Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Verb Tenses organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author MG da Mota will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B&N Gift Card. to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter! And you can click on the tour banner to see other stops on the tour.
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Verb Tenses
By MG da Mota
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Genre: Psychological Thriller
Synopsis
Thirty-four-year-old Raquel Whiteman has it all: beauty, a high-powered career, a very rich fiancée, a loving brother and a stepfather she adores. Life is good. Until her mother commits suicide. Clearing the paraphernalia of her mother’s life she finds old photographs and journals which plunge her into a search for the truth about her real father and early childhood, forsaking everything including her engagement to travel a path she is powerless to resist. Like a giant wave the past travels fast and comes crashing down on her, flooding her mind with incomprehensible fragmented memories and continuous questions – What? Why? Why?
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Enjoy this peek inside:
The little girl opened her eyes wide, trying to pierce the darkness. She lifted her head off the pillow, listening intently. All she could hear was the wind blowing wildly, the thunder, and the ocean, raging, beating against the sand and the surrounding cliffs. The house shook with the fury of the storm, as if the sea were angry at its presence and wanted to wash it away. Scared, the little girl pulled the covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for sleep. Images of fairy tales floated into her mind. She remembered the story her mother’s best friend had read earlier. It was the story of a little girl, like herself, who went on a summer picnic with her teddy-bear friends. She smiled. A feeling of warmth spread in her chest, her body relaxed, her mind began to drift; and then, she heard it.
A scream. A horrible scream, louder than the storm, from somewhere in the house. Jerking upright, heart thumping, her breath accelerated, became noisy, difficult. She stared into the darkness, listening. There was no mistake. The screams continued then stopped, abruptly. There was a short silence, then voices. Angry voices. Then the sound of glass splintering on the floor. She whispered, afraid, ‘Mummy … mummy, I’m scared.’
Lightning slashed the darkness, briefly brightening the room through the gaps in the shutters. Thunder was deafening. Trembling the little girl rolled out of bed and walked to the door. Opening it slowly she peered into the hall. Light spilled out from the open door of her mother’s bedroom. Relief flooded through her. The storm had woken Mummy too. Running in she cried, ‘Mummy, I’m scared of—’.
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About Author MG da Mota:
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MG da Mota is Margarida Mota-Bull’s pen name for fiction. She is a Portuguese-British novelist with a love for classical music, ballet and opera. Under her real name she also writes reviews of live concerts, CDs, DVDs and books for two classical music magazines on the web: MusicWeb International and Seen and Heard International. She is a member of the UK Society of Authors, speaks four languages and lives in Sussex with her husband. Her website, called flowingprose.com, contains photos and information.
Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Shooting At Shadows organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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Shooting At Shadows
By Forest McMullin
Genre: Thriller
Synopsis
A photograph can tell the truth. It can also get you killed.
Ethan McGuire’s relentless pursuit of explosive stories has cost him his family, his integrity, and now–possibly–his life. While documenting the rise of white supremacist movements in Western New York, Ethan encounters a world of neo-Nazis, heavily armed survivalists, rogue FBI agents, and violent criminals, all with something to hide. But when a crew of ruthless bank robbers starts hunting him for photos he doesn’t even know he has, the stakes turn deadly.
As his enemies close in and his family becomes a target, Ethan must expose the truth–before it buries him. Shooting at Shadows is a relentless thriller and chilling cautionary tale, inspired by the author’s real-life experiences as a photojournalist. It exposes the darkness lurking beneath the surface of American extremism–and the cost of bringing it to light.
“One hopes that McMullin has further adventures planned for his unlikely hero.” –Kirkus Reviews
“…a provocative thriller exploring highly pertinent themes in American culture today…” –Fredrick Soukup, author of Blood up North
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Someone outside began pounding on the truck in time to the chant and within moments it sounded like everyone who could reach the sides was pounding too:
“BOOM BOOM BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM!
“KKK! GO AWAY! KKK! GO AWAY!”
It was deafening, like being inside a giant bass drum. The thin metal walls of the truck amplified the beating and Ethan could
feel the horrible reverberation in his chest. Everyone moved toward the center of the bed as if the walls could come crashing in on them at any second. The two holding the rear gate down were fighting the door as people outside tried to raise it.
Suddenly the pounding stopped and Ethan felt the truck moving. The crowd was so loud he hadn’t heard the engine start. But how could they get through that mob without running anyone over? Maybe if Kevin went slowly enough, they’d let the truck pass. Surely the police would be able to get there and see to their safety. Then he realized it wasn’t forward motion he felt. The truck was swaying side to side. The chanting changed too. “O-VER! O-VER! O-VER!” They were trying to turn the truck on its side. Ethan didn’t think it could be done, but with this many people it was impossible to know for sure.
Everyone inside moved away from the center and put their hands against the sides to steady themselves. It was like trying to stand in a boat on choppy seas. Back and forth, back and forth the truck rocked, gaining momentum every time. Ethan saw the men holding the door down lose their balance and fall. The door rose and blinded them with brilliant sunlight.
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About Author Forest McMullin:
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Forest McMullin is a writer based in Atlanta, Georgia. Earlier in his career, he was a photojournalist who specialized in photographing fringe social groups. Today he writes both long and short form fiction, Shooting at Shadows is his first novel.
She comes home to mourn her father. She stays to uncover the shocking truth.
When college student Berry returns to her family’s small Southern California farm after her father’s sudden death, she believes she’s coming home to grieve and reassure her mother that she’ll soon be back for good to run the farm. With farming in her blood, she is eager to bring new life to the failing farm through modernization and sound financial management after receiving her degree in agricultural economics.
It doesn’t take long for Berry’s plans to collapse, as she discovers all is not well in the surrounding farming community. A foreign-owned agribusiness, Happy Sun Farm, is taking over all the small farms, something her father had resisted.
As she delves deeper into the company’s campaign of coercing farm sales, Berry suspects they may have been responsible for her father’s death. She learns that Happy Sun Farm is far from a happy place. Their strange farming practices don’t make sense to her, and the unexplained deaths and secrecy surrounding the farm leave many questions unanswered.
With help from law enforcement not forthcoming, Berry sets out to explore what she can, but soon finds her own life in danger. Not knowing whom she can trust, she uncovers a diabolical plan of mass proportions no one could have imagined.
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Praise for Happy Sun Farm: Behind the Facade
“I haven’t read a thriller so brilliant, creepy, and compelling in years.” ~ Readers’ Favorite
“Happy Sun Farm is an unputdownable read packed with realism and high-stakes intrigue.” ~ Indies Today
“Happy Sunny Farm: Behind the Façade by Deven Greene is a genre-bending tale that wears many disguises. At times, it feels like a Stephen King narrative rooted in small-town unease; at others, it channels John Grisham’s legal-tinged suspense.” ~ Literary Titan
“The blend of farming insights, thriller, and murder mystery builds intrigue and political confrontation to create a satisfyingly absorbing story that’s hard to put down.” ~ D. Donovan, Sr. Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
Book Details:
Genre: Thriller
Published by: Panthera Publishing Publication Date: October 22, 2025 Number of Pages: 356 ISBN: 978-196462008
Fog rolled in as the sun set on the verdant hills, silent but for the small animals carrying out their daily tasks of finding food and safety while caring for their young. Below in the valley, the mist-shrouded a smattering of primitive structures—the permanent home of twenty-thousand guests of Hwasong, the largest political prisoner camp in North Korea.
All the inmates—men, women, and children—were serving a life sentence for anti-revolutionary activities or being within three generations of a person convicted of that same high crime, so-called guilt by association. Those imprisoned solely because they were related to a convicted enemy of the state lived separately on the grounds, never allowed to see their denounced relative again. Their living conditions were horrible, but not as horrible as those who had committed a serious offense.
