nun. Still, joining forces with her to take a killer off the streets is a no-brainer. I’d risk Hell itself to stop this lunatic and keep her safe.

As things heat up between Sean and Dada, their search for a serial killer turns into a deadly cat and mouse game. With time running out, they come face-to-face with the truth about each other and an unexpected and vicious murderer.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Searching Sean’s apartment has given me a wealth of insights into the man. Not only is he doing his own undercover work, but he’s also helping people in need…and painting.

I stop by an etching of a nude figure and nearly swallow my tongue. How? He’s never seen me in anything other than this drab tunic. Still…Without touching, I run my fingers above the edges of a body he’s gotten exactly right. My body.

Swallowing my rising heart, I imagine his hand holding the pencil, imagine him tracing lines, mentally stroking my body.

“Sister?”

“Ay!” Startled I swing around. To my horror, I find Sean squatting on the fire escape, staring at me through the window, his mouth set in a firm, disappointed line.

I bring a hand to my chest, mostly to buy time. “Dios. You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry about that, Sister.” With alarming dexterity, he climbs in through the window. “Don’t usually have guests break into my flat. Not sure of the protocols.”

Hard to miss his sarcasm. “I didn’t break in. The apartment was unlocked…”

He’s shaking his head in outright disbelief. It’s not hard to figure out why. The apartment couldn’t have been left open if he’d gone out through the fire escape.

I turn back to the door and scan until I spot it. There’s a small, nearly invisible device at the foot of the door. It must’ve registered me entering. I missed it, not only because it is so very tiny, but because it’s very high-tech. I’ve underestimated this man.

I spin back around, smiling. “I need your help.”

Auburn hair a windy mess, brown eyes smoldering, he swallows the distance between us with his sexy swaggering gate. “You broke into my flat because you need my help?”

I’m scrambling. My brain is scrambling. My heart is scrambling. He stops feet from me. I have to crane my neck, which is rare and uncomfortable.

My height has always allowed me to look men in the eyes or look down on them. Not having that advantage is supremely disconcerting. Also, he’s a lot of muscle. The heat of him rolls forward like lava, enveloping my senses.

“Want to try the truth, luv?”

Luv? Not even Sister or Dee. I switch tactics. What man doesn’t like to have his ego stroked? Plus, I’d be a fool if I pretended I hadn’t noticed the way he looks at me. The way he’s looking at me right now.

“Help might be the wrong word.” I make a point of running my tongue along my lips. His eyes follow the movement. “I felt a strong need to be near you. With you.”

Feminists everywhere are cringing at me using my sexuality to get out of the fact that I was spying on him and, internally, so am I. Well, a little. He is so very hot.

“Really,” he smirks, both interested and not buying it even a little. He leans closer. “Is that how you intend to play this?”

He obviously requires proof of my sincerity. Not giving myself a chance to second guess, I fist his T-shirt, tiptoe, and place my lips on his soft, firm mouth.

For a breathless moment, he freezes. My tongues plays along the seam of his mouth.

With a moan, he relents.

Eager and hungry, I let go of all the tension of playing at being someone I’m not and let myself feel, really feel, the intense attraction I have to this man.

Heat and naked desire rake painfully through every cell in my body as we grab at each other, tongues intertwining, bodies screaming for more.

Author Bio:

#1 Amazon bestselling author.

Armed with a razor-sharp wit and a rolled-up MFA in Creative Writing, Diana Muñoz Stewart cartwheel-kicked her way into publishing with her fiery Black Ops Confidential series. Washington Independent Review of Books called the series’ award-winning debut, “original, impressive” a “rollicking good ride” and “high-octane.”

Of her writing Publishers Weekly declared, “Stewart plays adeptly with the reader’s emotions” and noted that in her series, “Stewart’s talent shines.”

Of her unflinching openness in taking on today’s relevant topics, Booklist said, “Munoz-Stewart discusses such sensitive topics as human trafficking, sexual violence, and sexism…while the diverse …Parish family and their mission to protect women everywhere give these topics…hope…”

Kirkus Book Reviews said her romantic suspense series, along with having, “Sizzling physical encounters” also “enables an emphasis on recovery and power.”

Munoz Stewart’s work has been a BookPage Top 15 Romance of 2018, a Night Owl Top Pick, A BookPage Top Pick, and an Amazon Book of the Month. A 2014 Pages From The Heart Winner, 2015 Golden Heart® Finalist, 2016 Daphne du Maurier Finalist, and a 2016 Gateway to the Best Winner, Diana Munoz Stewart is a member of Romance Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime.

Diana lives in an often chaotic and always welcoming home that—depending on the day—can hold husband, kids, extended family, friends, and a canine or two. A believer in the power of words to heal, connect, and distract from chores, Diana blogs regularly on topics near and dear to her heart, including spotlight pieces on strong women from around the world. When not writing, Diana can be found kayaking, doing sprints up her long driveway—harder than it sounds–attempting yoga on her deck, or hiking with the man who’s had her heart since they were teens.

Diana is represented by the wonderful Michelle Grajkowski of Three Seas Literary Agency.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram


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Giveaway – All Our Secrets by Michelle Gross @XpressoTours

All Our Secrets
Michelle Gross
Publication date: December 12th 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

“Moments define us. A split-second decision can shape your future, and you don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

Peyton Johnson:

The day I meet my boyfriend’s best friend, King; my king disappears. Everything’s fine when my gaming friend fades away like smoke because Theo consumes me entirely. Theodore Johnson becomes my husband, and our life is beautiful until it isn’t.

Theo’s gone and all that’s left of him is the unborn child in my stomach.

Silas King:
The day I meet my best friend’s girl, my heart recognizes her as my Peyton. I loved her first, but that doesn’t matter. Theo’s the only family I’d ever known and compared to him, I’m ugly and scarred. Peyton’s king disappears because Theo is everything I’m not. He will make her happy. I think that will be enough for me to let go, but it isn’t.
Then he dies, leaving her behind…

Until he comes back and I’m the only one that can see him.

Theodore Johnson:

The day I meet Peyton; my life is complete. I want to give her the world, but life doesn’t always work out that way. Now, I’m fog, slipping through her life without her knowing. Silas is the only one that knows I’m here, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to steal her away. I can’t let him.

I loved her first, and forever will.

A romantic standalone with a ghostly twist!

Goodreads / Amazon


EXCERPT

I ran downstairs. The knees of my dress pants were wet, and my blouse was soaked. Tears formed when I yanked open the front door.

