Archive for the ‘thriller’ Category

 

The Algorithm Will See You Now by JL Lycette Banner

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The Algorithm Will See You Now
by JL Lycette
October 16 -27, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Algorithm Will See You Now by JL Lycette

Medical treatment determined by artificial intelligence could do more than make Hope Kestrel’s career. It could revolutionize healthcare.

What the Seattle surgeon doesn’t know is the AI has a hidden fatal flaw, and the people covering it up will stop at nothing to dominate the world’s healthcare-and its profits. Soon, Hope is made the scapegoat for a patient’s death, and only Jacie Stone, a gifted intern with a knack for computer science, is willing to help search for the truth. But her patient’s death is only the tip of the conspiracy’s iceberg. The Director, Marah Maddox, is plotting a use for the AI far outside the ethical bounds of her physician’s oath. A staggering plan capable of reducing human lives to their DNA code, redefining the concepts of sickness and health, and delivering the power of life and death decisions into the hands of those behind the AI. Even if the algorithm accidentally discards some who are treatable in order to make that happen…

Praise for The Algorithm Will See You Now:

“I’ve been waiting for a book like this: a full-frontal assault on the dangers of artificial intelligence and the failures of our mangled health care system, all wrapped up in a clever, ripping thriller. Jennifer Lycette is an author to watch.” ~ Rob Hart, author of The Paradox Hotel

The Algorithm Will See You Now Trailer:

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Book Details:

Genre: Thriller

Published by: Black Rose Writing Publication Date: March 2, 2023 Number of Pages: 272 ISBN: 9781685131494 (ISBN10: 1685131492)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

