In this pulse-pounding romantic suspense, a bestselling author seeking solitude finds herself at the center of a deadly mystery—and the sheriff investigating it may have more at stake than anyone realizes.
A woman desperate for solitude.
International bestselling author Meaghan Ryers has wealth, fame, and success. But all she wants now is to escape the spotlight and disappear somewhere no one knows her name. A remote Alaskan village seems like the perfect place—until she discovers a car engulfed in flames and claims someone was killed.
A man with an enemy he can’t see.
Sheriff Donovan Kyndall is used to handling trouble in a place where everyone has secrets. But the mysterious car fire is different. There’s no body, no obvious explanation, and Meaghan’s story raises more questions than answers. Then an anonymous caller reveals details about Donovan’s tragic past—details no stranger should know.
A deadly game neither wants to play.
As Donovan and Meaghan dig deeper, they uncover a conspiracy reaching into his family’s darkest history. But the closer they come to the truth, the more dangerous the investigation becomes—and the harder it is to ignore the attraction growing between them. Someone is watching. Someone knows what Donovan has tried to forget. And someone is determined to make sure neither of them survives long enough to uncover the truth. In a place where trust can be deadly, Meaghan and Donovan must risk everything—including their hearts—to expose the person pulling the strings before the next victim is one of them.
Book Details:
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Blaire Morgan Books Publication Date: September 14, 2026 Series: Kyndall Family Suspense Series, Book 3
Fire snaked into his lungs. Suffocating. Debilitating. He couldn’t breathe, his body immobile. He clawed at the air, at the coarse rope binding his feet, at everything his hands could reach. Why were his hands free? Is this how someone feels when they burn? Helios promised him there would be consequences. It had only been one more fire, one more kill. He had craved it more than he feared Helios’s warning. One more mistake. Smoke curled upward from the flames, dancing up the walls in a seductive swirl of lights and sound. The crackling of gunshots echoed somewhere beyond the steel door. No chance of escape. He didn’t deserve to die this way. His scream lodged deep in his lungs, so deep it burned his insides. A round of hacking coughs escaped his scorched lips. He desperately wanted water or a beer. Yes, when he got out of this… if he made it… he’d down a whole six-pack of Bud Light and thank whatever powers that be for his salvation. I’ll be good. If you let me live, God, I’ll be good forever. Did he hear his name coming back to him from the darkness beyond the flames? Yes, but from where, exactly? Damian.It’s only in my head. No. No, no, no! He heard shouts, or was fear mocking him? He yanked at the ropes around his ankles and tore away flesh covered in his own blood. Why couldn’t he move? The door pounded. No, someone pounded on the door. The blaze caressed the floor around him, moving closer with a lover’s passion, inch by inch. He heard the loud crash this time and was certain someone stood on the other side of the door. A gust of air whooshed into the room, and the fire found new life. It tormented him, licked his skin. A scream escaped, louder now because of the burn. Two muscular bodies in masks lifted him away from the center of the inferno. His eyes remained open, even as the sensation of floating carried him away from the chamber. He’d promised to be good and he would be. No man or woman or creature walking the earth could claim to be so good as he from this moment on and into forever. Darkness consumed his whispered thanks while a cacophony of sirens trumpeted his fall into oblivion. *** Excerpt from When the Wicked Fall by Blaire Morgan. Copyright 2026 by Blaire Morgan. Reproduced with permission from Blaire Morgan. All rights reserved.
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About Author Blaire Morgan:
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Blaire Morgan is a pseudonymous American author blending danger, emotion, and high-stakes storytelling into gripping romantic suspense. She lives wherever the next adventure takes her—usually somewhere with a lot of trees, or a place that exists only in her imagination.
Publication date: September 15th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance
A choice shaped by war. A life in its shadow. One last chance to make peace with the past.
1998. Eva Marlowe has never asked her husband if he regrets his decision – she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. But when news arrives that his estranged son has died, she feels the foundations of their marriage begin to shift beneath her. Then the funeral draws them back to Silverwood Hall where it all began, and she can no longer avoid the question.
1939. As Europe teeters on the brink of war, young socialite Eva Ravensby has been sent home from the Riviera in disgrace. Grounded at the family seat of Silverwood Hall, she chafes against the constraints of her upbringing, until her brother brings aspiring writer Ben Marlowe home for the summer.
Ben is utterly compelling. And wholly unsuitable. So when he asks Eva to marry him the night before he leaves for war, she refuses. Duty must come before love, and her father would never forgive her. But how can she possibly know the train of events her answer has set in motion? As the war takes its toll on them both, her refusal shapes their lives in ways they can never undo. Then, in the aftermath, an unexpected second chance arises. But the price they must pay for it is more than they could have imagined.
Now, decades later, as Ben grieves for the son he never knew, Eva faces the question she has spent a whole marriage refusing to ask: was she ever truly the life he chose?
On the day of the funeral, Eva drives with her signature brand of recklessness and skill. When they were young, the thrill of it was intoxicating: Ben can still recall with absolute clarity the heady feeling of that long ago summer before the war – an awareness of their youth and vitality and a belief in the wonders the future had in store for them. He had never felt so alive. But as he grew older and more aware of his mortality, each swerve and near miss became nothing short of terrifying.
Now, watching Eva in profile as she slams her palm with impatience against the steering wheel at a slow car ahead of them, he finds himself thinking it would actually be quite a fine way to go, wrapped together in tangled metal, a definitive end.
Eva lets out a curse as the column of traffic slows to a crawl and he quenches a smile, taking the opportunity to watch her a little longer. He will never tire of looking at her face, marvelling at the fine chiselled lines of her cheekbones and her jaw, the forget-me-not blue of eyes that are still as bright and clear as on the day they first met. She catches him watching her from the edge of her eye and turns her head.
‘Are you all right?’
Her question drags his thoughts reluctantly back to the purpose of their journey.
George’s funeral.
His son.
He shifts awkwardly in the seat of the car. The trousers of the wool suit are rough and itchy – it’s been a while since he’s worn it and his skin has become more sensitive with age. He stretches out as much as he can in the confined space and tries not to think about how stiff his hips will be after an hour and a half in the car.
‘I’m fine,’ he says, and they both know it’s a lie.
He’s still in two minds about going at all and with each successive roundabout they come to, it crosses his mind to ask Eva to drive right around it and take them back home. But he says nothing, and the Audi bears them in sleek leather comfort ever closer to their destination.
‘We don’t have to go,’ Eva offers, reading his discomfort with her usual clarity.
‘But you think I should,’ he replies, which is unfair, because they’ve talked about it endlessly in the days since the letter arrived and they came to the decision together. But he’s in no frame of mind to be reasonable. Anger seethes in his gut, bitter and relentless, and he only hopes he can contain it once they get there. Eva says nothing, eyes trained with uncharacteristic attention on the road ahead.
Abruptly, the anger slides into guilt. Such a pointless emotion, but he’s spent most of his life in its grip, one way or another. Guilt for dreaming and wanting more; for hurting people and for poor decisions; for living a life that is full of regret for what he lost instead of gratitude for all he has. He loves Eva desperately and always has, but he’s conscious he has not always been the best of husbands. He lets out a low sigh.
‘I’m sorry,’ he offers.
His wife flashes him a quick look of forgiveness, and he touches his fingers to where her hand rests on the gear lever. The last person in the world he wants to fight with is Eva.
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About Author Samantha Grosser:
Samantha Grosser is a very British author who doesn’t function without tea. Having spent many years teaching English in Asia and Australia, she has now made her home on the sunny beaches of Sydney, Australia, where she lives with her husband, son, and a very small dog called Livvy.
She is the author of wartime dramas Another Time and Place, The Officer’s Affair, and Out of the Ashes, and the historical novel The King James Men. When she isn’t writing or reading, (which isn’t often) you can find her either doing yoga, going for long walks, or watching old movies.
Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother’s belongings, he discovers his long-dead father’s deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He’s unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he’s determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he’s connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.