There Grumpy stood. The hulking, scarred man gave me a once-over: the tears, and my wet, wrinkled clothing. His nostrils flared like he was an angry gorilla or something. I glanced down and discovered that my blue bra was visible through the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say. I covered my chest quickly, but it was too late. He’d seen, and now I’d made it clear I was aware of his notice.

His eyes landed on my engagement ring that time. His jaw tightened as he strode in, slipping right by me. Treating me like smoke, the nothingness I was in his presence. “Where’s the leak?”

“Master bathroom,” I murmured as I trailed after him.

His boots thudded up the hallway. I felt their vibrations on my bare feet. Even his steps were angry.

Towels were strewn all over the bathroom floor. I’d been cleaning up the mess when he knocked on the door. There was still so much water. If I didn’t get it cleaned up quickly… I didn’t want to think of the damage.

I bit a fingernail as he bent down at the sink, setting a tool bag on the floor beside him. Not knowing what to say and not being able to stand the quiet in his presence, I asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He froze, tipping his head upward. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” I said again.

Silas’s dark eyes trailed over my left hand again. He averted his gaze quickly, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did something to the pipe. “Go change and get to work. I’ll fix the leak.”

“But I need to clean this mess up—”

“I got it.”

“I can’t let you clean it up.”

“I work better alone.”

“Oh, okay.” Before I could say sorry again, Silas turned and cut me down with a glare. I swore he did that to keep me from saying any more. It worked. “Thanks for helping us.”

Silas grunted.

As I turned to walk out, he said something that, at first, I thought I had misheard, so I made him repeat it.

“Are you happy?”

Three words. Three very confusing words. Three words that felt so strange and profound coming from Theodore’s best friend.

Without looking back, I stared at my engagement ring, twisting it around. I thought of Theodore and his goofy smile. I thought of King, his voice in my ear, and all our sleepless nights spent talking. And… I thought of Silas and that question.

“Yes.”

Author Bio:

Michelle is from a small town in Eastern Kentucky where possums try to blend in with the cats on the porch and bears are likely to chase your pets—this is very true, it happened with her sister’s dog. Despite the extra needed protection for your pets, she loves the mountains she calls home. She has a man and twin girls who are the light of her life and the reason she’s slightly crazy.
As a kid, she was that cousin, that friend, that sister and daughter, the talker who could spin a tale and make-believe into any little thing so it was no surprise when she found love in reading, and figured all these characters inside her head needed an outlet. They wanted to be heard, so she wrote.
The voices keep growing faster than she gets the time to write.
The stories are never going to end. That’s perfectly okay, though. We never want to stop an adventure.
She writes and loves many different genres so sign up to her mailing list to keep updated on her releases!

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram


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YAY…A New I Am Legion Novel: Stranger Sins by Michaelbrent Collings @mbcollings

.

I was so excited when I got my hands on a copy of Stranger Sins by Michaelbrent Collings. I have been with Legion from the beginning and eagerly open each book, not knowing what is to come, but sure it will keep me on the edge of my seat.

Amazon / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

Yes, Michael, I appreciate the warning your wife suggested you include, but I too like walking on the dark side. I do like being freaked out while I laugh, or laugh while I am freaked out. I love a villain I can be empathetic with, maybe even condone their actions? I do love the blood, guts and carnage that Legion will leave behind. This time, though, he won’t be alone when he does it. That makes Stranger Sins different from the previous books of the series and adds a wonderful element to a series that keeps me on my toes, eager for more.

He is used to pain. He is used to noise. He is used to confusion. But silence?

In this Dexterish style thriller, I am immersed, engulfed, lost, devouring the words, unable to stop reading.

I have been trying to figure out what made ‘Dinatha and Marnie’ so important. It took me a long time, about halfway through, for things to START to come together.

A mother of a nine year old girl, forced to learn things others could never dream of or need to to stay alive and face an evil that will stop at nothing to get all she desires…and needs to stay alive.

I LOVE a dark, disturbing story that can make me smile and give me hope amongst the carnage the ‘teacher’ leaves behind. At 70%, I laughed while wiping the tears from my eyes. It is so hard not to share why, but I WILL NOT spoil things for you. These characters and their lives are things that need to be experienced first hand.

The characters and storyline are so richly developed, the writing and pacing so smooth, the hours pass in a blur, everything around me ignored, because I have to know how it ends. Michaelbrent Collings is always able to surprise me at where his stories lead, making me know when I dive in that I am along for a wicked ride and an ending that leaves me with my mouth hanging open, thinking, wow, how does he dream this stuff up. I would love to be a fly on the wall of his brain. Wonder what a scan of his brain would look like. LOL

THE BEST ONE YET! I can see this series going on for a very long time…and I hope it does.

I believe Stranger Sins is written in a way that it ‘can’ stand alone. Michaelbrent Collings includes Legion’s history that can be a refresher for a faithful reader, or a glimpse into his world for a new reader. That being said, I have been with Legion from the beginning, and highly recommend grabbing the entire series if you enjoy walking the dark side of vigilante justice.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Stranger Sins by Michaelbrent Collings.

5 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

What happens in Vegas…slays in Vegas.

Legion is a teacher. An avenging angel. A murderer.

A madman.

Raised in the underground hideout of an insane father, he now travels the world searching for those who torment the weak, who harm the innocent. He uncovers the secrets and sins of evildoers, and teaches them how to leave those mistakes behind.

Even if it means killing them to do it.

But this time, the tables have turned. The ghosts of Legion’s past have come for him; the victims of his madness have returned to torment and destroy him. Wounded, weak, near death: for the first time, Legion is not predator, but prey.

Now, aided by a woman and her daughter—who have themselves been surviving in secret terror for a decade—he must survive long enough to battle his past, to destroy the ghosts that have come for his sanity and soul…and to kill all who would harm his new friends.

Tracked by a crime family more twisted than anything he has ever seen, threatened by a madman whose strength is greater than anything he has ever experienced, Legion has never been closer to danger. They want his pain. They want his death. And they will stop at nothing to achieve their aims.

But Legion is a good teacher. So he will run. He will hide.

And then, when the students are ready…he will teach.

And his lessons are always murder.

ABOUT MICHAELBRENT COLLINGS

Michaelbrent Collings

Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally-bestselling novelist, multiple Bram Stoker Award nominee, produced screenwriter, and one of the top indie horror writers in the United States.