A group of a hundred men, women, and teens wearing orange jumpsuits, tired after a long day of hard labor, shuffled into the large auditorium, hurried along by shoves and baton whacks from the guards. Already seated was an equal number of prisoners wearing blue jumpsuits, men, women, and teens who had arrived by bus a half-hour earlier from a nearby housing block. The inmates dressed in blue were emaciated, their skin loosely covering the bones underneath, while those in orange were thin but without signs of starvation. The people in orange were silent as they glanced around and sat in the vacant seats between those in blue. If the two groups of prisoners had questions about why those in orange and blue were intermingled in this way, none dared to speak up. Ten guards armed with guns and batons stood around the room’s perimeter. After all the inmates were seated, one of the officers stepped to the front of the room and commenced the evening ritual of indoctrination. The session of self-criticism would be next. Prisoners who occasionally slumped forward from exhaustion were struck with a baton. He or she would either straighten up or fall to the floor before being pulled by their arms out of the room, never to be seen again. As the officer droned on about the greatness of the country and their Supreme Leader, Kim Jong Un, the guards around the perimeter continued to look straight ahead. None of the convicts seemed to notice the fine aerosol being emitted from nozzles that had poked through small holes in the ceiling high above. The mist silently spread to all corners of the room for several minutes before the apertures closed, and the spouts crawled back into the ceiling. A short session followed in which several prisoners were required to admit to recent shortcomings, such as not working as hard as they could have or eating more than needed to survive. The other prisoners responded by agreeing that the behavior described was shameful. When the meeting appeared to be over, the inmates in orange looked around, ready for the usual order to file into the cafeteria for a small meal. However, the doors remained shut, and all were told to stay seated. The lights dimmed, and a movie began, showing scenes of happy North Koreans at parades and concerts, playing sports, and attending school. For eleven hours, during which time the guards were replaced by a fresh batch, one film after the other played as the prisoners were forced to watch. One of the prisoners in an orange jumpsuit began to moan. In the dim light, the officers exchanged knowing looks. The sounds of distress became louder and deeper as several more inmates, all wearing orange, began to groan. The guards started to place buckets at the feet of the prisoners in orange. Within three hours, almost all those wearing orange were groaning, doubled over in pain, as they vomited into buckets. The vomit became increasingly tinged with blood as the night turned to day. Blood and stomach contents spewed onto the floor as the prisoners became unable to control their forceful retching. Soon, the sounds of explosive diarrhea filled the air. Unable to exert any control over their bodies, the sick fell to the floor as bloody bodily fluids from both ends of their gastrointestinal systems streamed out of them, into their clothes, down their pant legs, and onto the floor. Blood oozed from their mouths, noses, and eyes. At first, the convicts wearing blue sat still in their seats, fear drawn on their faces, but without suffering physically. At some point, one, then another, abandoned their seats and stood near the back of the room. Seeing that there were no repercussions, others followed. Within eight hours of the start of vomiting, two prisoners in orange had died. The deaths began to mount as those in blue looked on in horror, wondering if they would be next. Two buckets were placed near them for their own hygiene needs while they waited. Seventy-two hours later, the doors opened. The prisoners in blue, still emaciated but as healthy as they were when they had entered the building, were escorted outside into waiting buses to return them to their housing block. All of the prisoners in orange lay on the floor—dead.
Chapter 1
I handed my driver’s license to the airport security agent at the Indianapolis airport and scanned the boarding pass on my phone. As I had come to expect, the gray-haired man looked up at me and smiled. “I ain’t never seen that name before. Kinda takes me back.” “I know,” I said. “I get that a lot.” My dad was only two when John Lennon was killed, but his parents indoctrinated their son on everything Beatles. He, in turn, spent countless hours listening to Beatles music with my mom. I think they got stoned a lot when they were doing it, but they never admitted it to me. Given that their favorite Beatles song was “Strawberry Fields Forever,” I strongly favored that hypothesis. When I was born, they couldn’t resist naming me Strawberry. Oh, and my last name is Fields. Now you know why people often have something to say about my name. I’m a run-of-the-mill blond, not a strawberry blond. I think that would have made my life unbearable. I pulled on the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt, grabbed my driver’s license, and was about to walk off when the man said, “You must be a student at Purdue. Going home to visit the folks?” “Something like that.” I was in no mood to talk. I know the man was trying to be pleasant and make his day pass more quickly with small talk. The large P on the front of my baseball cap was known by all in the area to signify Purdue University, where I was, in fact, a student. I forced a weak smile and adjusted the shoulder straps on my backpack before walking off. After passing through the luggage check without incident, I headed toward my gate. First class was already embarking, but I still had to wait a while before my boarding group was called. I had bought my ticket the previous night and was in the last group, my seat near the back of the plane. Fortunately, the flight to Bakersfield, with one stop in Phoenix, wasn’t in high demand, and almost a quarter of the seats in the rear were empty. With ample space in the overhead bin, I lobbed my backpack in and took my aisle seat. The man sitting next to the window glanced my way and nodded. I nodded back, glad he didn’t want to chat. I remember taking off, but not much after that until I heard a male voice asking me if I was okay. I must have dosed off and wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I opened my eyes to see the concerned look on the flight attendant’s face, a pudgy middle-aged man who was bent over, his face close to mine. We were cruising at altitude, and tears were running down my face. Embarrassed, I tried to wipe them away. “Sorry,” I said. “I was dreaming about my dad. I’m on my way to his funeral.” “So sorry, dear. If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll comp you a drink if that will help.” I declined but thanked him for his offer and reflected on my mother’s hysterical call the day before. She had come home after spending all afternoon with a friend shopping and going to lunch when she found my dad dead on the kitchen floor. She had often confided in me that she felt terrible going places without him, but since he refused to leave the farm, she’d been doing things independent of him for quite some time. He’d been in good health—physically, that is—so his death was a big shock. I reflected on the situation, different from what I had planned for before my dad died as the plane sat on the tarmac in Phoenix. I was all too aware that it was too late. I was heading home, ready or not. Hardly the family reunion I had anticipated. I started to study a book on the economics of short-run decisions. After reading the first paragraph three times and still having no clue what it was about, I shut my eyes as the plane took off for the last leg of my trip. I’d be landing in Bakersfield in a little over an hour. My rest was short-lived. The flight attendant came by with a cart and asked me if I would like vanilla, raspberry, or peach yogurt. I looked at the available items—individual servings of Happy Sun Farm yogurt. I’d had their yogurt before, and it was delicious. “You’re lucky,” the attendant said. “Happy Sun Farm has donated a ton of yogurt to be served on our flights all week.” I decided it was probably no use trying to sleep and chose the peach flavor even though I wasn’t hungry. As I started to eat, my mind wandered to Happy Sun Farm. I had never heard of them until about a year earlier when their dairy and agricultural products began popping up all over. The company heavily advertised on TV. They boasted about all their products being non-genetically modified, or non-GMO. I didn’t have a problem with genetically modified food myself but knew that a lot of Americans did. All the produce my dad grew was non-GMO because he suspected all genetically modified food to be part of a government conspiracy. A conspiracy to do what, I didn’t know. Although I didn’t have time to watch much television, when I did, it was hard to avoid the Happy Sun Farm commercials featuring wholesome families frolicking and picnicking in a green meadow. The smiling sun logo served to reinforce that warm and fuzzy feeling emanating from their commercials. I wondered if they had a model I could follow to pursue success for my family’s farm. I’d noticed their rock-bottom prices, which was surprising since they must have spent a ton on ads. What I wouldn’t give to find out the secret to their success. *** Excerpt from Happy Sun Farm: Behind the Facade by Deven Greene. Copyright 2025 by Deven Greene. Reproduced with permission from Deven Greene. All rights reserved.