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Praise for Maybe You Lied:
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“Sadera has done it again! Maybe You Lied is an evocative and compelling tale of family trauma, betrayal, and the chilling truth that the most dangerous secrets are those buried by the people closest to us.” ~ Lisa Malice, bestselling author of Lest She Forget, winner of the 2023 IBPA Best New Voice in Fiction Award “MAYBE YOU LIED is a spectacular thriller that instantly grips you and refuses to let go. With great emotional depth, this novel plunges you inside Will Lockhart’s mind, soul, and angst. He’s a down on his luck, grief and guilt-ridden young man stuck in a hopeless rut. When he discovers a deed to a house he believes he’s inherited, it seems like his luck just might change. Page by page, he uncovers hidden layers of a past he could never have imagined. But when nothing is as it seems and everything you knew about your family and your past is a lie, be careful of digging up the truth. It might set you free…unless it kills you first. This darkly suspenseful, romantic journey knits a cast of intriguing, deeply unreliable characters into a clever, twisty narrative. You won’t want to put down this edgy story of loss, love, identity, and family truths as you hurtle towards its surprising end.” ~ Zelly Ruskin, award-winning author of Not Yours to Keep and the forthcoming One of Us Must Die “Maybe You Lied is a twisty, emotionally charged domestic suspense that ramps up to a jaw-dropping, visceral finale. Don’t miss it!” ~ Bonnie Traymore, Author of The Rich Guy’s Wife “Family ties? Or family lies? Will Lockhart is coming home to a woodland cottage he never knew existed, his life in shreds and fragments. In a novel as intricately woven as a web, Jennifer Sadera explores sociopathy, nature versus nurture, and the one thing that can never die–a chance at love and redemption.” ~ Jenny Milchman, Mary Higgins Clark award winning author of the Arles Shepherd thrillers “A young man’s attempt to piece together his family’s dark history propels this gripping mystery, which moves with an electric speed through secrets twistier than the branches of a mangled family tree. Combining thrills, romance, and a moving exploration of grief, MAYBE YOU LIED is perfect for fans of sinister family dynamics who want to devour a thriller in one breathless go.” ~ Ashley Winstead, national bestselling author of This Book Will Bury Me
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MAYBE YOU LIED Trailer:
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Book Details:
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Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: Creative James Media Publication Date: September 22, 2026 Number of Pages: 344 ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Landlords don’t rent apartments to zombies. I scratched the four-day stubble on my jawline and parked my mom’s Camry behind the brown brick walk-up. Home-Not-So-Sweet Home. As I stepped into the cramped apartment lobby Sergei was waiting. “The rent,” he said, his guttural Russian accent turning his words into a nonsensical de-REN. I paused, reluctantly meeting the bushy brows lowered ominously over his steely slitted eyes. Easy to translate. I nodded and darted my own eyes to the stairway. One of these days my landlord would surely raise a heavily muscled arm and crash his ham hock fist into my face. Emitting my zombie grunt, I pivoted to the stairwell and rushed up, expecting Sergei to follow. Relieved when he didn’t. It would be a brief reprieve. When my mom lived here Sergei only showed up once a month, but in the three years since she died, he’d pounded his frustration with my spotty payments onto my apartment door with increasing frequency, not budging until I opened the creaky steel barrier. Saying nothing, he’d hold out a meaty palm that looked like it could strangle me all by itself. Back when I still had cash, I’d offer a wad of fifties and hundreds that he’d snatch up like grabbing cash from an ATM. Only the Will Lockhart machine was now empty, and Sergei looked as though he wanted to kick it into compliance. Kick me. Face flushed with fury, he’d study me with those hard gray pebbles, taking in my disheveled hair and sagging clothes. A gaze that told me exactly what he thought about me—a twenty-one-year-old slacker who clearly cared about nothing. A deadbeat. A zombie. And this was mostly true except for the one thing I cared deeply about: those last seconds with Mom. I relived them daily, the guilt as fresh and dangerously addictive as a drunk’s bleary-eyed yearning for a Bloody Mary the morning after a bender. I deserved the memories. If not for me, Mom would still be alive. I closed my eyes against the inevitable scene rolling through my mind. The flash of headlights slicing through my Honda’s dusky interior like a white-hot comet, too fast to stop, too bright to blink away; a violent force whirling me into its vortex. My neck twisting painfully, head hitting something hard. The car’s interior exploding into a slow-motion kaleidoscope. How I’d instinctively thrust my arm out to protect my mom, instant pain bolting from fingers to shoulder; glass shattering and raining down upon us like the stinging embers of trailing fireworks. And then, the stillness. The church-like quiet. I’d blinked into the silence as the noises trickled in—the hissing of the steaming engine, and a tinny song coming through the radio from somewhere under the car’s hood. A far-off voice belted out a twangy country tune. “Put on the bacon and the eggs, darlin’ . . .” Mom and her country music. Mom and her . . . Mom. Head throbbing, I’d scanned the smoke-choked twilight. She was right where she was supposed to be, still hooked in place by her seatbelt, staring straight ahead, like she was listening for something. “Mom? Are you all right?” Beyond the jagged glass edges of her blown-out window I saw the lines of the truck through the smoky haze, the words “Barclay’s Bread” written in fancy red letters on its wide, boxy side. Mom said nothing. Painfully bolted into our twisted metal cage, waiting for the Jaws of Life to extract us, I’d reached out, trying to touch her with my other hand, the one that still worked. If I could just shake her out of her trance. But in those final precious seconds our bodies existed in the same world, I knew. She was already gone. I shook my head, forcing me back to the present, wishing my mind could be like the Etch-a-Sketch Mom bought me when I was six. One harsh shake in each direction and the contents of the screen disappeared. But my mind retained in painful detail the truck driver’s distinctive profile, the beak of a nose angled down, a squinted eye and bulbous cheekbone lit up by his cell-phone screen. As a kid, the thought of Mom dying had set waves of terror rolling through me. Not just because I loved her, but because a part of me always dreaded the day she’d be taken from me. Convinced it would happen but unsure of when, I’d spent a good four years waking up each night and tiptoeing to her bedroom door, peeking through the crack between the edge of the flimsy wood and the wall to ensure she was still in bed, alive. Ridiculous as it seemed, even then, it was understandable, given our track record. I mean, not long before my dad left us, just after my fifth birthday, we’d been a family of four. *** Excerpt from MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2026 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.
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About Author Jennifer Sadera:
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Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women’s publications, Woman’s World and Redbook.
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Maybe You Lied… But This Giveaway Doesn’t
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Dr. Kyle McMann became a physician to save lives. But when she watches violent criminals escape punishment again and again, she begins to question whether the system designed to protect the innocent actually protects the evilest of villains. Haunted by the death of her younger brother—which she’s sure she could have prevented—Kyle is drawn into a clandestine cabal called The Tribunal. Its members include physicians, intelligence specialists, and former military operatives who secretly hunt down murderous criminals that have escaped the law. They deliver surgically precise punishment that mirror the crimes committed by these vile homicidal maniacs, disguising them as natural medical events. Transplant surgeon Dr. Graham Kurland, a decorated former Army Ranger struggling with the scars of war, finds himself pulled into Kyle’s life-and-death efforts to protect the defenseless and punish the guilty. As the two doctors grow closer, they must confront the moral and deadly consequences of the vengeance the Tribunal has inflicted.
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Praise for Invisible Justice:
“rapid-fire action scenes … make the pages turn easily … a delicate balance between interior emotional examination and tough medical drama … the main players are subtly and fully developed.” ~ Kirkus Reviews “A compelling, fast-paced read that combines suspense with meaningful explorations of grief, accountability, and moral responsibility. It is both an entertaining thriller and a powerful examination of what happens when ordinary people decide that the law is no longer enough.” ~ Mary Karnes, Author, Wedding Bride Doom “Dr. Gary Brown has created a rip-roaring ‘Dexter with Doctors’ thriller, using his deep-dive knowledge of medical catastrophes, hard-earned as they were by one of America’s top eye surgeons, from slicing into eyeballs for decades. It’s so much fun to watch brilliant medical minds figure out how to murder, with as much pain as humanly possible, evil bastards who prey on the innocent. There’s a fantastic love story between two hot yet damaged doctors trying to find love in a world full of blood, guts, death, and the miraculous saving of lives. This is the kind of book you keep thinking about as you go through your day and can’t wait to get back to, just to see who dies next and in what excruciating way they bite the dust, knowing full well that the events are not natural.” ~ Henry Sterry, bestselling author of Chicken. “Dr. Gary Brown blends his considerable medical acumen with gripping storytelling ability to take the medical thriller to new heights. Gary is an artistic master who entertains, educates, and tantalizes our intellect . . . I can’t wait for the next book.” ~ Timothy W. Olsen, M.D. Professor and Consultant of Ophthalmology, Mayo Clinic; Chair Emeritus, Emory University; Founder, iMacular Regeneration, LLC “Gary, I found your book wonderful . . . I just kept turning the pages. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know what happened next?. . .What happened next?. . . What happened next?. . . It unfolds in a really good way. I like that being a doctor, you have access to that kind of information. And your protagonist is a woman. She ends up joining this thing called the Tribunal, which is kind of like a – we talked about this earlier – Dexter on Steroids – as she gets the bad guys. I like reading thrillers, whether they’re legal or in this case medical. I think you’ve done a really great job. So, congratulations on your book.” ~ Jack Canfield, author of Success Principles and co-author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series with over 600 million sales.