He hopes someday to develop superpowers, or, if that is out of the question, then at least to get a cool robot arm.

Michaelbrent has a wife and several kids, all of whom are much better looking than he is (though he admits that’s a low bar to set), and also cooler than he is.

Michaelbrent also has a Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/MichaelbrentC… and can be followed on Twitter through his username @mbcollings. Follow him for cool news, updates, and advance notice of sales. You will also be kept safe when the Glorious Revolution begins!

STALK MICHAELBRENT: Website / Twitter

MY MICHAELBRENT COLLINGS REVIEWS

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Giveaway – 1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks @partnersincr1me @valinparis

1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks Banner

1 Last Betrayal

by Valerie J Brooks

November 14 – December 9, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A complicated history. A deadly future. Can one woman survive another deep dive into the rotten underbelly of crime?

Angeline Porter craves a return to normalcy. But when the former criminal defense attorney receives an alarming text, she races in desperation to Florida only to find a ransacked apartment, a poisoned dog, and a missing half-sister. Determined to rescue her sibling, she follows a trail of shockingly incriminating clues and plunges into a life-or-death fight with the Boston mob.

Taking advantage of old ties with a charming FBI agent and trying to outsmart a violent syndicate boss with powerful federal connections, Angeline and dubious allies begin tracking down the kidnappers… until she uncovers a supposed protector’s crafty deception. And while a nefarious rogue agent, a long-lost relative, and a possibly corrupt cop close in, the gutsy woman makes the risky decision to go it alone.

Is her headlong race to save her sister about to zip her into a body bag?

1 Last Betrayal is the suspense-laden third book in the Angeline Porter Trilogy of femmes-noir thrillers. If you like bold heroines, riveting twists, and balancing on the knife’s edge, then you’ll love Valerie J. Brooks’ gritty descent into the underworld.

Praise for 1 Last Betrayal:

“Steeped in suspense, chilling encounters, and shocking twists, Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it.”

Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and The Over

“A twisty plot, great locations, and a gutsy protagonist you’ll root for all the way. A fabulous finale to a sophisticated series that can also be enjoyed as a stand-alone title.”

Kaira Rouda, USA Today and Amazon Charts bestselling author

“A seductive, intricately twisted suspense-thriller that’s nearly impossible to put down… get ready for a wild ride with plenty of suspense, action, and shocking surprises”

Kevin O’Brien, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Night She Disappeared

Don’t Miss the Book Trailer for 1 Last Betrayal:

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Black Leather Jacket Press
Publication Date: September 2022
Number of Pages: 298
ISBN: 9781732373242
Series:The Angeline Porter Trilogy, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Apple | BookShop | IndieBound | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

If I ever get out of this alive, I’m going to have a tattoo needled on my arm like others of my generation. Of what I don’t know. But if I’m alive, I’ll be able to make a decision then. I’m throwing off the conservative persona I once had as a criminal defense lawyer. My sister Sophie would be saying, “It’s about time.”

From Portland, Oregon, I’d hopped a red-eye and was on my way to Hollywood, Florida. I was back in the game and in the right headspace, ready to bring down the Boston mob once and for all while protecting Bibi, my sister Sophie’s twin. Bibi needed me. She was tough, but this mob had a new and younger crime boss. Talia “Shawn” Diamandis. She didn’t play by the old-fashioned rules of mobsters.

Like the rest of the world, there was no honor anymore among thieves, whether they be members of gangs, political parties, or religious sects. There was no “one for all and all for one.” That only happened in the movies. So, to energize my fighting spirit, I put on my headphones, pulled up “Rebel Yell,” one of Sophie’s old favorites, and put it on repeat. We used to jump up and down to that song in her living room—but that was before the mob.

Yes, I was back in the game, but I wasn’t happy that I had to leave my dog Tempest again. How I’d ever come to love a dog that much, I’ll never know. Maybe I relate to her being a rescue. More probable is how much we’ve been through together.

The plane dropped and bumped, almost spilling my coffee. The pilot announced that we were hitting some turbulence and to keep our seatbelts fastened. I shook my head. What did he know about turbulence?

Then the plane bucked and dropped hard, causing a few people to swear and the flight attendant to grab onto a seat. A child cried. I took a deep breath. The plane continued to buck and weave back and forth. Finally, it leveled out and a collective sigh went up from the passengers. My phone was clutched in my hand. It remained silent.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Why hadn’t Bibi texted me? Maybe, hopefully, she’d fallen asleep. Bibi and I had been talking and texting for the past twenty-four hours about Shawn and what to do about her. But what did you do with a mob boss telling you that you were part of her “organization” whether you liked it or not? As my sweet, dead husband Hank would have said, Bibi was in “deep shit.” I knew what that deep shit was like. I’d been in it for a few years.

Shawn sure had cojones. She’d already broken into Bibi’s apartment—and in broad daylight. What I found frightening was how thoroughly Shawn had prepared. She knew about Otto, Bibi’s dog, a dog that should have scared the daylights out of her. But Shawn had fed him a treat while telling Bibi that there would be a meeting of the three partners, and Bibi was expected to join them. Join them, as in becoming one of the partners.

My main question was “Why?” Why would Shawn take such a risk as to get into Bibi’s apartment just to tell her that she was expected to make this meeting? She could have met her in the lobby. I had a hunch: Shawn needed to know the layout of the apartment and get friendly with the dog. She planned on breaking into the place again. Again, the question was Why?

Bibi reported the “break-in” to management, a report was filed, and the police notified. Security camera footage was watched. But nothing seemed amiss. Shawn never showed her face and seemed to enter the apartment no problem, so she could have had a duplicate keycard. Nothing suspicious. Bibi was pissed because the police said she must have given Shawn a card. As I said to Bibi, a large wad of cash would have bought a duplicate from someone in the hotel or was there some type of master keycard?

My phone dinged, and I jumped. It dinged with two more messages. It was Bibi.

I’m in danger. I’m not paranoid! Otto keeps growling. There are footsteps outside my door and muffled voices.

I didn’t tell you this before, but I found incriminating evidence against the mob in Betty’s stuff. I created a safe place for it. You’ll figure it out.

If something happens to me, promise you’ll take care of Otto. You know what he’s like. He’s sweet and needs his ugly striped afghan. He also knows a lot.

I reread the texts. Fuck! It was 4:02 a.m., and we wouldn’t land for another two hours. I texted back.