Enjoy this peek inside:
MONDAY 08 OCTOBER 2035 7:15 AM
PRIMA, Prognostic Intelligent Medical Algorithms Main Campus, Seattle
Dr. Hope Kestrel was the only person who knew the patient in Room 132 wasn’t responding to the algorithm-selected treatment. She shuffled forward in the hospital security line, wanting to get her day started already yet dreading how she’d tell her patient the unexpected and devastating news. The straps from her work bag dug into her right shoulder as she shifted the trays of coffee and scones in her arms, her usual Monday morning offering to the staff. From PRIMA’s lofty location at the top of “Pill Hill,” the floor-to-ceiling windows framed downtown Seattle’s skyline, lit up by the early morning sun—its first appearance in over a week. In the distance, a ribbon of pink sky silhouetted the Space Needle, the tip poking out of the murky blue of the cloud bank. She frowned down at her pale hands, unable to recall the last time her skin had seen the sun. Even her freckles were fading. Her heart lifted when she spotted Bear, the Security Force service dog, rounding the corner. The German shepherd dashed for her, pulling Kyle, his Security Force guard, with him. The people next to her in line stepped back. Bear nosed at her lab coat, and she lifted the pastry box in one hand higher while shielding the cardboard carrier of coffee in the other. Hot liquid sloshed onto her wrist, the sting on her skin not far off from the burn in her chest that had been present all morning, triggered by the impending meeting in Room 132. One where she’d need to engage on an interpersonal level without the usual buffering layer of technology. Her gaze shifted from Bear to the familiar logo on the wall behind Kyle’s head—Prognostic Intelligent Medical Algorithms—and she shut out the searing pain in her chest. They were so close to the breakthrough to enhance the artificial intelligence even further. To render tumors like her mom’s curable. Because to rely on only hopefulness promised everything and got you nothing. No matter her damn name. She had to focus on the big picture. All she needed was to maintain her top ranking for a few more months. Then the coveted post-residency position at PRIMA would be hers—complete with her own research lab. Soon, she’d work side-by-side with her mentor Cecilia, no longer an underling. Bear gave a muffled woof and sat down obediently at her feet. Although Kyle would probably deny it if asked, she strongly suspected the guard went out of his way each morning to find her, knowing how much she loved Bear. It had been their unofficial routine for five years now. Hope gestured with her elbow. “Kyle, could you take this for a sec?” The burly, middle-aged man accepted the breakfast offerings with a flash of white teeth gleaming in contrast to his warm brown skin. “You got it, High Resident Kestrel.” “For the millionth time, you can call me Hope.” His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, oh most High One.” Heat flamed Hope’s cheeks, and she tried to cover it with an eye roll. Three months into her final year, she still wasn’t used to her lofty title. She’d be called the Chief Resident—not the High Resident—at any other program, but PRIMA had its own language. The loyal dog emitted another stifled woof from his barely contained seated position. Hope fished in the front pocket of her white scrubs for one of the dog biscuits she always carried and tossed the treat to Bear, who snapped it up. Kyle returned the pastries, then spoke in the deep, rumbling voice that Hope had come to learn only masked his kindly nature. “He sure loves you, Dr. K. He’d follow you anywhere. Have you reconsidered about one of the puppies?” She shifted her grip and gave a wistful shake of her head. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m never home.” “So? You’d figure it out. Hire a dog walking service—and doggie daycare, too. You don’t have to do it on your own.” “I’d be nothing more than a familiar stranger who provides shelter and food.” Kyle bent down to rub Bear behind his ears, only to glance up and hastily straighten into a military posture, shoulders back. He tugged Bear to heel, his gaze fixed over Hope’s head. The dog sensed his handler’s shift in mood, the fur on his neck bristling upward. Hope swiveled, following the direction of Kyle’s eyes. More coffee dribbled on her hand, but she barely felt it this time. A man and woman in matching black suits and pressed white shirts were staring in their direction. Hope couldn’t help but stare back. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, mid-thirties, with angular cheekbones and deep-set eyes, his striking features set off by his onyx black hair. The woman appeared to be of similar age and height, equally imposing, with skin paler than Hope’s, commanding eyebrows, and white-blonde hair in an identical short haircut to her partner. Hope’s eyes darted to Kyle, who flashed another smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Are those two—?” “Not regular Security Forces. They’ll notice me deviating from my route.” Kyle grimaced. “And letting Bear interact with civilians.” “But—” Kyle dropped his voice. “Last week, another disgruntled non-responder tried to get in.” A non-responder. A patient the algorithm had identified as refractory—resistant to all known therapeutics—and therefore wouldn’t be offered treatment at PRIMA. Or shouldn’t, at least. Hope went cold all over. All patient volunteers agreed to abide by the algorithm’s determinations in exchange for free healthcare. What would the guards do if they discovered another non-responder already here, admitted by mistake? On Hope’s service, no less. But that wasn’t her fault— “You’re a busy doctor, and we shouldn’t be holding you up.” Kyle tugged Bear away before she could ask him anything more. “We’ll see you again soon, Dr. K.” Before the dog was out of reach, Hope hurried to transfer the pastry box to the crook of her elbow, bracing it against her side enough to allow her to extend a hand to trail her fingers in Bear’s soft fur. The brief comfort the touch provided would have to last until tomorrow. She re-joined the line to watch the man and woman cut through the security checkpoint. Her muscles tightened, and she forced them to relax. She needed to focus. At least medical training had made her a champion at putting extraneous thoughts out of her mind. Compartmentalization for the win. A few moments later, she passed through the checkpoint and stepped onto OASIS—the Oncologic and Surgical Intervention Success Unit—and its familiar buzz of activity. Patients strolled the oval hallway in the sunshine-yellow robes and plush slippers allocated upon admission. If not for the slim IV poles, they might be in a luxury hotel. The hidden panels in the walls and ceiling secured all medical equipment out of sight. Abbie Fuentes, the charge nurse on OASIS for as long as Hope or anyone else could remember, spotted her arrival and trailed her into the break room. Hope wordlessly handed her one of the coffees, and she took a noisy sip while scanning Hope up and down, her impeccably bobbed hair not moving an inch. “What’s going on with you today? You’re late.” Hope shrugged. The nurses hadn’t yet seen her patient’s latest test results, and the part of Hope that feared being perceived a failure planned to wait until the last possible moment to tell them. “Line at security. You know, it’s getting slower every day.” *** Excerpt from The Algorithm Will See You Now by JL Lycette. Copyright 2023 by JL Lycette. Reproduced with permission from JL Lycette. All rights reserved.

 

 

About The Author:

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JL Lycette

Jennifer / JL Lycette is a novelist, award-winning essayist, rural physician, wife, and mom. Mid-career, she discovered narrative medicine on her path back from physician burnout and has been writing ever since. She is an alumna of the 2019 Pitch Wars Novel Mentoring program. Her first novel, The Algorithm Will See You Now, was a 2023 SCREENCRAFT CINEMATIC BOOK COMPETITION FINALIST, 2023 READER’S FAVORITE BRONZE MEDAL WINNER in the Medical Thriller category, 2023 MAXY AWARD’S FINALIST – Thriller category, and 2023 PAGE TURNER AWARD’S FINALIST – Best Debut Novel category. The Committee Will Kill You Now is her second novel.

Connect with her, see more of her writing, and subscribe to receive the latest updates at: JenniferLycette.com Goodreads BookBub – @JL_Lycette Instagram – @jl_lycette Facebook – @Author.JL.Lycette

 

 

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Defying Evil: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Abbie Roads

 

(Blood is Thicker Than…, #1)
Publication date: October 17th 2023
Genres: Adult, Romance, Thriller

He’s the son of a serial killer.
She’s his father’s only surviving victim.
He’s obsessed with her.
She’s frightened of him.
Before it’s all over they’ll need each other to survive.

Cain Killion’s life has revolved around blood. From a childhood of torture by his father, to his gruesome ability to solve crimes. When a current case is directly connected to his past, there’s only one person with answers.

But she isn’t talking, and the bodies are stacking up. The only solution… Kidnap her.