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About Author Deven Greene:
Deven Greene enjoys writing fiction, most of which involves science or medicine. She has degrees in biochemistry and medicine, and practiced pathology for over twenty years. Her other works include The Erica Rosen MD Trilogy, Ties That Kill, and The Organ Broker.
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A relentless thriller that explores the unbreakable bonds
that transcend time.
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What Goes Around
by Michael Wendroff
Genre: Thriller
‘Relentless and gritty, Wendroff
expertly weaves a narrative that begs, “just one more page”.’ J.D. Barker, New York Times bestselling
author
EVIL HAS MANY FACES Chilling murders terrorize a town and bring together two detectives to face
the hardest tasks of their lives. Jack Ludlum, who relies on his brawn to get
things done, is now paired with his archenemy, Jill Jarred, a brilliant
investigator with keen intuition. As they delve into the secret world of incels
and white supremacists, and conflict between local authorities and the FBI
rages, a media frenzy further complicates the mission.
Is there a serial killer on the loose? Or something entirely different? Will
the detectives’ clashing personalities be their undoing, or can they unite to
stop the killer before they kill each other?
What Goes Around is a
dynamic thriller that examines the intricacies of love, loss, and the
unbreakable bonds that transcend time. With its pulse-pounding pace,
captivating characters, and a revelatory twist that challenges the boundaries
of life and death, this novel will keep you hooked from the first page to the
last, and thinking long afterwards. ‘Starts off at a breakneck pace and doesn’t let up until it reaches its
unexpected conclusion.’ Lisa Black, New
York Times bestselling author of the Locard Institute thrillers ‘An adrenaline-fueled novel, the action breathlessly driven by two
detectives relentlessly pursuing the bloody trails left by a serial killer with
a dark sense of justice, deadly groups of white supremacists, and one lonely,
alienated boy caught up in the violence.’ Kathleen Kent, New York Times bestselling author ‘Fast-paced propulsive thriller that doesn’t let up – highly
recommended!’ Lori Brand, author
‘I could barely put this book down! The
twists and turns. The references to current political climate and the
unanswered “who dun it” questions kept me engaged until the last page. Great
read. Fast paced and an unexpected ending. Kudos for Wendroff’s debut novel!’ –
Amazon review
‘I thoroughly enjoyed this book. The story
keeps you on the edge of your seat. He is a colorful writer and the characters
just come to life. They become very real, and the interplay between them is
really intriguing. I highly recommend this book.’ – Amazon review
**Paperback
edition just released Oct 7, 2025 – Get it now!**
“It was midnight in the garden-less apartment. Good and evil were still at odds.
A cold wind whipped by, rustling the leaves while he was wrestling with his thoughts.
He hadn’t slept at all the prior night and couldn’t think straight now. He didn’t want to be
there but ended up going along—mostly to make sure things didn’t get too out of hand.
He and Dylan had watched Jose enter the basement apartment a few minutes
earlier. They checked their supplies one more time under the moonless sky. They peered
at each other, dressed in black, faces covered in charcoal powder, the whites of their eyes
the most evident part of their visages. A cat screeched in the distance. An owl fled to the
heavens. Dylan nodded to him.
He took out his hammer, and with one loud crash, he smashed through the window,
pieces of glass exploding around him.”
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When did the title “What Goes Around” come to you?
I have to admit that it came from my publisher, not me. My name had been “Perennial.” My publisher came to me and said that for a thriller, they thought they could do better. Now, in my marketing career I would often have ad agencies come in and show me a number of ads and I would normally end up having them make revisions or come back with new ads. I thought the same thing would happen here, but it didn’t. As soon as they suggested What Goes Around, I knew that was it! Not only does it sound like a thriller, but it totally ties into the entire book’s theme. Plus I also think the potential reader that sees the title completes the phrase in their own mind, so I’ve already made a connection with them.
Described as relentless and gritty and about to go into second print…what do you want us to know about the book?
It’s actually now into its third printing, I’m proud to say. It was published in the USA,UK and Australia in hardcover. You can get it at The Island Book shop in Venice. It is also available on Amazon in eBook and audiobooks. I’m amazed how popular audiobooks have become. And to my surprise, my agent sold foreign translation rights in Japanese, Hungarian, and Italian.
You mentioned, “relentless and gritty,” and I was thrilled to see that the author who said that has now made it to #1 on the bestseller list. In fact, JD Barker’s full quote was, “Relentless and gritty, Wendroff weaves a narrative that begs, ‘just one more page…'” And that’s exactly what I wanted to achieve–a page turner that the reader can’t put down.
Promoting the book is a challenge but with an MBA in marketing and your background in the publishing field in a literary agency you may’ve seen what it takes. And now that you’ve achieved a lifelong goal of writing your own book, what’s next?
I always wanted to write a book and it was really the pandmic that got me going-there was that periodof time when you couldn’t do anything, couldn’t even play tennis or go to the beach. So I was out of excuses and went at it. Rightnow, I’m spending a lot of time promoting it. Authors have to realize that today, writing is only 50% of their time, the other 50% is marketing. I’ve done a lot of podcasts, been reviewed by a lot of bloggers (I’m really happy the reviews have been great), and attend a lot of events, including book clubs. The bookclubs sem to really enjoy having a real writer at their meetings, providing insights about the novel as well as the writing and publishing process. In fact, I’d be happy to join any of your readers book clubs (contact me at wendroffm@gmail.com).
My next goal is to write my second book. I’ve plotted it and researched it, so now time to start writing! It will be another thriller and feature the two main characters from What Goes Around, as publishers tend to like series. It’s like building a brand.
What inspires you to write and tell us about your process. Do you write at a certain time, place…You mentioned your office and pool area.I notice you recently enrolled in the Citizens Police Academy in Venice to learn to shoot a taser….what are other things you enjoy researching for your stories. Do you feel it worked for you starting with an outline?
I love writing, and my process is plot, research, write, and edit.
I usually write in the mornings, when I’m freshest, either in my office or at the pool. The water inspires me, that’s another reason Venice is great-beaches, ponds-I don’t even mind the alligators staring at me. I usually sit at my pc to get the story going, and not worry about things like grammer or the specific words, I just want to get the writing flowing. The next morning I will reread what I’d written, and try to make it real writing. Make sure every word fits with the others, make sure each sentence fits with the others. Add the analogies and metaphors. After that’s done, I’ll start scribbling out the next party of the story on my pc, which will be re-written the next day. That process of write then rewrite continues everyday, until I can write my favorite two words: The End
But before I actually start the writing itself, comes the plotting. There are actually two types of writers-plotters and pantsers.Pantsers simply sit in front of their computers and write by the seat of their pants. They have no idea where the story is going. That’s not be. I have to know everything upfront, so after ideating I write a detailed plot outline. I need to know not only what the ending will be, but where I’ll plant the red herrings, and where I’ll put the twists and turns. Nut it’s not like things won’t change. Once I became really attached to one of my characters, and the plot called for the character to die, but I couldn’t do it. I had to change the plot. Another time I did kill off a character I loved, but my wife yelled at me because I was walking around for a week in depression. She said “They’re not real!!.” But to an author, they are real!
The other thing I do before writing is the researching. Sure there’s Google and Chat GPT, but what I found is best is talking to people who do the types of things that are in your book. Living in Venice, I had a lot of resources. I’d come to know FBI agents and police officers and chiefs. And the Venice Police department is great. It was important for my book to talk to a female detective and they put me in touch with one of their own, Courtney Zak. She was great, and a lot of her insights are in the book. The Venice Police Department actually runs a “Citizens Police Academy” where you can learn about all the different facets of the things they do, and I just finished it, which I highly recommend for anyone.