Don’t answer the door, Bibi. Don’t let anyone in. Call the police.

I tried to stay calm. Footsteps and voices didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe it was nothing more than late-night revelers or an assignation. Yet my heart raced. Shawn had been there once. Why not again? I texted another message and tried to convince myself that she would text back and say it was nothing. Had Otto barked at the noise? He wasn’t much of a barker, more of a growler. He was a big gentle brute the size of a Shetland pony, but there’s only so much a dog could do against greedy criminals who were willing to kill people, never mind dogs. But Shawn had already made friends with him. OK, what else? Bibi carried a gun. Good. But you had to be willing to shoot to kill. I knew very few good people capable of that, even in a life-or-death situation.

I sent another text.

Do you still have your gun? Load and keep it handy.

A text came in. I almost dropped my phone.

It was my lawyer. I ignored him.

I squirmed in my seat. Why hadn’t Bibi told me about the incriminating evidence before? What had she planned on doing with it? I chewed a cuticle. Maybe she didn’t really trust me.

Being trapped on a plane made it impossible to do anything. I had to keep my wits about me though. Did Shawn know about the incriminating evidence? I doubted it. My bet was on Shawn targeting Bibi’s inheritances—two huge estates and all the assets. What a rat’s nest of relationships! Bibi’s godmother, Betty Snayer, had been the crime boss of this mob until she died trying to kill me in Kauai. But before that, Betty had taken in a young, homeless, talented black girl, my half-sister Bibi, and given her a life in the arts. Then Betty had fallen for Shawn, at the time a streetwise, ragged, coke snorter who had addicted Betty to sex and white powder. That left Bibi adrift as to Betty’s affections. So, there I was with a new half-sister who didn’t know I’d killed her sainted godmother. What a mess.

The first-class flight attendant leaned over the empty seat next to me. “Anything I can get you, Ms. Porter?” She smiled with her bright red lips, her eyes sparkling behind her cat-eye glasses.

“Scotch, please. A double.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. After sending another message to Bibi, I waited. Again, nothing. Finally, resigned, I set the cell on the empty seat next to me, and when my drink came, I tried not to knock it back, but that was impossible.

Maybe Bibi had called the cops, but I doubted it. I knew she didn’t trust the FBI. Being African American, she probably didn’t trust the cops either, especially after they did nothing to follow up on Shawn. I rubbed my chest, drew in some air, and let it go. Sophie often scolded me, saying I held my breath when stressed. Taking advice from my dead sister? Better late than never.

I pushed up the window cover. The bright light made me wince. Below, the ocean bordered the serpentine edge of land. Lakes littered the middle of the state. The pilot announced we were flying over Orlando and Disney World. People oohed and aahed.

On the seat next to me, I found my notebook and pen under the New York Times, and as I flipped open the notebook, my hand trembled. I’d always been pretty good at compartmentalizing, something I found necessary as a lawyer, but it was getting more difficult. I needed to keep my mind busy until I was off the plane and could make calls. I wondered where Gerard was. I figured from our conversations that he was back undercover with the mob. When I told him I was heading to Florida to help Bibi, he told me not to and was upset when I wouldn’t back down. When he realized I wouldn’t change my mind, he said he’d meet me there. Fine.

I made a fist, squeezed, then shook out my hand, needing to write something down, maybe work through what I knew and come up with a plan of sorts. Since my law school days, I’d written to-do lists, observations, even lists of conjectures and theories about people and cases. It kept me focused. It also helped me solve dilemmas, and even, at times, find something that wasn’t immediately apparent. Clients were told to keep a journal of every move they made, with dates and times, plus anything that could help their case. People were unaware of the evidentiary heft a written journal provided when entered into court records. I’d won several cases on the written word alone when the opposition had what I called a wormy case.

But what to write?

The scotch had warmed its way down to my body, and I could feel my nerves relaxing, my brain focusing. I tapped the pen against my lower teeth. Going back to the beginning with Shawn, I wondered why Betty had been interested in her? Bibi said it was cocaine-fueled sex. I believed that. Betty was older and not a looker, so it could have been the excitement and ego boost. I believed Bibi when she said Betty took Bibi in because she saw her talent and wanted to support her. Being a cynic at heart, I figured Betty had done that to make herself feel good. I’m sure it made her look good to her wealthy patron friends. Bibi was beautiful too—a dark version of Sophie—dizygotic twins from different fathers. So that would give Betty even more cred for being inclusive. A great way to get grants for her non-profit art ventures.

There I go again—the cynic.

The flight attendant swooped in and removed my cold coffee. I ordered another scotch, a single this time, thinking about Gerard, my FBI special agent pain-in-the-ass contact. In the beginning, he’d suspected Bibi was another one of Betty’s lovers. Men. They always think sex is involved. Sometimes it was. I could attest to that.

So how had Shawn become the crime boss of Betty’s mob? Maybe Betty had put her in charge when she went to Kauai. I know that Betty was using heavily by the time she came to the island. She was in Kauai, doing a godmotherly thing—setting up a hit on Bibi’s brother who hated Bibi. Bibi was adopted and the parents favored her over their flaky son. Her brother lived communally on Kauai and dressed as the grim reaper to get peoples’ attention about climate change. So, he didn’t fit his parents’ mold. Bibi, however, was the golden child, always thankful for everything they did for her. But they died before the will was changed, and the brother inherited the bulk. Hating Bibi, he gave her nothing. Betty figured she’d get rid of the brother so Bibi would inherit. At least Betty felt she was protecting Bibi. I wonder if Shawn had put that idea into Betty’s head, thinking Bibi would eventually bring in even more assets to the “organization.”

When I met Betty in Kauai, I didn’t know I had a sister named Bibi. I didn’t know a lot of things. I was hiding out from the mob. They wanted the millions my sister Sophie stole. But Betty knew who I was. I was the one who had killed one of her partners—in self-defense. But that didn’t matter to her. She must have been overjoyed to think she could take care of two marks on the same trip.

I had to assume that Shawn took over the crime boss position when Betty and her bodyguard never made it back to Boston. Gerard and I thought Shawn was a minor character, one of those people who target the wealthy to live luxuriously for a while, snort coke all day, then when things go dumpster, they disappear. She fooled us.

Plus, I had to remember she was a good actor. Shawn had gone from messed-up street urchin to high couture. What really bothered me was her telling Bibi that she laundered the money for the mob. True? Or was that a way to entrap Bibi? If Bibi knew that, she’d be vulnerable if she didn’t join the mob. Shawn was smart, no matter her motive.