Defying Evil is the first book in the Blood is Thicker Than Series of dark romantic thrillers. It features a man tortured by his past who never thought he was capable of love. If you devour edge of your seat thrillers and romance novels, you’ll love a series that combines both in a roller-coaster ride of mind games and tragic love.

Read this dangerously dark romance today!

Trigger warning: Depictions of violence.

Previously published until the title Saving Mercy.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

The first thing Mercy became aware of was her face throbbing a low-level beat. Her bones ached, and her muscles felt too heavy to move. Her side burned with every inhale and exhale. Her stomach felt oddly distended and empty at the same time.

“Are you awake?” a masculine voice whispered.

Her heart slammed against her spine, and her muscles leaped. She gasped a sound of undiluted shock and wrenched her eyes open.

The world around her had changed. Gone was the sterile room with bars on the windows. Gone was the stench of industrial cleaning products laced with cafeteria food. Gone was the entire Center. In its place was a cozy wood-paneled room with a quaint stone fireplace and a man.

His hair was the color of dark caramel and cut just long enough to be swept messily to the side. His features were angular and hard and so damned masculine it almost hurt to look at him. His eyes were the color of a changing sky—light in the center of the iris like a cloudless summer day and dark like a winter’s night toward the outer edge.

She knew him. Recognition stabbed her in the neck—in the scar she bore across her throat. The echo of that past pain stole her breath. She grabbed her throat, hand pressing over the cold scar. Her heart turned into a battering ram and beat against the bars of her ribs.

She went from lying on the bed to fully upright and ready to run.

“You.” The word was an accusation, a condemnation, a judgment, scraping its way up her throat and out her lips. She wasn’t going to show him an ounce of fear. He’d swallowed her fear twenty years ago and enjoyed the flavor.

He blinked, a long, lazy closing of his eyes, and when he reopened them, the light in his gaze had been devoured by the dark. “I’m not him.” He spoke with just as much conviction as her allegation had contained.

His words turtle-crawled from her ears to her brain, their meaning finally firing along her synapses, and she understood.

Her body unclenched, and she relaxed against the headboard with an exaggerated sigh. As the initial in-your-face shock wore off, she could actually see him. See the humanity in his features. Something his father would never possess.

“I know you.” Her voice was softer and held a bit of wonder in its palm.

“I’m not him.” He repeated the sentence, nothing in his tone changing, but she saw something in his eyes—through his eyes. Sadness. Resolve. And just a hint of fear. That was her undoing. That he could be scared of her—wow.

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About Author Abbie Roads:

Abbie Roads is the best-selling author of the Fatal Dreams Series and the Fatal Truth Series. Her novels have been finalists in many prestigious contests including The Golden Heart, The Greater Detroit Booksellers Best, The Oklahoma National Readers’ Choice Award, The Write Touch, The Strut Your Stuff Contest, The Aspen Gold Contest, The Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, The Heart of Excellence Readers’ Choice Award, The Midnight Sun, The Kathryn Hayes Contest, The Chanticleer, The Daphne du Maurier, The National Readers’ Choice Award, The New England Readers’ Choice Contest, The Beverly Award, and The Maggie Award. Her debut novel Race the Darkness was Publishers Weekly Top 10 Pick for Fall and Never Let Me Fall is an Amazon Editor’s Pick.

By day Abbie Roads is a mental health counselor always focusing on the bright side. By night she writes on the dark side, putting her characters through the wringer before she gives them their happily-ever-after. She loves a good inspirational quote and is a fan of true crime.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

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RECKONING by Baron Birtcher Banner

RECKONING
by Baron Birtcher
September 4 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

 

RECKONING by Baron Birtcher

 

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

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As lawman, rancher, and Korean War veteran, Ty Dawson has his share of problems in the southern Oregon county he calls home. Despite how rural it is, Meriwether can’t keep modernity at bay. The 1970s have changed the United States—and Meriwether won’t be spared. A standoff looms when the US Fish & Wildlife Service seeks to separate longtime cattleman KC Sheridan from his water supply—ensuring the death of his livestock. If that’s not enough trouble, a Portland detective is found dead in a fly-fishing resort cabin. Though the Portland police, including the victim’s own partner, are eager to write off the tragedy as a suicide, Ty has his own thoughts on the matter—as well as evidence that points to murder. His suspicions soon mire him in a swamp of corruption that threatens nearly everyone around him. Turns out that greed and evil are contagious—and they take down men both great and small . . .

Praise:

“Combines the mystery and honesty of Craig Johnson’s Longmire with the first-person narration of a fiercely independent Oregon character.” ~ Sheila Deeth, author of John’s Joy “A masterful work of a time gone by . . . Ty Dawson is a cowboy, lawman, father and philosopher like none other.” ~ Neal Griffin, Los Angeles Times–bestselling author of The Burden of Proof “Outstanding… Readers will crave more from Dawson.” ~ Publishers Weekly

 

Book Details:

Genre: Neo-western crime thriller

Published by: Open Road Integrated Media Publication Date: June 2023 Number of Pages: 300 ISBN: 978-1-5040-8280-8 Series: Sheriff Ty Dawson Series, #3

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Open Road Media

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MY REVIEW

Corruption, murder and a standoff. Reckoning is just what the title says. And local rancher and sheriff Ty Dawson plans to deliver.