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INVISIBLE JUSTICE Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Medical Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: April 28, 2026 Number of Pages: 416 ISBN: 979-8898201494 Series: A Kyle McMann & Graham Kurland Medical Thriller, Book 1
Grady Memorial Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia Kyle McMann groaned as she paced on the Grady Memorial Hospital Emergency Room ramp, her eyes tracking the incoming ambulance. She prayed this wasn’t another twenty-five-year- old—her exact age—stiffened by rigor mortis, still cradling her crying infant son in her arms. She was haunted by the mother’s lifeless stare that sent shivers down her spine. Obviously, some evil bastard shot her close up as she held her baby. Kyle had picked the short straw, as per usual. She was starting her career as an intern in the Surgical Emergency Room of Grady, the Mount Everest of U.S. shock-trauma centers. Unlike most hospitals that had one ER, this godforsaken medical behe-moth had three: the Surgical ER, the Medical ER, and the Pediatric ER. Each had its own unique variants of traumatizing trauma. It was dark by nine p.m. on Thursday, July 5th, and she shielded her eyes from the strobing reds and blues. It was her job to screen the incoming “clients.” Though not specified in the hospital bylaws, inherent in the mission of the lowest of the low on the professional totem pole was ramp duty. Aka processing the worst of the worst and pronouncing the dead bodies dead. Didn’t get much grimmer than that. Her mind flashed back to this morning’s thirty-one-year-old basketball phenom with bacterial meningitis. A day ago, a vibrant human being. Now approaching his maker with a devastated brain failing on a respirator despite the efforts of the best infectious disease minds on the planet. She’d been there for five days, and already it was wearing her out. Facing the families. The tears. The sobbing. Parents collapsing. It was like everyone fell from the tree of horrors and hit each branch on the way down. Her fight or flight reflex kicked in, and she sprinted to the ambulance, sharp brown eyes focused, runner’s body whipping towards the EMS vehicle, coughing out the black exhaust that smacked her face-on and splayed her middle-parted chestnut brown hair in both directions. Staying on the driver’s side, she peered in as the BLS 911 Emergency Ambulance backed into the ramp. “What is it?” she shouted as the driver rolled down his window. “Bad one, doc. Bleeding like a stuck pig. A bunch of kids worked him over with bats and knives. You want to get in here fast.” Kyle’s heart sank as she ran back and yanked open the rear door. She jumped in before the van came to a full stop. Blood. And more blood. A vampire’s wet dream. On the sheets. The floor. Smeared on the windows. “Come on!” she shouted to the half-panicked tech staring at the abdomen. “Let’s get him inside.” The two front EMTs ran around back and pulled the stretcher out. The group slammed through the steel and glass doors into the ER. “WAIT A MINUTE!” Ellen Chu, the hard-as-a-rock head nurse, blocked their path and held up her hand. “What’s going on?” Kyle spoke up from behind. “Let ’em through. We’re going to Trauma, stat.” She pushed the stretcher, sweeping Ellen aside, then looked back over her shoulder. “And call Eli.” The Trauma Room was halfway down the hall. It was larger than the rest, so more people could fit in to stabilize the endless stream of broken bodies in this war zone. Kyle slipped in before the men and slapped the trauma room table. “Here. Let’s move him. One, two, three.” They lifted the patient from the stretcher using the draw sheet underneath him. He was light. Must be a kid, Kyle thought. She peered into the open abdomen. The wound stretched all the way across the belly. “Oh, man,” she cried as she catapulted back. An arterial pumper squirted blood into the air, hitting her directly in the right eye. Everything she learned drained from her mind. She went from flight/fight to freeze. All she could see was that fountain of red shooting up from the patient’s pulsating bowel. Where the hell was Eli? Her stomach dropped from the sheer helplessness of it all. Think, dammit. THINK! Ellen poked her head around the corner. Kyle looked up from the bowel, snapped out of her stupor, and wiped blood from her face with the arm of her white lab coat. “Where’s Eli?” “I told him to get his ass down here stat.” Ellen looked at the spurting blood, then back at Kyle and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world: “Shouldn’t we start an IV?” “Yeah, yeah, uh, good idea.” Kyle shook her head and mentally kicked herself. Four years of working her ass off, and she couldn’t even think of an IV? What kind of a moron was she? “I’ll put in the IV,” Ellen said hard and fast, “but you’ve gotta get that bleeder, or he won’t last until Eli gets here.” The ambulance attendants backed off while Ellen tossed Kyle a large Kelly clamp, then ransacked the drawers for an IV. “Kyle?!” she barked, “C’mon, let’s go.” Kyle faced the patient, ready to save his life. Then she froze. Again. Sure, she’d been through the surgical rotation, but only as a second or third assistant. She’d read all the books. But books didn’t shoot blood at you while you tried to stop them from dying. It was her first week in the ER, for fuck’s sake. She wasn’t even a real doctor yet. Real doctors knew what they were doing. “Kyle, SNAP OUT OF IT!” Ellen shouted. “Okay, sorry…” Kyle muttered as she sprang out of her stupor. She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and yanked the suction catheter from the wall. The long plastic tube slurped the liquid blood and dark clots from the open wound to expose a glistening bowel. There it was. The base of the bleeder. She took the Kelly clamp and went for it. Blood splattered her face again. Now it was in her left eye. What if he had AIDS?Or hepatitis? “Damn!” She missed. The blood was pooling. And the bleeder was going down again. In another second, it would disappear below the surface of a new red pond. She went for it once more, holding her right wrist to steady her hand. “Gotcha, you little bastard.” “What’s going on?” Kyle squinted to keep more blood from rolling into her eyes as she growled at Eli, finally strolling in like the cool customer he was. “Nice of you to stop by.” The second-year surgery resident leaned over to inspect the wound. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ a-okay to me, Newby.” A clot dislodged from another severed vessel. Blood spewed two feet and caught Eli in the cheek. “Okay, well, maybe you do need a little help from your friends.” He wiped his face with a green towel and snapped on a pair of tan gloves. “Kyle, gimme the suction catheter. I’ll work here. You put a second IV in his other hand. Ellen, call the OR. Tell them we’re coming up stat.” Kyle was happy to slide aside. She grabbed the patient’s right hand and smacked the back of it a half dozen times to raise a vein. It was no easy matter considering the scar tissue covering the vessels. Strange. She’d given her little brother a scar like that once. Brian had been chasing her in the house, and she slammed the bathroom door on his hand as hard as she could. The poor kid. She remembered it like it was yesterday. She’d cried for nights when she saw the skin torn back and the tears running down his little pink cheeks. She stared at the patient’s face. Except there was no face. No pink cheeks. Nothing close to normal human features. Only bloated purple lips, swollen shut eyes, and the disfigured pulp left by the vicious stomping. His facial bones had to be fractured beyond recognition. Eli clenched his teeth, his casual nonchalance gone. “Son of a bitch!” “What? What’s the matter?” Kyle asked. “Every time I grab a damn vessel, another pops up.” Even Eli, the king of chill, was sweating. Something he rarely did. “We’ve gotta get this bowel fixed, or we won’t have to worry about the rest of him.” Ellen careened around the doorway corner on one hand. “They gave us the okay. Said to bring him right up.” “Unlock this stretcher. LET’S GO!!!” Eli threw another clamp on the exposed gut. The trio wheeled the stainless-steel stretcher as fast as they could into the main corridor of the ER, then down the dim hallway, with Kyle sprinting at the side. She looked down at the abdomen. Blood was oozing everywhere. She ran ahead and punched the erratically blinking, red “UP” button. Twice. Three times. Four…Eli, Ellen, and the patient arrived in seconds. Kyle’s foot tapped on the floor, and she bit her lower lip as she stared at the patient’s hand. Was she going to lose this one, too? Her mind disassociated as she waited for the clanking elevator. She needed to stop after work to stock up on Fritos. Brian was visiting on Monday. Just out of tenth grade, this was his first solo trip by train. It was a wonder Mom let him come, especially for two days. She hated being alone since Dad died. But she’d finally relented when he expressed such a strong interest in Emory University. He so wanted to follow his big sister’s path, only on the veterinary side. “No pulse,” Ellen said as she felt the patient’s neck and looked up from the head of the stretcher with wide eyes. Eli reached for a confirming feel, then looked back toward the ER, hesitant for a moment. “We gotta get him to the OR,” he decided. “Kyle, you pump. I’ll breathe him.” Kyle jumped onto the stretcher and straddled the patient with her legs, half-standing, taking care not to put weight on the open abdomen. Knees flexed, she pushed down on his chest with both palms, counting off one-per-second thrusts that forced blood through his oxygen-starved body. One of the clamps slipped, and blood squirted, spraying the crotch of her white house officer’s pants over and over. She kept going. Unless they got this poor kid’s heart started again, he’d be a brainstem preparation in ten minutes. Eli sighed deeply and shook his head. “Not good, guys. Where’s a phone to call a code?” He glanced left, then right. “Not even a fucking phone?” Cells were useless down here. Ellen scowled and ran back to the ER, mumbling something unintelligible, though her tone needed no explanation. “I don’t think I’m pumping him well,” Kyle said between heavy breaths. “Why not?” Eli asked. “There’s no support under his back.” “God DAMNIT!” Eli dropped the breathing mask, pushed the stretcher against the wall for stabilization, and pulled a sideboard out from underneath. “Turn him so I can put this under.” Kyle stopped her thrusts and, standing on the stretcher with her back against the wall, lifted the left side of the patient’s body while Eli tried to slip the flat board underneath. The awkward position set off horrific pounding in her head, but not before she had him halfway over. “Almost. Just a little more.” The patient’s shirt slipped up. The birthmark!The brown oval over his right kidney! Kyle’s shocked mouth dropped open. Instead of pulling harder, she dropped him. The patient fell back on Eli and the board with a thud. Kyle’s head snapped back and slammed against the hard tile wall abutting the stretcher. She could hear a crack as her head bounced. The birthmark. The mark on his back—Brian’s mark. And with the hand scars? NOOOOO!!! Eli yanked his right hand out from between the board and the stretcher and shook it. “Kyle! What the hell are you doing? Why’d you let go?” The board crashed to the ground. Kyle climbed down and grabbed the side of the stretcher, her head exploding with the worst pain she’d ever felt. Eli held his hand and grimaced. “What’s wrong with you? Get moving, or he’s gonna die.” “I—I can’t. I just can’t, I’m not, I don’t… I just can’t…” “Why not?” “I-I can’t.” “Jesus Christ!” Eli uttered. Then he shouted, “HELP, STAT!!! WE NEED HELP DOWN HERE!!!” He hit a red wall alarm and climbed onto the stretcher. He pumped with his good hand while Kyle hugged the wall for support. Brian.Dear God, NOOOOO! What was he doing here four days early? He never showed up anywhere early in his entire life. Personnel poured from the stairways and into the hallway. Eli jumped off and ran down the corridor, waving at the people pushing the stretcher back to the ER. “Come on, move it, MOVE IT!” Kyle stumbled after them in a daze. The seat of her pants dripped blood that splattered down to her green and white Nikes. Normally, the wetness would’ve driven her crazy. Now she watched and felt a cold nothingness. While her head throbbed with an excruciating ache. As if it were on fire. People ran past. Someone was shouting in the distance. Bodies crowded the main ER. Their faces were blurs. She stopped outside the door to Trauma. Inside, it was alive with a flurry of activity, but the noises were far away. Kyle stood alone, the Ghost of Christmas Past, looking in on people illuminated by the powerful overhead beams. As she stood there wobbling, the noise stopped. Suddenly, the frenzied motion ceased. White coats and pants came out singly and in pairs, silent, their heads hanging low. Eli came last, biting his lower lip. Only the solitary monotone of the cardiac monitor echoed through the door. Kyle dropped back against a wall and slid to the ground, a hand pressing into each temple to try and hold in the jackhammer pounding inside her head. Her mental and physical pains faded as she passed out into a black void.