I sipped my second scotch. If I kept in lawyer mode, I could keep my shit together. So, who was Shawn? Did she have a police record? What was her M.O.? I’d lost the connection with Snoop, my hacker, just as she was going to tell me what she found on Shawn. I haven’t heard from her since, and that’s not good.

Shawn might be a psychopath, but she had to be a strategist, someone with patience, someone who had planned her ascent with the crime group. This was conjecture, but her actions pointed to it.

This felt good, building a case, listing all the possibilities, hopefully tracing them to their logical conclusion either with evidence or what I’d discovered in the process.

I listed questions about “Shawn the Strategist”:

  • Getting Betty hooked on cocaine: loosens the tongue, makes her vulnerable
  • Reason for admitting money laundering: trap Bibi into the gang; something else?
  • Need background check on her: laundering takes guts, know-how, and connections
  • Has Shawn already taken Bibi somewhere? Under guise of meeting?
  • How much does Bibi know about Betty?
  • Maybe Shawn knows more about Bibi than I do

I suspected that Bibi couldn’t live in Betty’s house all that time and not notice any illegal activities. But Bibi seemed to have no idea, and as she said, she’d been fully engaged in school, her art, and her friends.

The plane’s engine noise changed. We were approaching Fort Lauderdale. I slipped on my shoes and buttoned my military-style jacket, readying myself for landing. I’d dressed with a casual elegance so people would take me seriously but not authoritatively as with a suit. Instead of perfume or aftershave, the cabin smelled like a locker room, and I hoped I didn’t smell that way. I thought of how Gerard would smell when I met him. As if reading my mind, Gerard sent me a message.

I’ll get to The Circ before you. Meet you in the residency lobby.

Between my teeth, I hissed, “Asshole.” He’d insisted on meeting me in Florida, but I told him to do nothing until I got there. That was like pissing in the wind with him.

I finished the scotch. I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough.

The pilot came on the intercom and gave the usual instructions, telling everyone to take their seats, buckle up, seats upright, tray in position. The flight attendant quickly gathered up all the bottles and glasses. I snapped my tray into place, gathered up everything on the empty seat, and threw them in my satchel, something I’d bought because it was more like a briefcase but not a briefcase. The flight attendant had just buckled herself in when the plane dropped like a trap door had opened. Someone squealed. A kid cried. Then the plane leveled off.

With my heart in my throat, I forced my mind back to Bibi and Betty. From everything I knew, Betty wanted Bibi to devote herself to being an artist. What if Betty had recognized Shawn’s killer instinct and started grooming her to take over the business?

I checked my cell one more time. Nothing from Bibi.

The plane headed toward the landing strip. I held the notebook against my chest. As a defense attorney, I’d met many criminals and could usually sniff out the liars. Bibi’s panicky text from Florida was not something easy to fake. But I had no body language to go with this to assure me she was being straight with me.

Far too many unknowns.

I sat back, closed my eyes, and prepared for landing.

***

Excerpt from 1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks. Copyright 2022 by Valerie J Brooks. Reproduced with permission from Valerie J Brooks. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Valerie J Brooks

Multi-award-winning author Valerie J. Brooks is the author of the Angeline Porter trilogy, femmes-noir thrillers starring a badass disbarred attorney.

NYTimes bestselling author Kevin O’Brien called her second novel TAINTED TIMES 2 “… a real nail-biter from first page to the last.” Heather Gudenkauf, NYT bestselling author of THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE and THE OVERNIGHT GUEST calls Brooks the Queen of the Femmes-noir Thriller and says her upcoming 3rd novel 1 LAST BETRAYAL is “explosive” and “Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it.”

Brooks is a member of Sisters in Crime. Her awards include an Elizabeth George Foundation grant and five writing residencies. She teaches workshops and classes on writing noir and creating plot twists. Brooks found her love of thrillers as a teen after turning in a hitman to the FBI.

She lives in Oregon with her husband, Dan Connors and their Havanese pooch Stevie Nicks.

Catch Up With Valerie J Brooks:
ValerieJBrooks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @valeriejbrooks
Instagram – @valeriejbrooksauthor
Twitter – @ValinParis
Facebook – @FemmesNoirFiction
Pinterest – @ValinParis
TikTok – @ValerieBrooksAuthor

 

 

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

 

 

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Review – Stolen In The Dark by Scarlett West @iamscarlettwest

Scarlett West is a new author for me, but when I got the chance to read the first two books in the Fae Bureau of Investigation series, I had to jump at it. What you do think of the concept?

Stolen in the Dark (Fae Bureau of Investigation, #1)

Amazon / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

I have my fingers crossed that I won’t be left high and dry in this series, seeing there will be five books, but I had to check them out and I am very glad I did.

I immediately liked Adalee when I ‘saw’ how she interacted with Gavin. Since her parents were kidnapped, he was the only one that cared about her, coming by the bar and checking to see she was okay. I do have a feeling about him, but we shall see.

Business at the bar had dropped and she would have to decide what to do soon. Rent was coming due and she couldn’t cover it. So convenient that the raven haired man came to her rescue.

“I’m 100% sure you are the one I’ve been searching for.”

Fae are disappearing and if they die, the earth dies. Adalee doesn’t even know she is Fae, let alone there is a whole world of supernatural out there and she will become a part of it. Damien changed her life forever and recruits her for the FBI, the Fae Bureau of Investigation.

Adalee does not take anything sitting down. She is quick with her words and bucks his orders at every turn. She doesn’t realize how much danger her actions put him in, but he is her fated mate, whether she likes it or not, and he will do whatever it takes to protect her.

I wouldn’t mind having his nifty trick of making a hot cup of coffee appear.

I have read a lot of paranormal/supernatural novels, but not many of them feature the Fae. The Fae have their own set of rules and some could find them disturbing. It was fun and interesting learning about their world and spending time in it.

The action comes quickly and doesn’t stop. If she’s not fighting off Damien’s advances, she’s fighting the Unseelie. I got wrapped up in Adalee and Damien’s love story and it ended at a crucial spot. It was a good place to take a break…if you have to.

My biggest disappointment…I thought I had the first two books in the series, but I have Books I and III. 🙁

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Stolen in the Dark by Scarlett West.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

He forced me into their world. Now dark enemies want me dead.