Ty did what I call ‘stand tall” against the powers that be that want to take, take, take. His conviction and honesty stood out among the wicked and he was going to make sure the innocent were protected and the guilty would face their comeuppance.  Every time he “spoke” in the book I perked up and paid attention. His voice was strong and he stood by what he said.

When a book gets me all riled up and I myself want to see justice done, that’s when I can’t recommend it enough.

5 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
Prelude:
A TRANSITIVE NIGHTFALL
NO CHILD IS brought into this world with any knowledge of true evil. This they learn over the passage of time. In my experience as a Sheriff, and as a rancher, I have found this precept to be true. Time passes nevertheless, even if it passes slowly. Here in rural southern Oregon, sometimes it seemed as if it hadn’t moved at all, advancing without touching Meriwether County, except with glancing blows. That is, until the day it caught up with us all, and came down like a goddamn hammer.

CHAPTER ONE

ORDINARILY, AUTUMN IN Meriwether County would come in hard and sudden, like a stone hurled through a window. But this year it snuck in slow and mild, lingered there deceitfully while we waited for the axe to come down. The sky that morning was turquoise, empty of clouds, the altitude strung with elongated V’s of migrating geese and a single contrail that resembled a surgical scar, the narrows between the high valley walls opening onto a broad vista of rangeland some distance below. I had expected ice patches to have formed on the pavement overnight, but the weather had remained stubbornly dry, even as temperatures closed in on the low thirties. I tipped open the wind-wing and let the chill air blow through the cab of my pickup as I stretched, and drank off the last dregs of coffee I had brought for the long southward drive from the town of Meridian. I had received a phone call at home the night before from an unusually distressed KC Sheridan. I had known KC for as long as I can remember, a pragmatic and taciturn cattleman whose family history in the area dated back to the late 1800s, much like that of my own. Three generations of Sheridans had stretched fence wire, planted feed-grass and run rough stock across deeded ranchland that measured its acreage in the tens of thousands, and whose boundaries straddled two separate counties, one of which was my jurisdiction. But the decade of the ’70s thus far had not been any kinder or gentler to cowboys than to anyone else, and KC and his wife, Irene, had found themselves increasingly subject to the fulminations and intimidation of both local and federal government. While the Sheridan ranch had once numbered itself among a dozen privately held agricultural properties in the region, KC now found himself surrounded on three sides by a federally designated wildlife refuge that had swollen to encompass well over three hundred square miles; a bird sanctuary originally conceived under the auspices of President Theodore Roosevelt’s white house. All of which would have been perfectly fine and acceptable to the Sheridan family, given the understanding that the scarce water supply that ultimately fed into the bird sanctuary belonged to the Sheridans by legal covenant, as it had for nearly a century. I turned off the paved two-lane and onto a gravel service road, headed in the direction of the ridgeline where KC sat silhouetted against the bright backdrop of clear sky, mounted astride his chestnut roping horse. KC climbed out of the saddle as I parked a short distance away, switched off the ignition and stepped down from my truck. KC trailed the horse behind him as he moved in my direction, took off his hat and ran a forearm across his brow, then pressed it back onto his head. His hair and his eyes shared a similar shade of gunmetal grey, and the hardscrabble nature of his existence as a rancher had been recorded in the deep lines of his face. “What the hell am I supposed to do about these goings-on, Sheriff?” KC asked, and cocked his brim in the general direction of a reservoir that was the size of a small mountain lake. Two men wearing construction hardhats were surveying a line on the near shore where a third man studied a roll of blueprints he had unfurled across the hood of his work truck. “Is that who I think it is?” I asked. “They aim to fence off my water. My cows won’t last a week in this weather.” “Have you talked to them, KC?” He nodded. “’Bout as useful as standing in a bucket and trying to lift yourself up by the handle. It’s the reason I finally called you, Ty. I didn’t know what else to do.” The vein on KC’s temple palpitated as he cut his eyes toward the foothills and spat. “I’ll have a word with them,” I said. “You wait here.” A wintry wind had begun to blow down from the pass, pushing channels through the dry grass and the sweet scents of juniper and scrub pine. A harrier swept down out of a cluster of black oaks and made a series of low passes across the flats. I averted my eyes as the sun glinted off the US Department of Fish & Wildlife shield affixed to the driver side door of a government-issue Chevy Suburban. The man studying the blueprints didn’t bother to lift his head or look at me as I stepped up beside him. “Care to tell me why you and your men are trespassing on private ranch land?” I asked. The man sighed, scrutinizing me over the frames of a pair of steel-rimmed reading glasses. He had a face that put me in mind of an apple carving, and a physique that resembled a burlap sack filled with claw hammers. “Who the hell are you now?” he asked. “Ty Dawson, Sheriff