Chapter Two
Seven Years Later
Pennsylvania Hospital, Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Graham Kurland, 6’ 5”, 230 pounds of sinew and muscle, strolled in the Pennsylvania Hospital parking lot like the former Purple Heart winner he was, a world-class warrior who’d traded his weapons for a scalpel and become a rising star surgeon of the medical world, as well as a renowned transplant researcher. If you looked closely, you could see his assurance and graceful gait almost concealed the limp he’d had after a grenade’s shrapnel shredded his leg. He was greeted by the occasional nurse who flirted, or a doctor who was in awe and/or jealous of the famous Dr. Kurland. But no matter how much attention he got—professional or personal—none of it ever went to his head. He either didn’t know or care how brilliant and easy on the eyes he was. He was excited about the surgery he was scheduled to perform. A double renal artery in a recipient kidney. Much more difficult to implant than a single renal artery. So his XXL brain was working out each detail, making contingencies for everything that could go wrong. The donor kidney had two arteries supplying it, rather than the typical one. This anomaly made it more difficult to connect the donor kidney into the kidney recipient. Couldn’t be done without a great team. They were very good. But were they great? He thought so. This was his last year of internal medicine residency. He had already finished his surgical residency and would be one of the select few in the country with Boards in Surgery and Medicine. He couldn’t have done it without his photographic memory. And his years as a kill-or-be-killed warrior. And a CEO who turned his dead father’s business into a cash cow. While raising his teenage brother. BAM! A car backfired loudly, like a shot being fired just outside the hospital. Suddenly, Graham was in the middle of a raging battle in the desert outside Kandahar, missiles and bullets flying. Eddie Severs, his ride-or-die best friend, was by his side. Eddie took one step towards him, and the whole world exploded as he stepped on an IED. Graham was thrown back, even as he saw Eddie blow up, blood and flesh flying as he screamed in agony and horror. Graham felt a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around, fists clenched, fire in his eyes, face full of rage, in full fight mode. He snapped back to reality when he saw he was face-to-face with Nurse Beth Kelly, a fifty-something veteran of twenty-five years at Penn, the sweetest, kindest soul here. She was looking horrified at Graham’s hard, furious face, his body spring-loaded and ready to kill. The look of terror on Nurse Kelly’s face jolted Graham back to sanity. He saw what he was doing and was overcome with shame and embarrassment. He forced his face into a disarming, charming grin. “Sorry, Beth, oh my God, you scared the bejesus outta me. My apologies, I get a little wonky sometimes. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m really sorry.” Beth’s face changed from scared to neutral to thoughtful to understanding to kind. She nodded and smiled her sweet smile. “PTSD,” she said with an understanding nod. “My husband served in Desert Storm. Gee willikers, I know trauma’s a killer. I hope to heck you’re getting help.” “Oh yeah, I went through the program, I just get a little sketchy when I hear, uh…” “Loud noises? Like a gunshot. Or a car backfiring?” she gave him a wry little smile. “I get it.” “Thanks, Beth, I really appreciate that. Maybe we could keep this, uh, you know…” She made a funny little locking-her-lips-with-a-key gesture and did a slightly silly mock whisper. “What happens at Penn stays at Penn.” Graham laughed. Beth laughed. “Shall we?” Beth nodded and gestured towards the hospital. “Yes, we shall,” Graham said with his trademark aw-shucks animal magnetism as they walked through the parking lot and into the rest of their lives. *** Excerpt from Invisible Justice by Gary Brown, M.D. Copyright 2026 by Gary Brown, M.D. Reproduced with permission from Gary Brown, M.D. All rights reserved.
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About Author Gary Brown, MD:
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Dr. Brown is a retired professor and vitreoretinal (eyeball for civilians) surgeon. He performed over 40,000 operations in his award-winning career. Among his honors are inclusion in Marquis Who’s Who in the World and The Leading Physicians of the World. He served as the editor of three medical journals and has 650 publications and 12 medical/economic book authorships. This is his debut novel.
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Publication date: September 11th 2026
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Young Adult
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Megan Linski paints a hallmark to grief in this story of a heartbreaking best friend break up that’s emotionally unforgettable.
Aria and Lucky are two best friends who managed to survive high school, though not everyone did. They live in a small town that’s determined to destroy everyone’s dreams, but when they’re together, the two girls soar. The adults in their lives swear there’s no way out of their tiny hometown, but Aria and Lucky promise each other they’re going to run away together, believing the music they make is going to change the world.
Until one of them leaves, and the other stays. Aria finds herself looking back on her past, struggling to find where she belongs in a place that wishes to stomp out her light. Lucky’s rise and fall is brighter than a supernova, dazzling and destroying whatever it touches.
Then the unthinkable happens, and their friendship is left in the remnants of what comes after.
Lucky promised Aria forever. But forever turns out to be far shorter than either of them thought it could be.
An honest, endearing novel, My Best Four Years is a devastating portrayal of the power of unconditional friendship, and the loss that is felt when those we love are left behind.
“Are you ready for this?” Lucky asked. The rhinestones on her guitar glimmered as she slipped the strap over her shoulder. We were behind a curtain that led to the small stage of a local bar, where a dozen patrons clattered about. We’d been selected as the headlining act for a band that played regularly on Friday nights, and we were so nervous.
Lucky’s face was pale white. I was sure mine looked the same. Our first live show. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“It’s our time,” I said confidently. “Let’s get out there.”
The curtain was pulled aside, and we strode on stage in unison as the announcer introduced us. I took my stance at the keyboard, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
We started off strong, and got an enthusiastic response from the crowd during the first song. The next song was a little shaky, but the longer we played, the more confident we became, until we’d nearly gone through every song we’d created. The crowd was really getting into the music.
As I played the keyboard, somebody caught my eye from the corner of the bar. The most handsome man I’d ever seen was leaning on the counter. He might’ve been a few years older than I was. I was absolutely captivated by his appearance, so much so that I nearly missed a note on the melody.
When I met his blue eyes, he gave me a smile. I bashfully looked down when we finished the song, and we went to take a bow as we wrapped up the show. The applause in the room was so loud, I could hardly hear myself think. The curtain was drawn, and I felt shaky on my feet as I realized we’d actually done it. We’d pulled off our first performance!
“That was amazing!” Lucky cheered. “I loved every minute! The lights, the stage! It made me feel so alive!”
“It was incredible,” I gushed. “I’m so proud of us, Lucky!”
I gave her a squealing hug. We cheerfully hopped off stage, then headed to the bar to get a drink. People clapped us on the back and congratulated us as we walked through the bar, thanking us for the performance.
While we were sipping on virgin cocktails, Lucky’s phone rang. She picked it up, a huge smile spread across her face. “Hello, Carla! Yeah, we just got done! It was amazing. I wish you were here to see it…”
Her words trailed off. The smile slid off Lucky’s face. After a few moments, she nodded, and hung up the phone with a vacant gaze.
“It’s Carla,” she said. “She’s in the parking lot waiting to pick me up. She says we have to talk.”
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About Author Megan Linski:
Megan Linski is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author who lives in Michigan. She is the author of more than sixty fantasy and paranormal novels which feature themes of friendship, community, and healthy romantic relationships. She has over fifteen years of experience writing books alongside working as a journalist and editor. She graduated from the University of Iowa, where she studied Creative Writing.
Her passions include ice skating and horseback riding. In her free time she enjoys dancing in the snow and drinking fancy coffee while at her natural habitat, the mall.
Megan advocates for the rights of the disabled, and is an activist for mental health awareness.
Megan co-writes the Hidden Legends Universe with Alicia Rades. She also writes under the pen name of Natalie Erin for the Creatures of the Lands series, co-authored by Krisen Lison.
After a childhood shaped by trauma, she’s built a life
rooted in stability—a thriving career, a home filled with love, and a devoted
husband everyone envies.
But when Bella arrives as an au pair, the carefully
constructed world Claire depends on begins to unravel.
At first, it’s subtle. A shift in tone. A look held too
long. A moment that feels wrong—but not wrong enough.
Until it is.
As Grant’s behavior escalates, Claire begins to question
herself—her instincts, her memories, the quiet unease she can’t quite explain.
For the sake of her daughter, she holds on…even as something inside her starts
to fracture.
But Bella sees what Claire can’t. She recognizes the signs.
The patterns. The danger.
Because she’s lived it before.
As the tension inside the house builds toward something
neither woman can ignore, the line between endurance and survival begins to
blur—and the choice Claire makes next could cost her everything.
A layered
psychological thriller told through dual perspectives, The Au Pair’s
Deception explores what happens when two women—both shaped by their
pasts—are forced to confront the same danger from different sides. Combining
escalating suspense with emotional depth, it’s a character-driven story of
survival, resilience, and the cost of breaking free.
Trigger Warning: This
book contains depictions of domestic abuse and violence which may be triggering
to some readers. Please read with caution.
The warmth of her home should’ve been comforting, but Claire couldn’t stop
trembling. Every breath scraped her throat. Outside, the storm raged through
the upscale suburban neighborhood of Wellesley, muffling the world in white.
The eerie silence was broken only by the wind’s howl.
She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced her back into the blood-soaked
sheets. The air held the metallic tang of iron. Somewhere in the house—or was
it the wind?—something creaked. Her breathing grew labored, and something wet
and sticky clung to the back of her long blonde hair.
A fresh surge of nausea swept over her as she attempted to sit up again.
Squeezing her eyes shut and reopening them didn’t wake her from what felt like
a nightmare. Each failed attempt spiked her panic.
Rolling onto her side made her wince in pain. How long had she been lying here? Her
mind was foggy. Who else was home? Why wasn’t anyone coming? Someone must’ve
broken in during the storm. She remembered a rattle at the downstairs door
earlier that night.