When an attempted kidnapping leads me to be rescued by a dark and sexy Fae, I assume life can’t be any stranger… Until I discover I’m his fated mate, and that he needs my help to stop a ruthless enemy from kidnapping his kind.

If someone doesn’t stop the brutal attacks, it could lead to earth’s ultimate destruction, so if I want to survive, I have to join the Fae Bureau of Investigation, with Damien as my superior.

But while Damien may be both hot as hell and my one-time hero, my unearthly ability to sense things through my hair is telling me to run: Damien can’t be trusted, and I would hate him as my boss.

With the enemy closing in, though, time is running out for me to make my choice: join the Bureau…or return home to my death.

Readers who enjoy Karen Marie Moning, Laurell K. Hamilton, Amelia Hutchins, and Lindsay Hall, will love this dangerous and sexy urban fantasy.

Stolen in the Dark is a steamy, urban fantasy romance that is book one out of five. Scroll Up and One Click to start reading this hot paranormal romance today!

ABOUT SCARLETT WEST

Scarlett West

Scarlett West writes steamy, paranormal romance featuring sexy Fae. Deep characters and hot romance are her thing.

An avid reader and writer who will never stop dreaming, Scarlett has traveled to many countries and been on tons of adventures. She draws her stories from these places, life experiences, and her grand imagination.

Besides writing, she’s a hobby herbalist and a dancer. If she’s not by the computer typing these things up, she can be found in a forest, on a mountain, or by the ocean.

Scarlett West would like to thank her three F’s: Fans, Family, and Friends. Thank you forever for your support.

Website / Facebook / Twitter

  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
  • You can see my Reviews HERE.
  • If you like what you see, why don’t you follow me?
  • Look on the right sidebar and let’ talk.
  • Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
  • I am an Amazon affiliate/product images are linked.
  • Thanks for visiting fundinmental!

Giveaway – Unwitting Accomplice by Sid Meltzer @sid_meltzer @partnersincr1me

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Unwitting Accomplice Banner

Unwitting Accomplice

by Sid Meltzer

March 1-31, 2021 Tour

Synopsis:

Unwitting Accomplice by Sid Meltzer

How can a homicide be prevented when it’s still only in some stranger’s head?

Kim Barbieri, a tough, street-smart New York City crime reporter unfazed by male egos and mangled bodies, is sent an anonymous note with a sinister message:

I intend to commit a murder

She doesn’t know who the killer is.

She doesn’t know who his victim will be.

She doesn’t know where, when and how he will strike.

But there is one thing she does know: If she doesn’t learn to think like a killer, someone’s going to get away with murder.

Kudos for Unwitting Accomplice:

“The tension builds page after page, chapter after chapter, between the psycho driven to kill and the reporter determined to stop him—ending with a surprise twist I just didn’t see coming. And I’m a thriller writer!” ~ Steven Pressfield, bestselling author of Gates of Fire and A Man at Arms

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Rogue Phoenix Press
Publication Date: December 7, 2020
Number of Pages: 313
ISBN: 978-1-62420-579-8
Series: A Kim Barbieri Thriller
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Friday, March 24
11:15 AM

One envelope stood out from all the others competing for Kim Barbieri’s attention. All it had was her name and address. The rest was blank. Clearly, it was meant for her eyes only, the note inside demanding to be read.

Wondering who would write her a personal letter, she put down her cup of coffee, opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper inside. Savvy as she was, she was completely unprepared for its stark, ominous message.

I intend to commit a murder.

There was no Dear Kim above the line, no Sincerely yours below it. Like the envelope itself, there was nothing to tell her the identity of the writer, or why it was sent specifically to her.

“Hell’s this?” she whispered to herself.

After a long, brutal winter, the sun had chosen that morning to come out and give New Yorkers a hint of the warmer weather to come. It was one of those early spring days, a little too chilly in the shade, yet absolutely glorious in the sun. Barbieri welcomed the retreat of winter, lying out on her patio for the first time since before Thanksgiving, enjoying her ritual first cup of morning coffee while listening to Verdi’s Il Trovatore on her ancient record player.

It was an opera she knew by heart, and as it came to an end, she forced herself to get up off the lounge chair, take the LP off the turntable, and pour a second cup of coffee. Her too-brief escape was over, and it was time to attack the backlog of mail that piled up whenever she was too worn out from chasing cops and robbers all over the city to wade through it. It’s not going to go away by itself.

She first tossed the 90 percent of it that was junk, then put aside the bills she had to pay. She saved for last the once-in-a-blue moon personal correspondence, like the mystery letter.

What am I supposed to do with this? What does it mean? Why did I win this particular lottery?

She put the disturbing note back in the envelope to examine it again with a critical eye, as if opening it for the first time. While she had not been called into work that morning—a slow news day, evidently—she never stopped looking at things from a journalist’s point of view. Sweat the details. Always. They tell a story all by themselves.

It was a standard, plain vanilla business envelope, white or close to it, with no embossing, watermark, or logo that could have given her the thinnest of threads to pull. Probably from Staples or Walmart. No help at all.

Printed on the front were her name, street address, apartment number, and zip code—all correct. The writer knew of her by seeing her byline, she assumed, which meant he also knew what she did for a living. Her stories appeared just about every day in the Daily News, the tabloid whose circulation pretty much ended at the city line. She gave her fellow New Yorker a small nod for accuracy. Whoever sent it had chosen a standard business typeface, and the envelope looked like it came out of a cheap home office printer you could get anywhere. Canon perhaps, or HP. They’re all pretty much the same anyway.
In the upper right corner was a common Forever stamp—Elvis before he became a lounge act—precisely aligned with the envelope’s top and side edges. Its postmark revealed it was mailed two days before, on Wednesday, and meant it was placed in her mailbox by a mail carrier rather than the sender. Had the postmark been completely legible, it could have helped her track down the post office where it originated. Unfortunately, only the last two numbers—0 and 9—were clear. The rest was an unreadable blur. I can’t even tell which city it came from. All in all, the envelope itself is giving me next to nothing to go on.

She took the letter out again as if she had not done so only a minute before, putting the now empty envelope aside. It was standard letter size and appeared to be the same stock as the envelope. It was folded in thirds, business style, by someone who took care to line up the edges perfectly.

One neat and orderly fellow. Or should I say lady? Lord knows men have no monopoly on weirdness. The opportunity to judge people was both an occupational hazard and a perk of the job. After so many years of interviewing cops, witnesses, victims, and assorted dirtbags, she could not help herself.