of Meriwether County. That’s the name of the county you’re standing in.” He took off his reading glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket, hitched a work boot onto the Suburban’s bumper and offered me an approximation of a smile. “Well, Sheriff, I’m with Fish and Wildlife—that’s an agency of the federal government, as I’m sure you’re aware—and I have a work order that says I’m supposed to put up a fence. And that’s exactly what me and my crew are doing here.” I gestured upslope, where KC Sheridan stood watching us, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You’re on that man’s private property,” I said. The government man made no move to acknowledge KC. “I don’t split hairs over those types of details, Sheriff. The work order I’ve got lays out the metes and bounds of the line, and me and my crew just install the fence where it says to. It ain’t brain surgery.” “Scoot over and let me have a look at that site map.” “I oughtta radio this in.” “You do whatever you think you need to,” I said. “But do it while I’m looking at your map.” He lifted his chin and looked as though he was conducting a dialogue with himself, then finally stepped to one side. I studied the blueprint for a few moments, looked out across the rock-studded range and got my bearings. “Looks to me like the boundary line for the bird refuge is at least a hundred yards to the other side of this reservoir,” I said. “Your map is mismarked.” “The agency doesn’t mismark maps, Sheriff.” “They sure as hell mismarked this one. You need to stop your work until this gets sorted out.” “That’s not going to happen.” “Care to repeat that? There’s clearly been a mistake.” “No mistake. You need to step away, Sheriff.” “Let me explain something to you,” I said, removing my sunglasses. “It’s the law in the State of Oregon that the water that comes up on Mr. Sheridan’s property belongs to Mr. Sheridan. Period. If you fence off his reservoir—especially this late in the season—you’re not only stealing his water, you’re murdering his herd.” The agency man lifted his foot off the bumper, set his feet wide and faced off with me. He slid both hands into the back pockets of his canvas overalls and rocked back on his heels. “Now it’s my turn to try to explain something to you, Sheriff: I been given a job to do, and I intend to do it. If you don’t walk away right this minute and leave me to it, I will be forced to radio this in. Long and the short of it is, the guys who will come out here after me will have badges, too. And their badges are bigger than yours.” “I won’t allow you to trespass onto private property, steal this man’s water and kill his livestock.” He glanced at his two crewmen staking the line then turned his attention back to me. “You going to arrest us?” he asked. “What is it with you agency people? Why is it that your first inclination is to slam the pedal all the way to the floor?” “When me and the boys come back out here, it won’t just be the three of us no more.” “I’m finished talking about this,” I said. “Pack up your gear and go.” I could feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I picked my way back up the incline where Sheridan stood waiting for me. “I can tell by your stride that you had the same kind of dialogue experience I had with that fella,” KC said. “Bureaucrats with hardhats.” “I ain’t no cupcake, Dawson. But, you know that those sonsabitches have been tweaking my nose for years.” “Those men are part of a federal agency, KC, make no mistake. If you’re not careful, they’ll try to roll right over the top of you.” “What do you call what they’re doing right now? I don’t intend to lay down for it.” “I’m not saying you should.” “What, then?” “Get on the phone and call Judge Yates up in Salem,” I said. “Ask him if he can slap an injunction on these clowns until we get it sorted out.” Sheridan’s horse pinned back his ears and began to shuffle his forelegs, responding to the tone our conversation had taken. KC calmed the animal with a caress of its neck, dipped into the pocket of his wool coat, snapped off a few pieces of carrot and fed it to the gelding from the flat of his palm. “I’ll do it, Ty, but I swear to god—” “KC, you call me before you do anything else, you understand?” *** Excerpt from RECKONING by Baron Birtcher. Copyright 2023 by Baron Birtcher. Reproduced with permission from Baron Birtcher. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Baron R. Birtcher:
Baron Birtcher

Baron R Birtcher is the LA TIMES and IMBA BESTSELLING author of the hardboiled Mike Travis series (Roadhouse Blues, Ruby Tuesday, Angels Fall, and Hard Latitudes), the award-winning Ty Dawson series (South California Purples, Fistful Of Rain, and Reckoning), as well as the critically-lauded stand-alone, RAIN DOGS. Baron is a five-time winner of the SILVER FALCHION AWARD, and the WINNER of 2018’s Killer Nashville READERS CHOICE AWARD, as well as 2019’s BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR for Fistful Of Rain. He has also had the honor of having been named a finalist for the NERO AWARD, the LEFTY AWARD, the FOREWORD INDIE AWARD, the 2016 BEST BOOK AWARD, the Pacific Northwest’s regional SPOTTED OWL AWARD, and the CLAYMORE AWARD. Baron’s writing has been hailed as “The real deal” by Publishers Weekly; “Fast Paced and Engaging” by Booklist; and “Solid, Fluent and Thrilling” by Kirkus. “YOU WANT TO READ BIRTCHER’S BOOKS, THEN YOU WANT TO LIVE IN THEM” — Don Winslow, NYT Bestselling author “BIRTCHER IS PART POET, PART PHILOSOPHER, AND A CONSUMMATE WRITER” — Reed Farrel Coleman, NYT Bestselling author “REMINISCENT OF THE LATE, GREAT ELMORE LEONARD” — Shots Magazine (UK)