A figure took shape in the shadows—tall, or maybe it seemed that way in the
flickering light. His face was hidden, and his slow, deliberate breathing
filled the room. A scream formed in her throat, but what escaped was a broken
whisper, swallowed by the darkness.
A dull, persistent ache throbbed at the back of her skull. Dizziness and nausea
pinned her in place. Each pulse landed like a hammer.
She fluttered her eyelids. The figure was gone. Where had it gone?
This has to be another nightmare,
she thought.
She wished he were here. He always made her feel safe. Imagining his strong
arms wrapped around her and his deep, comforting voice brought a fleeting calm.
Her dry lips parted, but no name came out—just a hoarse whisper lost to the
wind pressing against the window.
Claire propped herself up on one elbow and tried to gather her thoughts. She focused,
her vision adjusting to the darkness.
The figure emerged again, and a familiar voice whispered, “It’s me. I’ve been
looking for you.”
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By day, C.J. Covino is an online fitness coach helping
people live healthier lives. By night, she channels her devious side into
writing psychological suspense, starting with her debut novel, The Au Pair’s
Deception: When Love Turns to Lies. She resides in sunny Albuquerque with her
husband of 40 years, three grown kids who safely flew the coop, and a literal
zoo consisting of three dogs, a parrot, and a cat. She is powered almost
entirely by coffee, a passion for travel, and the thrill of a good plot twist.
Learn more at cjcovino.com and follow her writing journey on TikTok
@cjcovinoauthor.
The assassination was only the beginning. When the President of the United States is killed in a coordinated drone strike, the nation spirals into chaos. But this isn’t terrorism. It’s strategy. Behind the attack stands a brilliant and ruthless leader of a shadowy global cabal known only as New3—a group convinced the age of American dominance is already over. They’re just speeding it up. Their plan is devastating in its simplicity:
First, kill the president.
Then cripple the nation’s power grid.
Finally, plunge the United States into darkness long enough for rival superpowers to make their move.
Civil engineer Jake Bendel never expected to be part of that war. As one of the architects of America’s AI-driven energy grid, he helped design the very system now being turned against the country. As blackouts spread and order begins to fracture, Jake teams up with FBI agent Kristi Konnors to follow a trail of digital clues—only to uncover a conspiracy far bigger than a cyberattack. One that could hand America’s collapse to China and Russia. Then it becomes personal. Evidence emerges that Jake’s wife, Cynthia—presumed dead for years—may still be alive, trapped inside the organization behind it all. Now Jake is running out of time. Because if the lights go out across America, the invasion won’t be far behind. And the system he built may be the only thing that can stop it. Perfect for fans of David Baldacci and Tom Clancy, BLACKOUT is a high-stakes techno-thriller where cutting-edge technology collides with global power—and one man is forced to decide how far he’ll go to stop what’s coming.
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BLACKOUT Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: High-Concept Thriller
Published by: Jaytech Publishing Publication Date: October 6, 2026 Number of Pages: 436 ISBN: 9798990527386 Series: Jake Bendel Thrillers, Book 3 || Learn More About the series on Amazon & Goodreads
The United States power grid is divided into three largely independent systems, considered one of the most complex machines ever built with over 160,000 miles of high-voltage transmission lines. Large portions of the grid infrastructure are decades old.
Modern societies rely on electricity for nearly every critical system including: water treatment plants, fuel pipelines, telecommunications networks, hospitals, and transportation systems.
GPS signals are surprisingly weak and vulnerable to interference.
The largest blackout in North American history affected 50 million people in August 2023 involving eight states and Canada.
Small inexpensive drones can now carry lethal payloads.
The U.S. military (under DARPA’s OFFSET program) have tested drone swarm “curtain” formations.
Chapter 1
Friday, September 27 – 8:49 a.m. – AIRPLANE #1 – Private Gulfstream Jet – Coast of Venezuela
The day was perfect for flying, sipping Russo-Baltique vodka—and an assassination. In exactly eleven minutes. Ominous black clouds churned miles beneath the Gulfstream cruising high above the Atlantic. Far away, 1,600 miles north, thick fog rolled across the runway at Tampa International Airport—with Air Force One descending on approach. Tracy strode the cabin aisle, air thick with sweat and heavy leather. Her smartwatch pinged. Florida ground team: Eight minutes to launch. All good. Fiddling with her charcoal pearl necklace, she eyed the dozen technicians, each tracking a sliver of the covert op. Right on schedule. She halted behind her lead coordinator, Boris, bent over a pulsing, colorful weather map. When Tracy placed her hand on his shoulder, Boris stopped typing and adjusted his headset. She stood erect, arms crossed and chin high, her gold silk blouse complementing her team’s black combat uniforms like a leather-banded Swiss watch. Seeds of anarchy thrive in a nation stripped of electric power. The enormous gravity of today’s operation weighed on everyone aboard. Their goal: to plant kernels of chaos. She clucked her tongue, gave a sharp nod and pointed to a green and yellow blob on his screen. “Tell me that’s not fog.” Successfully executing their mission—polished for years—would bring infamy to her name and enter Tracy Daniela Ciacchella into the history books alongside John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald. Not desirable, but exitus acta probat: the outcome justifies the deeds. “It is, but ma’am, your yacht is in perfect position in Old Tampa Bay,” Boris said, a hint of a Russian accent slipping through on certain syllables. “All four hundred drones fully programmed, ready for activation and deployment from boat deck. We have new problem.” A sitting US president hadn’t fallen since ‘63. Today’s mission was the culmination of years of planning, subversion, and digital sleight of hand. No bullets. No lone gunman. Just 400 Semtex-laden drones guided by a matrix of stolen GPS coordinates and a rigged FAA exemption buried three years ago by one of her assets. A clean kill. Boris nodded. “Not worried about fog, ma’am, but light rain, not good for drones. Moved in faster than expected.” Each drone carried a two-pound brick of homemade Semtex. Washington had talked counter-drone defense for years. But as was typical with US leadership, nothing actually got done. No productive decisions. Only political wrangling and posturing—mixed with unhealthy levels of toxic masculinity. Incompetent politicians. Yet another reason to raise my curtain of death—weather permitting. For the final time, Tracy confirmed the ground team in position. On her iPad, she tapped open the video chat app connected with her two generals: first, the captain on her yacht in Old Tampa Bay, Florida; and second, her trusted, longtime friend Bob Huffington—nicknamed Huff—perched atop the Macy’s roof near I-275. Positioned a mile south, Huff had an unobstructed view of the final approach flight path for runway 1R at Tampa International. Although Tracy herself was nowhere near Florida, both video feeds from her team streamed clean and crisp via satellite. Rolling fog thickened, obscuring her views. “Wind speed?” she asked Huff. “Twenty-two knots. For now, acceptable, but if gusts start pushing above twenty-five, our chances drop to ten percent.” Getting Goldberg into place had been her masterpiece. After today, with President Whitehead out of the picture, Vice President Goldberg would give Tracy direct access to the power levers controlling the federal government. Her puppet would be in perfect position for the next phase of world domination. It was now or never. Time for the all-important decision. Even if the wind began gusting, the drones might still fly close enough to do catastrophic damage. Tracy brought her iPad close and announced into the tiny speaker, “Green. Repeat, we are green for Operation Black Flock.” On her screen, both generals nodded in confirmation. Now—shadowy iPad feeds showed Huff entering the launch code while workers on the boat peeled off a massive blue tarp to reveal a cargo container with four hundred off-the-shelf quadcopter drones—all made in China—packed inside a customized carbon fiber lattice. Each carried a two-pound payload of Semtex and a pre-programmed set of GPS-coordinated waypoints—latitude, longitude and elevation—to travel to. “Gusts up to twenty-four knots,” Huff said, nervously tugging at his earlobe before giving her a thumbs up, indicating her ground team had programmed the drones and activated them. Assuming the weather cooperated, the small black machines would follow precise paths using exact signals from dozens of GPS satellites—all in working order as of five minutes ago, according to her inside man at the Department of Defense. Her DOD contact had also confirmed the Air Force One plane on descent was, in fact, carrying President Whitehead, not a decoy. Boris leaned back in his chair, away from his laptop, and squinted at Tracy. “I still think we could have come up with a better name for this op.” She nodded, anxiety rising, wondering whether the drones would perform as intended. “Perhaps.” “How about Operation Kill Racist Xenophobic Pedophile?” “Come now, Boris. Way too long.” Tracy gave a silent smirk. A tiny matrix of red and green lights blinked on her iPad, communicating status from every craft, as propellers whirred, creating a bee-like buzzing sound crackling from the embedded speaker. The swarm of drones lifted skyward and disappeared into the gray blur of rolling fog. *** Excerpt from Blackout by J. Luke Bennecke. Copyright 2026 by J. Luke Bennecke. Reproduced with permission from J. Luke Bennecke. All rights reserved.
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About Author J. Luke Bennecke:
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J. Luke Bennecke is an Amazon #1 bestselling thriller author who writes about what happens when technology gets smarter—and people don’t. A former civil engineer and longtime executive, he spent decades designing real-world systems in California before turning to fictional ones that fail far more spectacularly. His novels explore artificial intelligence, surveillance, memory manipulation, and the dangerous gap between innovation and ethics. He is currently at work on his tenth novel. Luke lives in Southern California with his wife of thirty-five years and their four spunky cats. When not writing, he enjoys philanthropy, consulting as an engineering expert witness, traveling, playing golf, creating videos, and voiceover acting.
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Not all darkness flows into the Valley of the Sun from our southern borders.