So talking to people for research is critical. Now, I don’t think I spoke to any serial killers…
Anything you want to share about family, kids, upbringing? I like that quote your mother said when you were born, “Nice to see you again.”
My mother was an editor at major New York City publishing firms. I distinctly remember her on a weekend sitting cross-legged on her bed, manuscript pages, strewn about, and red pen in hand writing editorial comments all over the pages. So at least I was prepared for my editor’s comments on my book. They weren’t in red pen, but the comments in the margins of the word document were as instructive. But I wasn’t surprised.
She remarried a literary agent, who had many thriller and mystery writer clients, so I probably got my love of the genre from reading all those books, free! Unfortunately he’s no longer with us, but I think still had an impact. My agent had been shopping around my manuscript to publishers, which takes a lot of time. But the very next day after my stepfather died, my book was sold! So I think I had a little help from above.
Is there an anecdote you could share about authors you ran into when growing up?
Actually, I’ve got one for both!
My stepfather was a literary agent and one of his clients was the bestselling author, Robert Ludlum (many know him for the Jason Bourne movies with Matt Damon). Once I got to stay at his winter home in St. Thomas. I remember waking up one morning, going into his living room and seeing him on the couch writing on a yellow legal pad with a pencil. That’s how he wrote his 450 page novels, by hand! While I admired Ludlum’s plotting and prose, I couldn’t do that! Thankfully, when it came time for me to write What Goes Around, I had a PC!
Regarding Capote, I grew up in a bit of a literary milieu, then went to NYU for business. It was when writing my MBA thesis that I was able to marry my love of books with my new love of marketing, as my thesis was on “Marketing in the Publishing Industry.” In fact, the industry’s trade journal, Publishers Weekly, excerpted my thesis in 3 editions, and paid me. That was the first time I got paid for my writing–I liked that!
During the research for it I interviewed a lot of publishing executives. One time I was waiting outside the office of the Editor-in-Chief for Simon& Schuster, and finally the door opens, and I’m ushered in and who do I meet–Truman Capote! As a thriller writer, meeting the author of In Cold Blood was amazing! And he looked exactly as you’d imagine.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
Believe in yourself and never give up.
Write every day, even if it’s only 10 minutes.
Learn your craft–there are so many opportunities! Online courses (I took courses on BBC Maestro from Lee Child and Harlan Coben). Conventions-Thrillerfest in NYC puts on great craft seminars. There are writing groups too. Read in your genre and never stop learning.
What advice would you give to your neighbors about life?
Wow,that’s a big question.
But I guess it boils down to be nice. Because, What Goes Around, Comes Around!
Michael Wendroff
is the author of What Goes Around, a
debut thriller published by Bloomsbury, which bestselling author Eric Rickstad
calls a “brilliant debut,” and bestselling author Lisa Black says, “starts off
at a breakneck pace and doesn’t let up until it reaches its unexpected
conclusion.” Plus, #1 bestselling author J.D. Black says, “Relentless and
gritty, Wendroff expertly weaves a narrative that begs, ‘just one more page…’”
The book was
inspired by what his mother said to him the second he was born: “Oh! How nice
to see you–Again!”
Michael has an MBA
in marketing from NYU, and was inducted into their Hall of Fame. He is a global
marketing consultant. He shares his time between New York City, Sarasota,
Florida, and Lake Garda, Italy. He is married and has three wonderful children.
His mother was an
editor (watching his mother scribbling in red ink on manuscript pages at home
on weekends prepared him for his own editor’s comments!). She remarried a
literary agent, so Michael was friendly with many authors, and even spent a
vacation with Robert Ludlum. Watching Ludlum hand-write his 450 page novels on
yellow legal pads didn’t dissuade Michael from trying to write a novel (though
he’s thankful for his PC).
What Goes Around was launched in the USA, UK, and Australia,
and foreign language rights have been sold in Italian, Japanese, and Hungarian.
The hardcover went through 3 printings, and now the trade paperback is
available (along with audio book and e-book).
Fun fact:
Michael’s great-grandfather was brought over by Thomas Edison from the
University of Copenhagen to work with him. He holds a number of patents,
including for plastic buttons. Michael proudly wears button- down shirts
whenever he can.
Publication date: October 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller
“Intense, a little bruising, and it doesn’t let you walk away untouched.”
— ★★★★★ Reader Review
Some weapons are born. Others are made.
She is the perfect operative.
A discarded orphan, remade by the very hands that broke her.
Trained to seduce. Conditioned to kill. Reborn as Elara Everhart.
They gave her new names. New faces. New identities, whichever the mission required.
Now, they call her Raina.
And they’ve sent her into the lion’s den.
Her target: Axel Voss. Billionaire. Powerbroker. Threat.
He’s everything she was trained to dismantle.
But he sees too much. Speaks too little.
And when he touches her, he wakes something she was never meant to feel.
She is the weapon they created.
But he’s the variable they never planned for.
What begins as a mission spirals into obsession.
And survival will cost more than her cover.
Because the most dangerous thing isn’t failing the mission,
It’s forgetting who the real enemy is.
If you love psychological thrillers with espionage, romantic suspense, and heart‑stopping twists, The Black Rose will keep you breathless until the very last page.
“To master the art of the strike, first let the target marinate in your charm and wit, until they are ripe for the taking.” – Elara Everhart
I stepped out of the cab and into the gallery, the air instantly changing around me. Heads turned. Eyes followed. The black Dolce & Gabbana dress I wore fit like it had been sewn onto my skin, elegant without trying, powerful without needing to speak. My hair, sleek and black, fell in glossy waves down my back, every strand precisely where it belonged. I walked with purpose, each step measured, as I took in the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Axel Voss stood in a more secluded wing of the gallery where the crowd had thinned. I spotted him across the space. His back was to me, dressed in a tailored dark gray suit that fit too perfectly to be anything but custom. His frame was lean and strong, his posture relaxed, hands tucked in his pockets as he studied a painting. He wasn’t just looking. He was dissecting it.
My attention moved to the guards. Two of them. Strategically placed in opposite corners of the room, trying not to look like security. They blended in well enough with the other patrons, but their eyes told the truth. Constantly scanning.
I inhaled and adjusted the strap of my dress. I ran my hands over my curves, making sure everything looked in place. My cue had come.
Each step felt burdened, as if what I was about to do had sunk deep into my limbs.
The rhythm of my heels against the marble echoed faintly. I moved closer, slipping into his orbit. I was near enough now for him to catch the light scent of my perfume, floral, soft, meant to linger without announcing itself.
I stopped beside him, eyes landing on the painting he was analyzing. It was abstract, wild with motion. Crimson slashed across the canvas, tangled with violent blues and fractured gold. The brushwork oscillated between jagged bursts and smooth sweeps, an unsettling mix of control and chaos.
I spoke, keeping my voice soft and level. Close enough to feel intimate, just loud enough to be heard.
“The intensity of the strokes is remarkable,” I said. “The way the colors collide feels almost violent, yet there’s a strange harmony in the chaos.”
He didn’t respond. Not verbally. But I felt it. His attention was on me now as much as the art. I let the silence stretch a second longer, then continued, my tone calm, analytical. “It’s as if the artist was fighting an inner battle. Conflict and catharsis, all bleeding onto the canvas. The jagged strokes speak of anger or defiance, but the way the hues blend reveals a deep vulnerability… like they couldn’t commit to full destruction.”
I leaned in just slightly, examining the layers of the painting, voice dropping.
“It’s the tension that makes it work. The pull between restraint and abandon. It feels… raw.”