Catch Up With Baron Birtcher: Instagram – @baronrbirtcherauthor Facebook

 

 

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Dead West by Linda L Richards Banner

Dead West
by Linda L Richards
September 4 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

 

Dead West by Linda L Richards

 

Synopsis

Still struggling towards the light, this time the assignment is to save, not kill.

Taking lives has taken its toll. Her moral justifications have faltered. Do any of the the people she has killed — some of them heinous, but all of them human — deserve to die? Her next target is Cameron Walker, a rancher in Arizona. When she arrives at his remote desert estate to carry out her orders, she discovers that he is a kind and beautiful man. After a lengthy tour of the ranch, not only has she not killed him, she’s wondering who might want him dead. She procrastinates long enough that a vibe grows between them. At the same time, she learns that he’s passionate about wild horses and has been fighting a losing political battle to save the mustangs that live on protected land near his property. He’s even received death threats from those who oppose him. She finds herself trying to protect the man she was sent to kill, following a trail that leads from the desert, to the Phoenix cognoscenti, to the highest offices in Washington, DC. Along the way she encounters kidnappers and killers, horse thieves and even human traffickers. Hopefully she can figure out who ordered the hit before they hire someone else to execute the assignment.

Praise for Dead West:

“Linda L. Richards delivers yet another riveting entry in her hired killer series. Set mostly in Arizona desert country, Dead West is a dust devil of a story, twisting in wildly unpredictable ways and with a powerful emotional center. But this book isn’t just a marvelously compelling thriller; it also cries out passionately for protection of the endangered wild horses of the West. Kudos to Richards for seamlessly weaving an important message into the fabric of a terrific tale.” ~ William Kent Krueger, New York Times bestselling author “When a contract killer’s wounded conscience begins to awaken, it only heightens the dangers of her profession. In Dead West, the incomparable Linda L. Richards poses the possibility of redemption and recovery for her tragic heroine, all while sending her – and us – on a deadly thrill ride through the stunning Arizona wilderness.” ~ Clea Simon, Boston Globe bestselling author

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MY REVIEW

Cameron is a kind and honest man who wants nothing more than to save the wild horses of Arizona from being killed off. Many other rancher’s say the horses are causing permanent damage to the environment, threatening the grazing ranges of their cattle. He says differently. The battle to save the horses has been ongoing but now someone wants him out of the way, for good.

Enter, Katherine Eveline Ragsdill, the woman hired to silence Cameron. She needs to get close to her target. To study his patterns. Her dilemma. She could be getting too close. She could be falling for him. Who knew she could love. Katherine sure didn’t before now.

I had no idea this was the third book in a series when I started reading. Don’t know how I missed that. The author put me in Katherine’s head and I could understand why she was who she was and did what she did so I didn’t feel lost or left wondering. What really had me going was how she would be able to have a relationship with Cameron. No way could she hide her occupation and have a truly honest and happy one. Would the couple ride off into the sunset? I wanted to see how the author could or would pull that off.  The answer was….. not something I can tell you. The no spoiler thing and all. I can tell you the answer was quite satisfying and made sense.

I’d made note of a couple of bread crumbs the author sprinkled in the story and they became apparent in the ending. I’d almost forgot about it and it was a great conclusion for me.

5 STARS

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Book Details:

Genre: Thriller, Noir, Suspense

Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: September 2023 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781608095124 (ISBN10: 1608095126) Series: The Endings Series, Book 3