Detective Nathan Parker discovers a double murder in a Phoenix drug lab, and all the evidence points at a connection to his son, Miguel. Was his adopted son swept up in a drug rip-off and murder? Did he play a role in the distribution of illicit designer drugs in the valley? As authorities close in on Miguel, Parker discovers a border militia group rushing to control the drug flow. The Night Watch militia leaves of trail of violence in their wake and local politicians use the shadow of the scourge of drug violence to influence an upcoming election. Who stands to gain while Parker and his family are caught in the crossfire? Who will betray them?
Book Details:
Genre: Thriller / Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: August 25, 2026 Number of Pages: 350 ISBN: 978-889203313 Series: A Detective Nathan Parker Novel
Sucking stale air through a respirator, John Thomas Mitchell finally found his niche. He dropped out of high school because it wasn’t his thing. The teachers said he wasn’t being challenged. Truth was, John Thomas left because he’d learned what he needed to make it on his own. Most of the people he interacted with only knew him as the Birdman. If you wanted the best high, the Birdman was the source. He wasn’t a drug dealer; he was a connoisseur—a brand ambassador of pills. “J.T., I got another five hundred bagged and ready,” a reedy voice said through his respirator. John Thomas pulled the lever on his manual pressing machine, one of his own design, and twenty white, perfectly pressed pills dropped out, each embossed with his own logo—a Blackbird in flight. “We need another thousand for the college this weekend. It’s pledge week, Cal.” John Thomas tapped the plastic container, shaking loose the snow-colored powder residue from the sides, and monitored the loose material as it flowed onto the dimpled steel plate where it would be formed and pressed into the coveted Blackbird doses. The perfect blend of Ecstasy and opiate. A hard knock on the trailer’s thick metal door reverberated through the old single-wide. John Thomas and Cal exchanged a glance through drug powder dusted goggles. “Cops?” Cal said. John Thomas glanced at his watch. “Cops don’t knock. Must be our boy coming to pick up. He’s early. Get it would ya? I’m in the middle of setting up the next press.” Cal scooted back from the workbench and placed the plastic-wrapped bundle of pills on the cheap folding table set up in the middle of the stripped-down trailer. The knock at the door sounded again. This time, it came harder and rattled the heavy doorframe. “All right, all right, I’m coming, dammit,” Cal said as he slid the two bolts that secured the door. The moment he threw the door aside, a thundering blast echoed in the small space. Cal flew back against the far wall, a crimson blossom leaching through his t-shirt. John Thomas fell out of his chair, and two gunmen, both dressed in black, wearing full-face respirators, stepped into the trailer. John Thomas crabbed backwards on the floor trying to distance himself from the gun-toting pair. The closer of the two leveled a black shotgun at him. John Thomas blanched. He looked away from the gunman. “Take it. Take what you want.” He held his hands up—submissive and cowering. The gunman tipped his head to his partner, who stepped over Cal’s body and stuffed the bags of finished pills into a black nylon zippered duffle. When the pills were tucked away in the duffel, the man backed away. The gunman didn’t lower the shotgun. “You got what you came for. I won’t tell nothing,” John Thomas said. His voice thin and quivering. Over his pounding heartbeat, John Thomas heard the gunman’s reply. “I know you won’t.” A flash from the muzzle and an ear-splitting roar filled the trailer. John Thomas lay sprawled on the floor. The gunman slung the shotgun over his shoulder and stepped around what was left of John Thomas’s head and grabbed the heavy pill press, dumping the powder that hadn’t been compressed on the floor. He backed through the door and took a last look inside before his partner tossed in a plain blue backpack. They closed the metal door and jogged to where they’d parked their dark blue Ford F-150 pickup. The pill-laden duffel went into a hardcover case. The gunman took less than a minute to strip down the pill press and remove the plates that formed the pills with their unique Blackbird signature logo. The two steel plates tucked into another hard case, and the mechanical parts of the press were tossed into a thick copse of creosote brush. After the cases were secured in the back seat, the men got in, started the truck and backed away. The gunman pulled his respirator off and tossed it into the back seat. His blue eyes fell on his cell phone he’d stashed on the console. He scanned it while driving on the rutted, washboard dirt road and dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency,” a voice sounded over the cellphone. “Hey, I just spotted a pack of illegals busting into a trailer out near Vulture Mountain west of Wickenburg.” “How do you know they were undocumented?” “You can tell, and I heard gunshots.” “What’s your name?” The gunman hung up and handed the phone to the passenger, who slipped out the SIM card, snapped it in half and tossed the bits out the window. “How long you figure it’ll take them to find the place?” the passenger said. “Not long.” The gunman pressed down on the accelerator toward Phoenix.
Chapter Two
Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker piloted his Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office SUV on the barely paved roads in the north part of the county known as Tweaker Heights. The largely undeveloped desert space wedged between Tonopah on interstate 10 and Wickenburg on the 60 was a prime location for operating a clandestine drug lab. Parker glanced at detective Barry Johns in the passenger seat. Barry held a cellphone to his ear and held up two fingers. Two victims. Drug ripoffs weren’t specifically listed in the fine print of the risk of doing business. There were rules. Usually, rivals understood that keeping the fragile peace meant hands off the production side of the operation. The street-level sales and distribution were another matter. In many ways, Maricopa County was the wild west, where intimidation and payoffs ruled. There was a fragile truce in the business when all sides followed the rules. When a drug lab stiffed a supplier, bad things happened. This was not a business that cared about promises or referrals to human resources for mediation. Barry disconnected the call. “Fire department from Buckeye station 70 responded to a report of a trailer fire south of the White Tanks. About the same time, we got the 911 call about shots fired and undocumented migrants at the location.” “Fire and reported gunfire could mean a lab take down. If the lab was connected to any of the biker gangs up in the north county, could be reprisal coming.” “We have a deputy on scene. Wilson. Said it looked like a pill mill. Some precursor chemicals there. Possible fentanyl set up.” “Great,” Parker said. That would mean wearing protective gear and respirators while working the scene. And having Narcan on hand for accidental exposures. “Did the 911 call mention the fire?” Parker asked Barry. The big man shook his head. “No. Gunshots only.” “But the fire department responded to a trailer fire.” “That they did. We’ll have to find out how they got the call.” Barry pointed ahead. The red and white Buckeye fire engine near a dilapidated single-wide mobile home that looked as if it had been parked there since the Carter administration. “How you want to handle this?” Parker mulled it over for a moment. Two dead in a drug rip-off. No neighbors to canvass, unlikely witnesses, and the fire may have consumed much of the useful evidence. “You tell me, Barry. You’re lead on this one.” Barry Johns was a solid detective with slightly over five years in grade. Parker knew him to be smart and dogged when it came to chasing down leads. A former college football standout, Barry was looking at a pro career when his knee betrayed him, ending his athletic eligibility. He was recruited by two Black colleges for teaching positions but opted to come back home to the desert and join the Sheriff’s office. Parker knew he was capable and savvy enough to get this investigation off and running. Barry was feeling a little disconnected after his partner, Pete Tully, retired over six months ago. Getting shot in the chest will make you rethink your priorities. While Barry and Parker worked well together, Parker sensed Barry needed a chance to take charge. Barry glanced over. “I’d start by running down the origins of whatever chemical compounds we have in the trailer. By the looks of it, Buckeye Fire got here fast. We might have something to work with. Then the trailer itself. I want to know ownership records from the day it was dropped out here. Same with the land itself.” Parker nodded. “Want me to run down the trailer registration and property records? I know you’ll get all geeked out over the chemical mumbo jumbo.” Barry grinned. “Yeah, maybe.” A cloud of red dust enveloped the SUV when Parker eased the vehicle behind the Maricopa County unit. He waited for the dust cloud to pass before he opened the door. “Let’s get the update from Wilson.” Parker and Barry found deputy Wilson standing in front of the Fire engine, some fifty feet from the single-wide. A pair of firefighters were pulling a hose from the doorway. Both wore full protective gear, including the air tank for the self-contained breathing apparatus. Wilson turned as the detectives approached. “Detectives,” the deputy said. “What can you tell us, Wilson?” Parker said. “Responded to the shots fired call and arrived just as the Buckeye Fire crew pulled up. Looked like the fire was small and contained mostly inside. Not much smoke. Don’t know who reported it.” Barry nodded to the two firefighters. “They discover the bodies?” “They did. Said it was laid out like a drug lab inside. A line of worktables down the center of it. Our two victims—one by the door and the second toward the rear.” “Did you get a look?” Barry asked. “I grabbed a mask and got a look from the door. Snapped a couple of photos before the fire jockeys destroyed everything.” He held his cell phone out to Barry. “Good thinking,” Barry said as he took the phone and scrolled through the set of images. He handed the phone to Parker. “Gonna be tough to get an ID on one of them. Most of his face is missing,” Wilson said. “What I don’t see here is the product. Gives some credence to