The silence settled again, delicate but dense.
Then I allowed a smirk to touch my lips.
“Or maybe they just threw paint at the canvas after a bad day and decided to call it art.”
That broke it. He turned toward me, finally.
His eyes met mine.
Heat flashed between us. The force of his gaze hit harder than I expected.
My breath caught, not out of fear but from the pressure of it. He was already trying to read me.
I knew that look. He was hunting for the truth inside my performance.
I didn’t flinch.
Even when my pulse started to climb beneath my skin, I held my ground.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The gallery around us faded. It was just him. Just me.
Then I stepped back, breaking the moment on my terms.
I turned without hesitation and walked away, slipping into the flow of bodies beyond the archway. My retreat was smooth.
Behind me, I felt his gaze linger, and so did the eyes of his guards.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching the space I had just walked away from.
Back in the main gallery, I finally exhaled. The encounter had gone as planned. I had said what
I needed to. Played the part.
But the crackle between us wasn’t part of the plan.
And I felt it. Still pulsing through me.
This was only the beginning. One step into a game layered with risk, manipulation, and consequences I wasn’t sure I fully understood.
But I had just stepped onto the board.
And Axel Voss had noticed.
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About Author Frances Paul:
Frances Paul is an author of emotionally charged, high-stakes fiction that captivates readers with its mix of psychological suspense, romance, and intricate plotting. Her work explores the fine line between love and survival, delving into themes of resilience, sacrifice, and the secrets we keep.
She is the author of Sea of Scars, a moving story of loss and redemption, and The Black Rose, a gripping psychological thriller that draws readers into a world where trust is dangerous and every choice carries lasting consequences.
With a distinctive voice and a cinematic style, Frances creates unforgettable characters and layered narratives that linger long after the final page. Her passion for storytelling comes from a lifelong fascination with the human heart and its capacity to endure even in the darkest of circumstances.
Welcome to My 31 Days Of Thrills And Chills 2025! I’m so excited to be doing this again! I’ll be sharing reviews and lots of extra spooky stuff every day leading up to Halloween. I hope you’ll join me!
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I’m sharing all kinds of books, movies, and other spooky stuff for every day in October. Gots to get those scares on for the 31st!
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Eight
by W. W. Mortensen
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Genre: Horror
MY REVIEW
What do a man trying to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps, an entomologist, the US Military and some drug runners have in common? Even they can’t imagine what it is. But its out there. Waiting to introduce itself.
What started out to be a race to discover a new source of energy turns into a death trap no one could have seen coming. The author really built on this, fleshing out his character’s so you form connections, dribbling in why each one would even be on this expedition, then dropping you into a tropical hell of mega proportions.
I can’t imagine too many things more terrifying than being in a tropical jungle, far from any chance of rescue, being attacked by huge…things. You get a front row seat. I live in a tropical state and can get the gist of what the stifling humidity must have been like. The swarms of mosquitoes too. But the bugs that burrow under your skin and make themselves at home? Nope. And who knows what’s out there watching you from the dark. So close and unable to be seen. Not to mention some nasty humans with their own agendas.
While the beginning of the book is all about getting there and the who’s who of the characters, just you wait. The last half of the book steamrolls with suspense and horror. Good thing I don’t get nightmares easily. Some of the scenes would have me peeking through my fingers if this were a movie..
The blurb does nothing to give away what lurks in these pages so I won’t either. Suspense, thrills and horror are the order of the day here. If that sounds like your cuppa tea, give this a go.
4 STARS
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Synopsis
TERROR HAS A NEW SPECIES
Deep in the Amazon, the solution to the global energy crisis has been found; a mysterious source of power set to end our dependency on oil.
When she receives stunning photographs related to the discovery – courtesy of expedition leader and former partner, Ed Reardon – entomologist Rebecca Riley finds herself on the next flight to Brazil, heading down to join the team of scientists assembling there. She hasn’t seen Ed for more than a year, and their relationship hadn’t ended well.
But his revelation is impossible to ignore.
What she and Ed uncover is beyond imagination: strange statues in the jungle… a ruined city built by the refugees of a lost Pacific continent… and a terrifying new species of animal.
Forced to confront a crippling childhood phobia she’d thought long dead and buried, Rebecca realises this new species is no ordinary enemy.
It is an ancient enemy, one whose very existence has implications for all of humankind… and the planet itself.
WHEN POWER CORRUPTS,
JUSTICE TAKES AN UNEXPECTED TURN
When Florida investor and real estate developer Dylan Tomassi attends the opening of a major addition to a private Connecticut school he funded through his charitable foundation, publicity from the event draws the ire of a powerful teachers’ union leader determined to extinguish all forms of private school expansion. While she forges an unlikely alliance with a corrupt environmental activist to embezzle funds earmarked for education Dylan becomes the victim of a series of mysterious attacks against him and his business interests.
After being shot at and brutally assaulted, Dylan decides to disappear with a former flame who has unexpectedly reentered his life, while his lawyers and the police investigate. The couple rekindle their relationship as they explore various corners of the country from California to the American heartland. As the investigations unfold, it appears the culprit may never be discovered until a series of events within the alliance result in a shocking turn of events.
Two Lefts Don’t Make a Right is a highly entertaining tale of corruption, mystery and reprisal.
Why did you start writing later in your career and why do you write fiction?
I retired from the practice of law in 2017 and prior to that work and family had occupied much of my time. After retirement I coached college athletics and then COVID shut down the sports programs and the entire campus. I suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands and decided to start writing. I wanted to have fun with it, something that would entertain readers and provide them with an escape, so I chose to write contemporary fiction. The first book in the Dylan Tomassi series, PAPERBOY, a coming-of-age thriller, was published in 2022.
Are any of the characters in the series based upon real life people you have known?
The short answer is no. All the characters are derived from my wildly vivid imagination, although some of the books’ villains share characteristics with people you may be reminded of and that was done intentionally as part of the extrapolation feature of the writing.
Are you sure Dylan Tomassi is not based on you?
That’s probably the most frequent question I get from readers, and the answer is no. Dylan is tall, handsome, smart, and extremely well-grounded. He came from a hardscrabble background and became incredibly wealthy and successful. Along his journey, he is guided by an unrelenting work ethic and strong moral compass and his somewhat naïve outlook allows him to view the ways of the world through an apolitical perspective of common sense and reasonableness. He’s almost too good to be true, and I am far from that.
Is there anything that you and Dylan have in common?
We both grew up in Connecticut, had paper routes, and relocated to Florida after graduating from college. We also both enjoy sports and fitness. The similarities pretty much end there.
What is your proudest moment so far since you began writing?
When PAPERBOY became an Amazon number one best seller.
Your books often go into detail on the background of various subjects. Where do you get that information and is it all fact based?
Some of the subjects that are weaved into the plots, including the newspaper industry, college athletics, and the criminal justice system, involve areas where I have worked at various times in my career and I rely a great deal on my background and experience. I do extensive research on all the other subjects I write about where I have no specialized knowledge, such as the banking system, climate change, and education. All the story lines themselves are fictional, but I do try to be factually accurate when describing the fundamentals of the various institutions.
Where can we find more information about you and what can we expect to see in the future?
The best source of information is my website at authordanromanello.com. TWO LEFTS DON’T MAKE A RIGHT is the third book in the series and the fourth book, MED MAL U, is in the works and set to be released sometime next year.
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Meet Author Dan Romanello:
Dan Romanello is an Amazon #1 Best Selling Author. He worked in the newspaper industry before attending law school at the University of Florida. After serving as an assistant state attorney, he spent more than 20 years as a partner in a boutique firm, running the trial practice group. An accomplished trial lawyer, he has litigated cases in courtrooms throughout the state of Florida. After retiring from the active practice of law, he wrote the first book in the Dylan Tomassi series, Paperboy. He resides on Florida’s gulf coast.