The sinister warning, I intend to commit a murder, was printed on the top inside third of the letter, flush left, in the same typeface as on the envelope. She noted again how the middle and bottom thirds of the paper were left blank.

As unsettling as the message was, there was something else creeping her out. This is an unwelcome invasion of my privacy. Somebody out there knows my name, what I do, and where I live. What else does he know about me? My account numbers? My passwords? My family?

She put the letter back in the envelope, careful not to leave any more of her own fingerprints or ruin any the writer had left. Tempted as she was to toss it out as a waste of time, she chose instead to hold on to it for now. As a reporter, she knew better than to dismiss a promising lead. Besides, she did enjoy a good mystery, and the killer-in-waiting might decide to give her clues actually meaning something later on.

The mail all taken care of, Barbieri poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, grabbed her copy of the Times, and reclaimed her prime sunbathing location on the lounge chair. She had finished reading the paper earlier in the morning, but was never really done with it until she filled in every last square of the crossword. A few more minutes of warmth provided by Mother Nature herself, rather than the down coat she had worn all winter, sure beat rushing to yet another savage crime scene

Chapter Two

Barbieri grabbed her cell off the kitchen counter. She had put the mystery letter aside the day before, but could not put it out of her mind. For twenty-four hours, she had thought about little else except her new anonymous pen pal. Her best course of action was to hash the message out with the one person she could trust to keep his mouth shut.

“What?” Pete Delaney was not known for idle banter or witty repartee. Social skills were not one of his strengths. Speaking in monosyllables was. With those two, small talk was kept to a minimum by mutual agreement, if not dispensed with altogether.

“Come over.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Twenty.”

Kim Barbieri was as good as any male with man-talk. She spoke it fluently and was comfortable distilling conversation into its purest form with her partner. When she and Delaney communicated with each other, they competed in waxing ineloquent, and the duels always induced a small smile she found hard to suppress. Reminds me of the stupid secret codes I used to dream up with my girlfriends after school.

Delaney was a photographer for the same newspaper, a stringer like Barbieri. Stringers were usually assigned to work together at random, based on who was up at the time. Except for homicides. To the metro desk editor, these two were the go-to team where dead bodies were involved. Working stories together sometimes ended with them hanging out together afterwards, which over time morphed into a sort of friendship. Not romance, certainly. There was no chemistry between them, only a high level of mutual comfort, respect, and trust, which was why Barbieri decided to loop him in on the anonymous letter.

Delaney was strictly a news photographer, and he looked the part. On the short side with long brown hair, a scruffy beard that defied grooming, and what seemed like a permanent cameraman’s squint, he went about his work with a brusque, no-nonsense demeanor he had cultivated on the job. Rain or shine, night or day, his camera vest, bulging with lenses and filters, was his security blanket. No shot was impossible as long as he wore it.

Growing up in the suburbs, he had imagined himself leading camera safaris in darkest Kenya, where he could apply his photographic skills and critical eye to capture the brutal symbiosis of big cats and their prey. Life had other plans. Until he made it to the Serengeti, the dark urban streets of New York City would have to do.

While she waited for Delaney, Barbieri checked her mailbox. No second mystery note. Her mind went back to the troubling message. How did the sender, whoever he or she is, know how to pique my interest? Why would the writer send it to me and not some other journalist? New York has plenty to choose from. Hundreds, I bet. She wanted no part of a planned murder. That much she knew. Yet she was not a fan of loose ends. She liked closure. The sinister message left a lingering bad taste she could not get rid of.

In her decade or so of covering crimes, she had seen only a handful of homicides go unsolved. The open cases still kept her up some nights, long after the white shirts in the NYPD decided to stop working on them. Cold cases seemed like a waste of manpower when there was never a shortage of new homicides needing to be solved. No matter how much she tried to block them out of her memory, Barbieri could never stop thinking about what the investigators might have missed. Was it the follow-up call they didn’t make? Maybe the witness who decided he didn’t recognize the perp after all? The DNA sample disappearing off the face of the Earth?

Blue lives mattered a great deal to her. When cops and reporters meet day after day, night after night, over stiffs from the seemingly endless supply the city offers up, a bond forms. Maybe a morbid bond, yet a bond nonetheless. When she was with them, she spoke their language, the slang they used only among themselves, not her own. Where else would I get to slip “badge bunny” or “Duracell shampoo” into a conversation? Her empathy for the stiffs and the cops came with the territory.

“Got something,” Barbieri greeted Delaney at the door. So much for pleasantries. They went right into their shorthand.

“What?”

“Patience, young man.”

Delaney followed his partner to her desk in the study, a literate woman’s version of a tormented writer’s man cave. Books were piled on every shelf not covered by yellow writing pads, each virgin territory after the first few pages, and atop the center of the desk was an old bargain-basement Dell laptop good for word processing and email, and not much else. She and the Dell went way back. Even after she finally succumbed to peer pressure and treated herself to a Macbook, she could not bring herself to toss it. One day I’ll get around to discarding the old apps and files. Then it’ll run faster, won’t it?

She took out the envelope from the drawer, opened it, gingerly removed and unfolded the one-page letter, and placed both next to each other on top of the desk. Delaney’s eyes went from one to the other until he focused on the message. “I intend to commit a murder. ” He waited a nanosecond before asking her, “Fuck does it mean?”

“What it says.”

“When?”

“When did I get it?”

“When will he kill?”

“Could be a she. Not anytime soon. My guess.”

“Nothing to ID the sender.”

“Could be anybody.”

“From anywhere. Professional, maybe.”

“Educated.”

“Grammar counts for something.”

“One perp, acting alone.”

“One victim, not more. Singular.”

“Mental case?”

“Worker going postal?”

“Computer literate.”

“Uses Word. Sends file to the printer.”

“Home office. Not safe for work.”

“Definitely. Probably online. Maybe leaving a trail.”

“Leading back to him. Her.”

“What now? Police?”

“Not yet.”

“Nothing they can do.”

Barbieri folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and left it on her desk. As she followed Delaney out to his car, she fought the urge to remind him to keep the anonymous threat just between them. There was no need to; she knew he would not say a word to anyone.