the idea someone took this pair down,” Barry said. “I did find these,” Wilson handed a sealed plastic bag to Barry. Five pills lined the bottom of the bag. All white with a distinct Blackbird logo embossed on them. “This is where Blackbird came from?” Parker said. “These pills have been all over the county, especially the colleges.” “Blackbird has a whole upscale vibe going on with it. Users claim it’s a good safe high. I always thought the stuff came from a pristine lab somewhere in Cave Creek, or Fountain Hills,” Barry said. “You take down Blackbird and assume their distribution, you’ve got a goldmine,” Parker said. Parker glanced at the trailer hulk. Taking over a drug operation was one thing. But if the chemist behind the Blackbird pills was one of the two dead men inside, then there was another darker element in play here. “You ask for the Medical Examiner?” Parker asked the deputy. “No, sir. Watch Commander said you should make the call.” Parker nodded. Barry picked up on the pause and reached for his cell phone. “On it.” “Ask for Dr. White,” Parker said as Barry stepped aside to make the call. The firefighters backed out of the trailer and shut off their hoses. The pumps on the engine whined down to a stop. A fire captain in a white helmet stepped away from the engine and unbuttoned his heavy turnout coat. Parker recognized the captain from a callout last year near the boundary of the Hummingbird Wilderness. Two bodies were found in an abandoned mining shack. His name tag read, Drucker. “Detective, I can always count on you to keep us on our toes. Had to use all our hazmat protocols on this one with potential drug exposures and explosive materials in the place.” “Explosives?” Parker said. “Let me show you.” The fire captain started walking back to the trailer. “Can’t you just tell me about it?” “Just put on your big boy pants and come with me, detective,” Drucker said. Barry had finished his call, and Parker gestured him over. “The captain has something to show you.” Drucker grinned. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” “His case,” Parker said. “What’s you got?” Barry asked once he arrived at the trailer. The odor from the charred insulation, plastic, and rodent droppings was intense ten feet from the trailer door. The fire captain brought up an image on a tablet device. “Check this out. Far right corner, on the floor. A ragged hole in the trailer’s thin metal skin shown in the picture.” Parker’s eye drew to the four small cardboard boxes on the warped floorboard. The label on the containers in large red letters read, 12-gauge 00-Buckshot. “Shotgun shells? That’s your explosive?” Parker said. “One box cooked off a round. The fire started in the corner of the trailer—outside actually.” Barry peered at the screen. “The fire didn’t start from inside with whatever they were cooking?” Drucker shook his head. “Looks like someone tossed a couple road flares under the trailer chassis and ignited the scrub, trash, and some loose flooring material.” “Safe to go in?” Barry asked. “It is. We put an ion detection beacon inside and it’s reading no residual meth precursor chemicals, no fentanyl, but we did get a hit on other known opiates. I’d wear a M-95 mask to be safe.” “Not much chemical residue. Doesn’t that strike you as a little off, if Blackbird was being made here? Labs are usually covered in the stuff.” Parker asked. Barry donned an M-95 mask. “The Medical Examiner will be here in twenty minutes. Our crime scene techs should be here before then. They were finishing up a robbery call out in Carefree.” As Parker and Barry entered, the trailer listed under their weight. As Captain Drucker explained the fire damage inside was rather minimal. The heat melted a few plastic tarps in the corner, but the bodies were untouched by the flames. Unusual if the fire was started to get rid of the evidence inside, Parker thought. The dead man nearest the door leaned against the back wall. A pattern of gunshot wounds, eight that he could see, tore through the man’s chest and abdomen. To the left, inside, partially under a long worktable, the second body lay sprawled on its back. The man’s face was missing, or most of it. Bone, brain tissue, and teeth were visible at a glance. Round holes behind the dead man meant he was gunned down at close range while his assailant stood over him. Barry began shooting photos with his cell phone. While he was occupied, Parker spotted a blue backpack a few feet from the first dead man. There was something familiar in this plain blue model. Parker took his cell phone and snapped a photo of the backpack as it lay in the blood spatter of the first victim. The backpack didn’t have spatter on it, which meant it landed thereafter the drug dealer was shot. Turning the backpack with a glove-covered hand, Parker noticed a tag on one of the shoulder straps. He didn’t need to read it to know where it came from. It belonged to his son, Miguel. *** Excerpt from Darkness Falls by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2026 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved.
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About Author James L’Etoile:
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James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, Macavity, and the Public Safety Writers Award. Illusion of Truth, Sins of the Father, and Darkness Falls are his most recent novels. James also serves as the Executive Vice President of Mystery Writers of America.
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Publication date: September 7th 2026
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller
What do you do when you keep losing time?
Terrifying visions torment Starra. Lost moments of time and flashes of images too horrific to accept fill her with icy fear so complete she can’t escape it. With too many unanswered questions, she needs answers. Now. It’s her only hope if she wants to save what’s left of her shattered mind and soul.
Unlike Starra, Mina cares nothing for her soul. Damned long ago, she’s too scarred for redemption. There are people meant to enjoy lives of love and family and friends. Mina isn’t one of these people. Her life is in the shadows, unafraid of the dark… until she realizes that something lurks in those shadows, something that wants to tear her apart.
Night fell quickly, swallowing the last light of day in the blink of an eye as the sky darkened from a surreal deep purple into a vast expanse of ebony. Not a single star pricked through the inky darkness. Even the moon shied away from shining too brightly through the clouds that faded into the night sky.
They call it the city that never sleeps for a reason. It was never truly dark in New York City, a million neon lights shining through even the blackest of nights.
But not tonight. Tonight the darkness engulfed everything it touched, dimming even the brightest of the neon, absorbing it into itself.
It was the kind of thick, cloying darkness that made people fear every shadow that moved as they hurried along the evening streets. It seemed alive, almost sentient, as it slipped around corners, like it was a predator chasing its prey, swallowing everything in its path into an endless void. People scurried along the sidewalks with their hearts racing, eyes furtively darting into the dark places. As the shadows shifted ominously, they quickened their paces until they were safely behind locked doors with the lights on and the curtains pulled tightly across the windows. They were right to hide, right to be afraid of whatever lurked on the other side of the too-thin glass. Dangerous things hid in the shadows of the night.
I knew that, probably more than anyone. The night scared the hell out of me. But it wasn’t the monsters that hid in the shadows that frightened me. They paled in comparison to the beast I feared lurked within me, the beast that came out at night. I lived in fear that I was the monster that hid in the shadows.
Yet even as much as the night terrified me, I welcomed it. The darkness wrapped me in its arms. The shadows that danced on the walls didn’t scare me; they kept me company when I felt alone. The noises that made others slam their windows shut and throw the locks home sounded like music to me, distracting me from the thoughts that ran through my head all day long, tormenting me. The night energized me, made me feel strong and powerful when most of the time I felt anything but.
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About Author Kim Deister:
My name is Kim and my last name, Deister, is pronounced “Die-ster.” I always tell my husband I should have kept my married name, Ingram. So much easier to to pronounce!
I am a writer thoroughly in love with words. Reading them, writing them… I love that words can take you outside of your world and let the unimaginable become imaginable. I love them so much that I decided I needed to create some worlds and stories of my own!
Besides being a writer, I am an Army veteran (and Army wife) and a mom to four sons. I grew up in northern New York in a tiny college town called Potsdam. Over the years, our Army life has taken us all over the place and I have been lucky enough to work and live in some pretty amazing places. Right now we live in Hawaii on the island of O’ahu, minutes from the North Shore.
Detective Theo Barnes thinks he has the world figured out, though he knows it’s a fixed game. Do your job well. Protect your family. Steer clear of the system. Until his sting operation brings down a powerful state Senator. Doing the right thing thrusts him over a line that can’t be crossed, and the system bites back, hard. His career… over. Reputation… obliterated. The truth… beyond reach. Amidst the rubble, a clandestine cabal of conspiracy fanatics hellbent on annihilating the “true power” behind America anoints Barnes as a symbol of their own plight. They think Barnes is one of them, abused by society and martyred by the Deep State. The FBI is incapable of infiltrating these zealots and they turn to Barnes for help. Desperate for answers and redemption, he reluctantly agrees to go undercover, using the most dangerous identity possible… his own. As real life and the investigation blur, Barnes’ impossible choices drag his family into the crosshairs. Every move, every word, contains unspeakable danger. As the cabal’s atrocities collide with the conspiracy that destroyed him, he must separate lies from truth, or he won’t survive. His quest for salvation rests on one question. Is there enough of his soul left intact to save not only his family, but the country?