Dr. Peter Palma joins the medical team of the Paradise to treat passengers for minor ailments as the cruise ship sails across the Atlantic. But something foul is festering under the veneer of leisure. The brig fills with felons, the morgue with bodies, and the vacation becomes a nightmare. Peter and his staff face a vile affliction that pits loved ones against each other and shatters the bonds of civil society. With the ship hurtling towards an unprepared New York, only Peter can neutralize the threat, but he’s hallucinating and delirious. And sometimes primal urges are impossible to resist.
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MY REVIEW
A friend of mine was on a cruise while I was reading this book and I kept putting her in this scenario. It sure made things feel more real for me.
I’m a fan of stories where the setting is a challenge as much as the situation is. A cruise ship may be huge but it’s still a ship…. floating on the vast ocean. You can communicate by phone and radio, but help isn’t just five minutes away. And the people aboard the ship, Paradise, soon find that out.
Dr. Peter Palma thinks serving as a physician on the ship will be easy peasy. When things start going sideways, and the do so quickly, he’s confronting something no one could imagine. A virus is traceling through the ship. It’s not picky on who it infects. People are becoming violent. People are getting hurt. Can he, with his limited knowledge of the virus and low medical supplies figure things out? Or will the ship arrive at port carrying a mass of lunatics?
Well, this was intense. I liken it to the calm before the storm. That’s how it felt. And the storm grew and grew. If I ever did take a cruise, I’m sure this book would enter my mind.
4 STARS
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Praise for The Regression Strain:
“With tight pacing, visceral horror, and sharp psychological insight, The Regression Strain explores what happens when science, instinct, and morality collide in the vacuum of survival…claustrophobic, haunting, and razor-sharp” ~ K.C. Finn for Readers’ Favorite “I am very impressed with Hwang’s first novel. He has an ability to draw in his reader within the first few pages. There were some unexpected twists and heartwarming moments. I look forward to reading more by this author.” ~ Amazon reader “Hwang’s debut is fast-paced and propulsive, and I loved the medical mystery at the heart of the thriller. He’s great at crafting creepy scenes that will stay with you!” ~ Amazon reader “I really enjoyed this novel. I was hooked from the beginning, wanting to know more about the mysterious illness and the troubled backstory of Peter, a doctor grappling with his past whilst trying to have a fresh start in life with a new job on a cruise ship. The author Kevin Hwang portrays Peter with such realism and empathy. Hwang’s keen eye for people’s inner monologue and perspective on their secret struggles must be informed by his years of work as an internist. Ultimately, Hwang’s story is a fast-paced thriller that reveals the darker side of human nature lurking in all of us. I had trouble putting this book down and can’t wait to read his next novel!” ~ Amazon reader “This is an excellent thriller, with plenty of plot twists and turns that kept me guessing. It packed plenty of excitement and intrigue with excellent medical knowledge from the author. You don’t want to put this down until you’ve finished reading.” ~ Amazon reader
Book Details:
Genre: Medical Thriller
Published by: Normal Range Press Publication Date: May 21, 2025 Number of Pages: 344 ISBN: 9798992727012 (Pbk)
As the cab rounded the corner behind the service buildings, the full bulk of the ship rose into view, a floating city gleaming white and blue against the gray Baltic sky. The Paradise would be Peter’s home and workplace for the next month. His shoulders tightened. Had he forgotten to pack anything? It was too late now. The taxi ejected him into the cool summer of Copenhagen—heaven compared to the stifling heat of Texas. He checked in at the terminal counter, cleared security, and joined the stream of chattering passengers traversing the covered gangway to board the vessel. Most of them spoke in English and a few in Spanish. Others conversed in German, French, or Scandinavian tongues. They seemed affluent and confident, not at all like his impoverished patients in Houston’s Fifth Ward. That guy in front—his Rolex probably cost more than Peter’s Outback. Peter wheeled his suitcase through a colonnade of clapping crew members and across the threshold of the grand atrium. Its rich wood paneling and glittering chandeliers were as opulent as the brochures promised. He fused with the crush of passengers piling up in front of the diagrams posted near the elevators. Living quarters for the medical crew were on the lowest deck, conveniently adjacent to the clinic. Amid the throng, a woman was fussing over a teenage boy in a wheelchair. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then tousled his thick mop of brown hair. With one hand cranked tight against his chest, he lolled his head back and rewarded her with a crooked smile. Her haggard face lit up. Now that was one tired mama. “I like his shirt.” Peter pointed to the graphic of Thor wielding his massive hammer. “You hear that, Calvin? He likes it.” Calvin’s nose crinkled above the sparse stubble dotting his chin. She retrieved a ChapStick from her floral fanny pack and slathered Calvin’s lips first, then her own. She offered the tube to Peter with a glistening smile. “Want some?” He cringed. That was weird. “Uh, no thanks.” “Want him?” Peter’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Excuse me?” “You can take him for a while.” She smiled and tipped her head. “He doesn’t eat much.” “Ah…” “Ha ha, it’s a joke.” She licked her moistened lips. “I’ve been on this boat too long. Cabin fever.” She gave him a little nod and wheeled the kid into the elevator. The adjacent elevator dinged open, revealing a family that looked right at home, mom admiring the decor, two school kids horsing around. Sipping coffee in his striped polo, dad looked a bit like Peter’s microbiology professor—placid and plump. Peter pulled his suitcase to the side with a smile. It was nice to see people relaxed and carefree. And if they needed medical attention—well, he could offer it. It would be a relief to simply treat patients. No rationing medications against their rent. No fighting through nettles of bureaucracy just to get a CT scan. He wasn’t built for that fight, and the last few rounds had left him bruised. The younger child in the elevator darted out. Mom lunged and grabbed his collar, jostling dad into Peter. Coffee sloshed out of the man’s cup and down his jeans. An animal snarl flashed over the man’s pale, doughy face. “Watch it, prick.” “Sorry, I didn’t expect…” The man leaned in, eyes glowing hot behind round bifocals. Peter jerked back. “Whoa, are you okay?” As the man cocked his fist back, Peter watched the sleeve of his polo shirt ride up his bicep, almost in slow motion. Peter quickly raised his open palms. “Honey,” mom hissed. She tugged her little one back, and he huddled under her frail wings. The man lowered his fist, the stench of coffee hot on his breath. Peter nodded. “It was an accident. I’ll buy you another coffee. Or jeans.” The heat in the man’s eyes dissipated and he blinked a few times, looking at Peter’s face yet his attention was directed elsewhere. “Ah, shoot.” Sorry, mom mouthed and hustled the whole family away. Peter stepped into the elevator among passengers who seemed oblivious to the encounter. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth soured with adrenaline. Microbiology professor? Scratch that—this guy was more like that assistant principal caught in a minivan with the high school girl. And here he’d nearly gotten into a fistfight on his first day. But hey, he’d defused the situation. He was still supposed to be here. This was going to work out. He closed his eyes as the last passengers got off and the elevator continued to the bottom level. The doors opened onto a hallway with plush burgundy carpet and polished handrails. Colorful abstract prints enlivened the walls. This was where everything could begin again, even at age thirty-two. He would be a healer on the high seas, applying his hard-earned expertise to help people on vacation. But the aura disintegrated when he opened his cabin door. Inside was a single bed, a nightstand no larger than a magazine, and a built-in desk with a swivel chair. The sheets lay twisted in a lump at the foot of the bed, exposing a mattress with stains the color of dirty bathwater. A smudged TV hung crookedly from the ceiling, and a stale scent lingered in the air. The only feature that distinguished the cabin from a hospital on-call room was the round porthole window giving view to rusty shipping containers on the dock. Well, he wasn’t on vacation, after all, even if everyone else was. Peter heaved his suitcase onto the lumpy mattress and began