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Enjoy this peek inside:
CHAPTER ONE
I’m sitting on a beach. It’s a ridiculous proposition. Fluffy white clouds are scudding through a clear, blue sky. Surfers are running around carrying boards, often over their heads. Then they plunge into a sea that looks deadly to my non-surfing eyes. Palm trees are waving, and the air is so neutral, you don’t have to think about it. Soft, welcoming air. You just float right through. The view is beautiful. It’s like a movie backdrop. A painting. Something skillfully manufactured to look hyper-real. Textbook paradise, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m sitting on this beach, trying not to think about the reason I’m here. But it’s hard. Difficult. To not think about it, I mean. I’m here, in paradise, because someone has to die. Someone will die. I got the assignment a few days ago. I flew to this island to pull it off. My target is a businessman who lives on this island in the South Pacific. He is the kind of self-made guy who has achieved every goal in life and would seem to have everything to live for. Only now, apparently, someone wants him dead because here I am, ready for business. So I stake him out. You need to understand at least the basics of who someone is before you snuff them out. This is the idea that I have. I’m not going all sensitive on you or anything, that’s just how it is. In order to do the best possible job in this business, you need to understand a little about who they are. It’s not a rule or anything, it’s just how I feel. His name is Gavin White, and I researched him a bit before I got here. He made his fortune in oil and wax, which is an odd enough combo that you perk up your ears. Only it doesn’t seem to matter: the source of the income would seem to have nothing to do with the hit. Would seem to, because there is only so much I can learn about that, really. On the surface, anyway, I can find no direct connection between Gavin White’s livelihood and the death that someone has planned for him and that I am now further planning. I follow him and his S560 cabriolet all over the tropical island. He makes a few stops. I watch what he does, how he moves and who he interacts with. Some of it might matter. I’m not doing it for my health. I’m watching him so I can determine when I might best have advantage when I go to take him out. There are always multiple times and different places to fulfill my assignment and usually only one—or maybe two—that are virtually flawless. Sometimes not even that. So I watch. And it’s more than an opportunity I’m looking for, though that can play a part. It’s also a matter of identifying what will make my job not only easier, but also safest from detection. And so I watch. And I wait. As I follow him, he stops first at a bank. Does some business— I’ll never know what. After that he visits his mom. At least, I guess it is his mom. An older woman he seems affectionate with. From my rental car, I can see them through a front room window. There is a hug and then a wave. It could be a bookkeeper for all I know. But mom is what I guess. After a while he heads to the beach. He sits on the sand, contemplative for a while. I think about taking him there; full contemplation. But it is crude and much too exposed. More time passes before he takes off his shoes, leaves them on the beach, and walks into the surf. I leave my car and take up a spot on the sand, just plopping myself down not far from his shoes. I watch him surreptitiously. It is obvious he did not come to the beach to swim. He is fully clothed and he hasn’t left a towel behind there with his shoes. There is none of the paraphernalia one associates with a visit to the beach, even if this were one that is intended for swimming, which it is not. Signs warn of possible impending doom for those who venture into the water. “Strong current,” warns one sign under a fluorescent flag. “If in doubt, don’t go out.” “Dangerous shore break,” warns another. “Waves break in shallow water. Serious injuries could occur, even in small surf.” I don’t know if Gavin White read the signs, or noticed them, but even though he is still fully clothed, he steps into the water anyway. First, he gets his feet wet. Not long after, he wades in up to his knees. He hesitates when the water is at mid-thigh, and he stops there. For a while, it seems to me, it is like a dance. He stands facing the horizon, directly in front of where I sit. His shoulders are squared. There is something stoic in his stance. I can’t explain it. Squared and stoic. Waves break against him, push him back. He allows the push, then makes his way back to the spot where he had stood before. Before long, he ventures deeper still. The dance. I watch for a while, fascinated. I wonder if there is anything I should do. But no. The dance. Two steps forward, then the waves push him back. And now he is in deeper still, and further from shore. I see a wave engulf him completely, and I hold my breath. He doesn’t struggle, but then I see him rise, face the horizon, square his shoulders. The waves are strong and beautiful. And they are eerily clear, those waves. Sometimes I can see right inside them. Careful glass tubes of water, I can even observe that from shore. For a while he stands like that, facing the horizon—a lull in the action of the waves. And then he is engulfed once again. I hold my breath, but this time he doesn’t rise. I sit there for a long time, considering. And waiting. My breathing shallow. But he doesn’t reappear. After half an hour, I text my handler. “It is done,” is all I say, just as I know she will expect. It was not my hand, but the mission has been accomplished regardless. No one knows better than me that there are many ways to die.