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Praise for Main Street Fringe:
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“MAIN STREET FRINGE had me in its grip from the opening pages and never let go. A timely take on political culture in this country, Lavoie has used his D.C. background to write a twisty thriller that crackles with authenticity. Don’t miss this stellar debut.” ~ Joshua Moehling, USA TODAY bestselling author of AND THERE HE KEPT HER and A LONG TIME GONE “Embroiled in conspiracy and betrayal, this sharp paced thriller climaxes when brotherhood reaches a bitter and fatal flashpoint and two worlds collide into one. Engrossing and timely.” ~ David Swinson, author of The Second Girl “MAIN STREET FRINGE is a deep and thrilling dive into the dark heart of the current political climate—made all the more terrifying by Matthew Lavoie’s experience in Washington. This guy knows what he’s talking about, he knows where the bodies are buried… and that makes this a must-read.” ~ Rob Hart, USA TODAY bestselling author of The Warehouse and the Assassins Anonymous series “MAIN STREET FRINGE serves up a sumptuous and scintillating smorgasbord of action and intrigue set against a conspiracy-fueled landscape populated by villains for whom reality is a relative term. Matthew Lavoie has crafted one of those rare thrillers that challenges our sensibilities and makes us think at the same time, shading his tapestry in gray tones in which even the good guys wade in and out of their own moral quagmires. A blistering, bracing bombshell of a tale and major debut in the thriller genre.” ~ Jon Land, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author “One man’s patriot is another’s radical, and the line between the two blur in Matthew Lavoie’s crackling debut thriller. MAIN STREET FRINGE is an adrenaline-fueled joyride that won’t let you loose until the gut-check of a conclusion.” ~ James L’Etoile, award-winning author of RIVER OF LIES and the Detective Nathan Parker series
Book Details:
Genre: Political Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 1, 2026 Number of Pages: 381 ISBN: 979-8898203351
Detective Theo Barnes lit a smoke, a rare allowance to tamp down the adrenaline. His brain buzzed as the nicotine hit all the right spots while watching a squad car containing Andrews drive away. He texted his wife, reminding her today would run long. A few cases ago he’d forgotten and caught hell for missing dinner. Rayna was sexy when she was angry, but it wasn’t worth missing sleep to stay up arguing. Once he hit the filter, he’d oversee the bag and tag efforts at the scene and head to the Charlottesville county jail for the interrogation. Raids of Andrews’ home and Senate office were executed simultaneously. The limitations of being in one place at a time drove him nuts. He inherently trusted his team of Virginia State Troopers. Just not as much as himself. He had always been this way. Those aware of his origins don’t blame him. His unyielding dedication compounded as he aged, particularly in the four years since he’d taken over the Internet Sex Crimes Division. Convictions hang on the smallest detail. Considering how far he’d stuck his neck out, he’d be hip deep in every aspect of the investigation until prison doors slammed shut on Senator Andrews. “You ever think about the irony of a sex crimes investigator who needs a cigarette after every bust?” said the blonde as she approached. Among many contributions, Shannon Williamson served as Barnes’ lure for the stings. “Funny. Here I was concerned about Rayna raking me over the coals and you gotta toss in some Freudian shit to boot.” Defiantly, Barnes took one last deep drag and flicked the butt into the motel parking lot. Barnes knew he’d hit the jackpot having her on the squad. A rising star at the FBI out of college, promoted early and often, she’d made it as a profiler. Then came her father’s stroke. Her mom passed on when she was in elementary school. With no caregiver, she came home to Charlottesville, signing on with the Troopers once he’d recovered. “Deep psychological analysis of your soul is why you pay me so large.” She glanced up at him. “No matter how many times we do this, I’m always surprised at how much they cry. Between you and me, it’s my favorite part with these scumbags.” “He thought you were fourteen and he got me instead. Your pigtails in those pictures sold it. Sorry you’re always the worm on the hook for these, but, well—” He shrugged. “I’m thirty-five but look like jailbait. I don’t mind. I like the field action. But you’ll need to recruit a new carrot for these sickos. I won’t fit what they’re looking for much longer.” Her hand rested on her stomach as she exaggerated a baby bump. “Really? That’s great! You and Rick must be over the moon.” “It’s a seesaw between thrilled and freaking out. Need you to keep me level since you’re the parenting expert. I do wonder about the world I’m bringing the kid into.” “One with another predator off the street. And as far as parenting goes, Rayna does the heavy lifting with the boys. I come off the bench to give her a breather. When are you due?” “Thanksgiving. You’ve got me six more months, but don’t go giving my job away. I’m coming back.” “Don’t know what I’d do without you anyways. Let’s make sure everything is tight as a drum. I can’t wait to sit across the table from this asshole.” * * * Barnes, having shed motel customer garb for a shave, suit, and tie, watched the shackled State Senator Andrews shuffle into interrogation. Of all the post-sting grillings, he can’t recall a suspect this calm. Andrews’ light, self-satisfied smile suggested a guy up for a promotion inside The tears he’d shed were a distant memory. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not talking without my lawyer,” Andrews said. Barnes reflexively clenched his fist. He paused before plowing ahead with the time-tested approach. “I understand why you’d want your lawyer. This is the worst day of your life. We’ve got you dead to rights. I’ll even allow that you’re sorry. I know you’re scared. We have chat transcripts of your conversations with the girl, the way you groomed her. All of it directly traceable to you.” Despite his previous statement, Andrews can’t allow the challenge. “Maybe I don’t even need a lawyer. This is a set-up. It’s fake news. Nothing happened. In fact, she’s the one who led me on.” Barnes shook his head and smiled. This revelation was his favorite part. “Actually, Senator, I was the one leading you on. But we both know you did the grooming.” The initial review of Andrew’s home and office computers had returned zilch. Andrews couldn’t possibly know this. His slimy bullshit sourced elsewhere. “I can prove that you thought she was fourteen and intended to have sex with her. When we parade the things you brought to the motel in front of a jury, the sex toys, the lube, and most damning, your secret video camera, they won’t buy your excuses. You know, people like you tend to have a rough go in prison.” Andrews’ breathing hitched. Some of his cocky attitude faded. His head shook involuntarily. Barnes stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, you’ll be ok. Can we get him something to drink here?” The guard brought a bottle of water. Andrews drank and tried breathing deep. Barnes returned to his seat. “There’s no turning back the clock here. But if you help me, you’ll make things easier for yourself when you go before judge and jury. I can be a friend.” Andrews snorted. “How kind. That was my first thought, this guy is my friend. Trust me, I’ve already got the right friends.” Maintaining the good cop persona grew increasingly harder. “You’ve got one chance to help yourself and you’re blowing it. Confess, save us the trouble of a trial. How’d you locate those sites and chatrooms? They don’t pop up in a Google search. Come clean. Maybe we can close a loophole. You throw us that info and I’ll see that it earns points with the judge and the District Attorney.” “I have something to offer people much higher on the food chain than the local D.A. Prison isn’t in my future.” Andrews leaned back in his chair. “Lawyer, now.” Now Andrews got the uncompromising Barnes, who’d walked through fire to get here. “Fine, lawyer up, but let me tell you this. There are a few ironclads in this life. Don’t mess with the church’s money, don’t piss off people who handle your food, and don’t ever, and I mean ever, threaten children. Even if you think prison’s not in your future, jail most definitely is. You’re spending tonight in County’s general population and I swear every last inmate will know why. Sleep tight.” Barnes trusted Andrews’ the worst visions were his best ally. He’d turned the doorknob when he heard a sigh of resignation. “Wait. I might know a few things. Maybe a couple of names. But then I want my lawyer. You swear to keep the animals away?” “For the next few days,” Barnes pushed a pen and paper across the table. * * * Captain Butch Holland, Barnes’ commanding officer, stewed behind the two-way mirror. His bushy mustache resembled a walrus, matching his bulk. His police hat covered up his hair’s disappearing act. Vanity wasn’t quite enough to get him on a treadmill though. As Barnes entered the room, Holland’s face flushed, and he opened at peak volume. “Happy? I ordered you, very clearly, not to pursue this. But you know better than everyone and look where we are. No confession, half a case, and a big pile of shit.” Barnes eyed Holland with disdain. “I know better than you. We’ve got him because I do my job. You worry about kissing ass upstairs. I don’t give a shit if it’s a state Senator, an ambassador, or the goddamn President. He’s garbage and he’s going down.” Holland had tabled his retirement, desperately hanging on to walk with a Major’s pension. He bristled at the accurate insinuation that he played the political game. “You’ve got the Governor’s office breathing fire and I’m not taking heat for you.” Sure, Barnes thought. The only thing you take is credit. He’d spent a lifetime internalizing beatings, verbal or otherwise, and spinning them out as motivation. It usually worked, as long as nobody undercut his integrity. He balled his fist over and over. “You don’t have to take anything. We’re on our way. Sometimes it takes a minute, but they always break in the end.” “Explain that to Colonel Prescott tomorrow. He’s coming down and bringing the Attorney General. Let’s see how Saint Barnes handles that.” “Fine, Captain.” Barnes poured tabasco on the big man’s title. “I’ll promise you something. Nobody walks on my watch. See what happens to anyone standing in my way when I’m dragging someone to hell.” Holland’s mustache twitched with the hint of a smile. “So, you say. Before the day’s out, I want the originals on all your paperwork and a full tick-tock. It’s going straight to the Colonel.” The Captain’s smirk irritated him but frustration over the request took precedent. “Christ, let me do my job. I’ve got to get out to reinspect the house and office. Bureaucracy doesn’t close cases.” The Captain pointed a pudgy finger. “Prescott demanded it. When the head of the State Police barks, you do it before he fucking bites.” Holland stormed from the room, almost steamrolling Shannon. An agile spin kept her from becoming roadkill. She leaned against a filing cabinet, the only furniture in the spartan room beyond two steel folding chairs. “Congrats on another successful interaction with the brass. Never thought I’d see a detective with the best closure rate universally hated by the higher ups.” Barnes seethed. “Fuck him and fuck the rest of them too. I’m not playing their games, I’m doing the job.” He kicked a chair and it slammed into the wall with a satisfying bang. “Easy, I’m not the enemy. The martyr act won’t get you anywhere. You might consider playing nice.” Occasionally, Shannon glimpsed behind Barnes’ carefully constructed wall. While he was certain it unnerved her, she still spoke her mind. “Sorry. Someone’s always gunning for me. Being the best doesn’t allow time for anyone else’s agenda. I’m not about to change.” “Fine,” passing on a losing battle. “What’s our next move? I only heard Holland’s side. You solid on what we did today?” “Andrews is a pervert. We’ve got enough, but tonight’s a paper night. Prescott’s coming and we make sure it’s watertight.” Shannon frowned and rubbed her temples. “Holland wants to show everyone he’s got his thumb on us. I don’t care that he takes credit sometimes, but this is taking away from the real work. Damn him.” A sly smile materialized. “Now who needs to play nice?” “Shut up. I’m not the one with four reprimands for insubordination. You think Andrews will spill? It’s a long time since you didn’t get the confession right away.” “It’s not insubordination when I’m right. Andrews dropped a few names, but I think they’re bullshit. He’d stick his hand in a pit of rattlesnakes to draw a get out of jail free card.” He paused. “A night or two in a cell will do it.” But Barnes didn’t believe that. Three cigarettes and creeping concerns consumed his trip to the Barracks. He couldn’t shake the idea there was something rotten about this case, and not just around the edges. Andrews’ arrogance held court in his mind. What’s up your sleeve, you sick son of a bitch? What do you know about what’s coming my way I don’t? *** Excerpt from Main Street Fringe by Matthew Lavoie. Copyright 2026 by Matthew Lavoie. Reproduced with permission from Matthew Lavoie. All rights reserved.
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About Author Matthew Lavoie:
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A policy expert and political operative for some of Washington’s most influential power brokers, Matthew Lavoie has spent his career evaluating the how and why of American political and cultural movements and observing some of the biggest shifts in American and geopolitical history. MAIN STREET FRINGE is his debut novel. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.
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This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Matthew Lavoie. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