The reporter was not impressed with the brilliant deductions they had made based on some generic stationery and a single sentence. It was simple logic at work, and it did not really bring her any closer to identifying the sender. Regardless, by bringing in her loyal sidekick, she now had a better picture of the person threatening to commit a capital crime. The would-be perpetrator morphed from an abstraction, a cipher, into a human being with a name, a family, an address, and perhaps an online history, waiting to be exposed. She felt they had inched the cryptic note closer to becoming a critical piece of evidence in an out-and-out criminal case.

On the other hand, their brilliant deductions could all be bullshit, and she knew it. The whole thing could be a hoax some sicko was playing on her. They had been wrong one or two times before, on matters a lot more trivial than murder. They could have been just reinforcing each other’s sloppy thinking. If not, it could turn out to be Barbieri’s first opportunity to cover the premeditated part of premeditated murder. How many reporters get the chance to put a story like this in their scrapbook?

She was not sure how exactly, but she felt herself being drawn into a game with an element of danger to someone else, not herself or Delaney. This game might or might not have a lethal ending, and she wanted to know how it would turn out if it was just the three of them playing.

Bringing my playmate into this arena is complicating my own involvement. Her mystery guest was now communicating with two outsiders, not just one, and Barbieri was not sure if he would appreciate Delaney becoming her full partner just yet. While she trusted Delaney more than anyone to keep quiet, the writer himself would have no reason to trust him. Her photographer could go to the cops if he ever got spooked.

Telling them about her new pen pal was something her inner control freak would not allow just yet.

Chapter Three

When did I start thinking it would be a good idea to murder a complete stranger in cold blood?

Can’t say for certain, but I do know things really started to get ugly for me when I put in my papers, posed for pictures with my new Rolex, and realized I’d made myself useless. If my plan to stick a knife in someone’s chest had a start date, this was it.

That’s why you drove all the way up here to Almost Canada, isn’t it? To hear my side of the story? Trust me, I’ve wanted to tell it as much as you want to hear it.

I used to be a real big shot, you know? It took a few years to escape the grunt work, but eventually I turned into a pretty important guy in the office. I was a big swinging dick, and I rather enjoyed it.

Me, I was old-school. I started at the bottom, sharing a tiny cube with another peon. I watched how my bosses made money, and eventually their bosses let me into their world. I worked alongside them, shadowing them. Then one day, I found myself making money like them. King of the world, I felt like. I became my own little profit center for the firm and took off from there.

See, as far as the higher-ups were concerned, my job description was very simple—make money. Make sure the company had more in the bank when I clocked out at night than it did when I’d clocked in in the morning. Simple.

I was what the corporate world called a rainmaker. It’s a horseshit word for someone who knows how to drum up business and rake in the bucks. I don’t want to brag, but I made a ton of money for the company. A ton. They let me keep a big chunk of it to make sure I didn’t jump ship; between salary and bonuses, pretty soon I was taking home more than I knew what to do with, frankly.

As long as I made it rain buckets, the gods were never angry. In my world, money definitely equaled love. You bring in money for the company, and the company shows you how much they love you by giving some of it back to you. They got rich, and I got raises that meant a lot and fancy new titles that meant nothing.

Let you in on a secret. All the client wanted from me was to dig him out of the hole he had somehow dug for himself. Help him get home before his kids went to bed once in a while and help him sleep a little more soundly. This was what he was paying me for. You do this for him, you’re golden.

Guys in the office looked to me to make the big decisions. They had the business degrees and connections, while I had the kind of wisdom you only get from hard times. I had the scars and bruises, they didn’t. I could spot opportunities. I came up with ideas, set goals, planned. I budgeted, motivated, negotiated, and I sold. I assembled teams, assigned tasks, and managed resources. I cut costs, anticipated roadblocks, put out fires, and made gut calls. I made plans, then executed them. To the HR guys who have a box to fill in the org chart, this job description would’ve been all I needed to get me in the door for an interview.

The upstart MBA types I was forced to work with spoke a language the Navajo Code Talkers couldn’t break. Say one of them needed you to pitch in on a project. He didn’t ask if you had the time. He asked if you had extra bandwidth. Seriously, bandwidth? Whoever made this a word, they should bring back the death penalty just for him. My colleagues used ten-dollar words like resource allocation and immunization strategy to describe our job, bullshit terms created to make their work seem harder than it was, and impress outsiders who didn’t speak the language. Gave even our junior guys instant authority, as if they knew what they were talking about.

Personally, I never knew what they were fuckin’ talking about half the time, and I was their boss.

Consulting in retail was never hard as cutthroat businesses go. It was always challenging, sure, and I could always come up with gimmicks to help stores keep customers coming back and keep their doors open. Everybody thought I’d eventually make partner, even me. Especially me.

Then Amazon came along, followed close behind by Josh Kelleher. There wasn’t much I could do to make my clients competitive with Amazon. You want to see what that monster’s done, just walk up Broadway. About the only thing missing is the tumbleweed. There wasn’t much I could do to keep my company from making this douchebag a partner, either. Kelleher was the CEO’s son-in-law, and all my earnings suddenly meant squat in comparison.

I worked. Kelleher coasted. He got my partnership. I got a watch. Life’s unfair. I was more than a little pissed, so I walked.

Of course, I had to remind myself my company didn’t put me out to pasture when I reached mandatory retirement age. I’d stopped working on my own—my decision, not theirs. They didn’t fire me; I fired them. Maybe I was too angry at being passed over to think clearly. Maybe I should’ve eaten crow and stayed. But this didn’t make my new carefree existence any easier. To my mind, it was not so much things weren’t working out the way I’d planned. Like everything else, my retirement was a work in progress. You tried one way of doing things, one new set of routines. If it didn’t work out, you went to plan B. No big deal.

All I could do was hope it would all be OK in time. I’m sorry, bandwidth. Being home all the time, I spent many hours thinking about where I’d found myself and imagining taking a whole new direction no one could’ve predicted—least of all me.

***

Excerpt from Unwitting Accomplice by Sid Meltzer. Copyright 2021 by Sid Meltzer. Reproduced with permission from Sid Meltzer. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Sid Meltzer

Sid Meltzer took a couple of worthwhile detours on his way to becoming a crime fiction writer.

He started out as a NYS Supreme Court Probation Officer, a job that helped him see things from a criminal’s point of view— and let him peer into their minds’ many dark alleys.

Working with ethically-challenged rascals prepared him well for the caliber of people he met in his next career— advertising. That is where he learned how to craft stories that draw readers in and keep them engaged.

Unwitting Accomplice is his debut novel.

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