stowing his clothes. Luckily he’d packed light for this trial run. The tiny closet contained a white uniform, starched and waiting like a suit of armor, as well as an orange life vest and a safe the size of a cigar box. The only real valuable he’d brought was his new 3M Littmann Cardiology IV, an upgrade from the battered stethoscope from residency. He fished around in the side compartment of the suitcase but came up empty. It should’ve been right there. He checked every zippered pocket, then rummaged through his backpack. Nada. How could he have forgotten his freaking stethoscope, of all things? He’d followed his packing list. He loved lists, for heaven’s sake, loved checking off each item. Little good it had done. He drew a deep breath in then out, trying to clear his mind by counting to ten like the therapist said. Ten seconds was a long time to think about nothing. Maybe he needed a higher dose of Lexapro. He’d been reluctant to accept his diagnosis, one he himself had given to so many patients, but the antidepressant seemed to help with his mood, concentration, and sleep. The ambiance of the bathroom matched that of the bedroom, with black spots of mildew mottling the lower edge of the shower curtain. The sink offered little space for personal items. He opened his bottle of Lexapro, shook a tablet into his palm, and swallowed it dry as he stared into the dingy mirror. Working aboard a cruise ship would be a huge change, and he needed to bring his best. He set the bottle on the narrow counter, but it clipped the edge, flipped out of his hand, and plopped into the toilet with an insulting splash. His stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe, by some miracle, the bottle had landed upright with the tablets safe and dry inside, like a lifeboat. A tiny boat in a tiny toilet on a gargantuan ship. He peered down. Nothing doing—the bottle floated on its side, surrounded by white tablets bobbing in the murky water like pearls of pasta in chicken broth. Why did the water have to look like that? Was it just reflecting the grimy inner surface of the toilet bowl? Didn’t matter. His mental health was officially soaking in shit. The half-life of Lexapro was around thirty hours, and he’d taken one yesterday back in Houston. He could just retrieve the tablets, wash them off, and dunk them in rubbing alcohol. Without more doses, the effects would diminish over the next few days. He could picture his exit interview: I’m sorry, Dr. Palma, you came ill-prepared. One hand drifted to his pocket. At least he’d remembered to pack his favorite metallic pen. Even in the age of digital everything, a quality pen remained one of his favorite tools—that and old-fashioned index cards. His fingers closed around the pen, clicking the top: Ta-tick, ta-tack. Ta-tick, ta-tack. Someone knocked on the door, but the bolt clicked open before he could reach it. The slight, olive-skinned man turned back to the hall almost as quickly as he’d come in. White shirt and charcoal vest—must be a steward. “I’m sorry, I come back later,” he said with a duck of his bald head. Peter waved him in. “It’s all right. I just got here.” “Nobody clean your room yet?” “I guess not.” “You the doctor, no?” “One of them.” He propped the door open for the man’s cart. The steward glanced around the tiny room. “It will be my pleasure to serve you. I come later when you have gone out.” Peter suspected the man’s cheerful acceptance hid the same bone-deep fatigue that had weighed down his own mother. She used to clean offices, back before Felipe joined the army, and she was always exhausted. Chemical fumes permeated her clothes and hair, and her knuckles cracked and bled until he bought her the non-latex gloves that her cheap-ass boss wouldn’t pay for. Before Peter could return to the bathroom, somebody else came knocking: a petite woman in blue scrubs, probably late thirties. A tight ponytail held back her glossy chestnut hair. Her sharp cheekbones and jawline were all business. “Luisa Calderone, nurse on staff.” The strength in her bony handshake matched the intensity of her hazel eyes. “They said this is your first gig.” Yep, a fresh start, a sorely needed one. “Sorry. I’ll try to learn quick.” “We can do a proper tour later, but let’s just walk and talk for now.” She nodded back at the hallway. “I can give you some time to get changed, but we have patients—so not too long, please.” Right back into it, then. He was a kid on a roller coaster cresting the first big incline—the moment before the bottom fell out. He opened the closet and confronted his uniform. Sure, he’d paid for the ride, but that didn’t make it any less stomach-churning. *** Excerpt from The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang. Copyright 2025 by Kevin Hwang. Reproduced with permission from Kevin Hwang. All rights reserved.
About Author Kevin O. Hwang, MD:
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Kevin O. Hwang, MD, is a professor of internal medicine at McGovern Medical School at UTHealth Houston where he sees patients and teaches residents. His academic work has appeared in leading medical journals. Nothing excites him more than chicken enchiladas, index cards, and appropriately sized packaging. The Regression Strain is his debut novel.
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In the aftermath of a devastating terrorist attack on a U.S. Border Patrol station in McAllen, Texas, Major Jake Baylor faces his most personal mission yet. When a VBIED explosion and mortar attack kills dozens, including his best friend Clint McNamara, Baylor and his elite Task Force Raven spring into action. What appears to be a brutal cartel assault is actually something far more sinister—a coordinated diversion allowing ISIS operative Abu Waleed Hassan, known as “The Reaper,” and his team of jihadists to slip across the border undetected. As Baylor and his team of Texas Rangers with special operations backgrounds race to track down the terrorists, they find themselves operating in the shadows of bureaucracy, caught between political agendas and the urgent need to prevent another attack.
From interrogating a high-level cartel operative in a remote Texas ranch to conducting off-the-books operations in Mexico, Task Force Raven follows the trail of breadcrumbs leading to Hassan’s deadly plot. When suicide bombers strike San Antonio’s Riverwalk, killing hundreds, the clock starts ticking on an even more catastrophic attack aimed at Houston’s petrochemical infrastructure.
In this high-stakes thriller that blends military action with law enforcement tactics, Baylor must confront not only the external threat but also his own grief and rage. As federal agencies squabble over jurisdictional authority and media narratives, Task Force Raven operates with a simple directive from Texas Governor Robert Williamson: “Find them, and make sure they can never hit us again.”
With time running out and lives on the line, Baylor will need every skill he’s honed from years with both the Texas Rangers and Special Forces to bring the terrorists to justice—or stop them permanently.
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Book Details:
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Genre: Political Thriller
Published by: Indie Publication Date: June 1, 2025 Number of Pages: 644 PBK ISBN: 979-8316987726 PBK Series: A Task Force Raven Thriller, Book1
When the action starts, you know it’s real. A fifth-generation Texan with a cowboy spirit, Sam Stone spent over 30 years as a Texas Police Officer, retiring as the Commander of Special Operations, leading in high-stakes situations where failure wasn’t an option. Coming from a proud, patriotic military family, he writes with an authenticity that can only come from lived experience. Now, he calls the Texas Hill Country home, where he lives with his wife—his love in this life and all others—and their two loyal dogs. Get ready for a pulse-pounding ride—check out his latest book today!
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Will her life philosophy, “Do right, fear no man,” get her killed?
A string of bad luck has left former Army helicopter pilot Dot Ybarra with a serious case of wrecked nerves and a need for peace and solace at her family’s Idaho ranch. Instead, she encounters a desperate mother who stumbles onto their land, begging Dot to rescue her kidnapped daughter.
There’s a bounty on the kidnapper’s head, and fugitive recovery agent T.J. Roman is not about to let that paycheck slip through his fingers. Together, he and Dot rescue the child.
But their actions set off an explosion of secrets in Euskadi. The sheriff is slinking around with a new shady sidekick, Dot’s friends are stabbed, and armed mercenaries attack her ranch, forcing her to use her hunting and archery skills to defend her family. Cornered by the unknown enemy’s three-pronged attack, Dot and her charges retreat deep into the Payette National Forest. Isolated in the mountainous forest, separated from T.J. and any help, Dot must make a hard choice: fight or walk away?
Will her first recovery job be her last?
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Praise for Ride a Dark Trail:
“With sharp characters you’ll want to stand up and root for, Winter Austin creates an eye-popping Idaho setting for us to enjoy with Ride a Dark Trail.”
“Echoes of Yellowstone meets Magnum P.I. come together in a chilling Idaho plot you’ll want to get to the bottom of.”
“After reading Ride a Dark Trail, you’re going to hope there’s a real-life Dorothy Ybarra out there in today’s world.”
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MY REVIEW
Talk about intense. This mystery thriller kept me focused and feeling anxious to know how the characters could overcome so much adversity and survive to live another day.
There are a lot of characters to keep track of which can slow down the reading experience. It didn’t slow down mine. It ramped it up. I wanted to know how they all crossed paths and what their roles were, good or bad.
There are many engaging characters. Dot stood out the most. I like a strong, heroic female protagonist who’s also got some chinks in her armor. Leaving the military and giving up her role as a helicopter pilot had to set her back. But when a stranger pleads for her help in finding her daughter, she can’t ignore a call to action. When things got tough, Dot got tougher and once again trusted her instincts. And when I got to know her mother, I knew where she got her mojo from.
There’s also an opportunity for romance when a man from Dot’s past shows up. TJ is also working the young mother’s case, but from a different angle. Dot and TJ decide two heads are better than one and work together to find the missing child. This is where they start to connect romantically. I liked them together but was glad the romance was downplayed and not a main part of the story.
For mystery and thriller fans, this is a must read. There’s a whole lot of bread crumbs to follow and conspiracy and danger rear their ugly heads. Sure did keep me turning the pages.
It’s always a good thing for me to try a new author and series and enjoy the writing and the story. This was a good choice.
4 STARS
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Book Details:
Genre: Modern Western Thriller
Published by: Tule Mystery Publication Date: August 18, 2025 Number of Pages: 310 ISBN: 9781967678082 (ISBN10: 1967678081) Series: Bounty of Shadows, Book 1
His ghost always joined her for the final drag on an Ave Maria Dark Knight cigar.
He started appearing two months into her newly formed habit. Always in his sweat-stained, gray Open Road Stetson and wool-lined coat with a few less wrinkles in his face. Here, in the goats’ lean-to, where she’d taken to hiding out to have her smoke so as to not offend her mother’s senses.
At his first appearance, she swore it was a hallucination. The second time, she flipped out. With each appearance since she became more belligerent, while he grew more persistent.
“Biloba, why do you keep doing this thing?” She blew out the smoke. “Go away, Aitonatxo.” Her grandfather shook his head. One of the goats meandered through his transparent legs, disrupting his stern reproach. Aitona turned his withering look to the red-brown doe munching on hay. “Goats. She just had to get goats.” A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as she drew on the cigar for the last time. One year after her grandfather passed, her mother had sold the last of the sheep, turned the ranch into an outfitter and hunting business, bought horses and mules for it, then goats just for the hell of it. The small herd had come in real handy in keeping the overgrowth of underbrush and weeds under control, saving the ranch a time or two from wildfires. The milking goats also made convenient pack animals when there was need for nourishment up in the mountains. Aitona didn’t roll over in his grave. No, he came back to fucking haunt her and complain about the goats. “Dorothy Ybarra, where are you?” His specter vanished with her last puff of smoke. Before her mother could barge into the goats’ lean-to and give her hell for smoking in the building, Dorothy ground the butt into the bottom of her boot. One disapproving familia was enough, even if Aitonatxo was an apparition of her mind. Angela Ybarra rounded the edge of the lean-to’s weathered support post, her pack of mutts in tow. The goats scattered, except for a leggy dark brown female who’d taken a liking to Dot and exuded copious amounts of stubborn. That doe would not be deterred by no dog. Exactly twenty years older and just as whipcord lean as her daughter, Angela Ybarra was the polar opposite when it came to Dot’s tornado in a trailer park personality. But that didn’t stop Angela from pulling the matriarch card every chance she got. Angela wrinkled her nose and gave Dot a pointed look but held her tongue. Dot hadn’t burned down any buildings. Yet. Her mother reached out and scratched the doe’s withers. “I’ve got a new elk hunting party coming in later today. We’re taking them out to that nice valley for their hunt. I need to grab a few supplies for the trip. In the meantime, would you round up your gear and check it over?” “You sure you want me up there with you?” “I need you, Dot. This is a new group to me.” In other words, Ama wasn’t comfortable being on her own with this bunch. Most of the hunters Angela outfitted were longtime customers she had built a strong rapport with and trusted. She took on new clients only if there was a long lull between her regulars and funds were tight. Since Dot’s return to the ranch, she’d been her mother’s backup when one of the local sheep herders wasn’t available to ride out with Angela. Dot’s presence on hunts was a good deterrent for wannabe suitors or general dickheads. Not that Angela Ybarra couldn’t hold her own—she was Samo Ybarra’s daughter after all and had sent many a man intending ill-intent back to civilization with a limp and severe damage to his manhood. Dot, on the other hand, was less accommodating. The pervs usually woke up in the hospital, cuffed to the bedrail. “Ama, you don’t need to earn the extra cash. I can spot you.” “No.” Angela sliced the air with a disapproving finger. “Your army and pilot funds are yours. Don’t waste them on my business.” “Come on!” “I’ll hear no more of it.” Angela checked her watch. “I’m going. Be ready.” She slipped from view, her canine pack following. Dot’s guard goat gave a very goat-like nicker as she munched on weeds bold enough to dare grow in their pen. It might have been a year since the crash. She might have been released from physical therapy with a clean bill of health two months ago. And she might be in the best physical shape of her life since basic training and flight school. Still, Dot hadn’t spent more than two hours horseback in the last six months. Riding into the foothills of the Payette National Forest and getting to that valley her mother spoke of meant at least an eight-hour ride. Probably longer if this new hunting party wasn’t used to long hours in the saddle. Dot groaned. Good thing she loved her mother. She rose from the goats’ favorite climbing stump and vacated the lean-to. At the corner, she glanced back at the spot where Aitona had appeared. He’d died while she was away at training. It ate at her for years that she hadn’t been here to see him crossed over to the other side and be with his beloved Dorothy—Dot’s namesake. Though somehow he hadn’t quite left the ranch. He wanted to know. Or maybe she was using his specter to ask herself the question. Why did she do this thing? She was hale and hearty, ready to get back in the air. God knew the forest service hadn’t stopped calling. Yet she couldn’t pull herself away from her current predicament. Why? “I’m doing it for Ama,” she said to the air. *** Excerpt from Ride a Dark Trail by Winter Austin. Copyright 2025 by Winter Austin. Reproduced with permission from Winter Austin. All rights reserved.
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About Author Winter Austin:
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Winter Austin perpetually answers the question: “were you born in the winter?” with a flat “nope,” but believe her, there is a story behind her name. A lifelong Mid-West gal with strong ties to the agriculture world, Winter grew up listening to the captivating stories told by relatives around a table or a campfire. As a published author, she learned her glass half-empty personality makes for a perfect suspense/thriller writer. Taking her ability to verbally spin a vivid and detailed story, Winter translated that into writing deadly romantic suspense, mysteries, and thrillers. When she’s not slaving away at the computer, you can find Winter supporting her daughter in cattle shows, seeing her three sons off into the wide-wide world, loving on her fur babies, prodding her teacher husband, and nagging at her flock of hens to stay in the coop or the dogs will get them.