CHAPTER TWO

There are many ways to die. I think I have died many times. Certainly, I’ve wanted to. I died when I lost my child. Died later when I lost my husband, even though by then there was little love left between us. Still. I died. I died the first time I took someone’s life. At the time it felt like living, but I didn’t yet know the difference. And then there was the time I had to kill someone I loved. I died that time, too. Sometimes I believe I have died so much that I’ve forgotten how to live. That I should most correctly walk into a waiting undertow just like Gavin White did. I don’t know what stops me, honestly. I don’t. Though there are days when it’s a very close thing. This isn’t one of those days. When my phone rings, it tells me the call is coming from Kiribati, a place I’ve barely heard of before. All of her calls are like that. Routed through some other place. They might be chosen for their convenience, but I think they are also selected for the mirth they might provide. I’m not certain she has a wicked sense of humor, but I suspect it, pretty much. She never used to call me. For a long time, it was text and email only, secure channels always. And then the calls began. I imagined that it meant we had developed some sort of connection. I no longer wonder about that now. Whatever the meaning, the calls have never been from normal places; they don’t come from the places one might expect. And none have been from the same odd place twice. They are chosen for some reason I don’t understand. Some inside joke I stand outside of. She can be cryptic that way. Another reason I guess I imagined for a while that we belonged. “That was efficient,” is what she says by way of greeting. “What do you mean?” I figure I actually know, but it makes no sense to admit that going in. “He walked into the sea,” she says. How does she know that? It makes me wonder, but not deeply. It would not be the first time I’ve wondered if there is someone who watches the hunter. It would even make a dark sort of sense. “Yes,” I say, unquestioning. She has her ways. “That’s right. He did.” “Hmmm,” she says. And then again, “Hmmm.” “There are many ways to die,” I say, and by now it feels like gospel. Something sacred. And more true than true. “What I really don’t understand,” I say, sailing into a different direction, “is that you said things weren’t going to be like this anymore.” “Excuse me?” I am put off by her tone. Surprised. It comes to me from a new place. Unexpected. And she doesn’t back away from it. Goes on just as strongly, instead. “What do you mean by that?” It’s a challenge. “I’m trying to think how you put it,” I say. “Something about how things have been wrong with the world. How we could . . . how we could make it right.” “Did I say that?” “You did,” I reply. “I do maybe remember something like that. Maybe.” I feel my heart sink a bit at her words. And why? I can’t even quite put my finger on it. It felt, maybe, like I might be part of something. Again. And now? Now I’m not. “You did say that,” I say it quietly though. Almost as an aside. “These things take time, as it turns out. One can’t just flip a switch.” I can hear her pushing on, rushing through. “Meanwhile, I’ve got another one for you,” she says, and I’m relieved that she has tacitly agreed to leave the drowned man to sink or swim. Disappointed by how easily the hopeful words she’d fed me not so long ago could be pushed to one easy side. Disappointed and relieved all in one gulp. It’s an odd thing to feel. I find I don’t like it. “So if you’re ready,” she says. “Another what?” I ask it, but I suspect I know. “Job,” she replies, and I wonder why I wasted breath. “I’m ready enough,” I say, though I’m struggling. I struggle every time. “Good,” she says. “I’ll send you the details, but I think the juxtaposition of these two will amuse you.” “How so?” And I try not to digest the irony around any aspect of a contract killing being amusing. “Well, you’ve just been in the Pacific. Water, water everywhere. And now you’re heading for the desert.” “I am?” “You are. Right out into it, in fact. The target is in Arizona.” “Phoenix?” Which is all I really know of Arizona. “You’ll fly to Phoenix, but, no: the target is near a national park. Rural. A place you won’t have heard of before, I’m betting. I’ll send the details once I’m off this call.” When I first get off the phone, I try not to think about it too much. It’s like my brain doesn’t want me to pay attention. Or something. But I put off checking my email. I’ll do it later. Right now, there are things that need my attention. Okay. “Need” would be an overstatement. There are things. I choose to give them my time. Walks in the forest with the dog. Cooking succulent meals for one. And recently, I have taken up plein air painting, simply because it was there. When I want to paint, I take the dog and my gear and we hike out to some remote spot and I set up my stuff and I paint what I see. Try to paint what I see. The dog meanwhile amuses himself— chasing squirrels, digging holes, sniffing his own butt. He’s very skilled at self-amusement. I’ve never seen anything like it. In less clement weather we hunker down and brave it out. I make a fire in the fireplace because it’s beautiful, not because we need the warmth. There is something idyllic to this life. Easy. After a while it gets even easier to forget . . . forget what? Everything, really. It gets easier to forget to remember. I paint the dog. My online classes have gone well enough, and I have proven to be a good enough student—and the dog a good enough subject—that I end up with a pretty credible representation of him; something I am proud to hang. And even if I wasn’t, it’s not like anyone is ever going to see. *** Excerpt from Dead West by Linda L Richards. Copyright 2023 by Linda L Richards. Reproduced with permission from Linda L Richards. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Linda L. Richards:
Linda L Richards

Linda L. Richards is the award-winning author of over a dozen books. The founder and publisher of January Magazine and a national board member of Sisters in Crime, she is best known for her strong female protagonists in the thriller genre. Richards is from Vancouver, Canada and currently makes her home in Phoenix, Arizona. Richards is an accomplished horsewoman and an avid tennis player. She enjoys yoga, hiking, cooking and playing guitar, though not at the same time.

You can find her at: LindaLRichards.com Goodreads BookBub – @linda1841 Instagram – @lindalrichards Twitter – @lindalrichards Facebook – @lindalrichardsauthor TikTok – @lindalrichards

Learn More about Linda in this #AuthorInterview!

 

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I am so excited that A GOOD MAN by P.J. McIlvaine is available now and that I get to share the news!

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If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

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This blitz also includes a giveaway for five signed copies of the book courtesy of P.J. & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

 

 

A GOOD MAN

 by P.J. McIlvaine

 

 

Pub. Date: August 18, 2023

Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 300

Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/A-GOOD-MAN

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

 

Decades after a brutal childhood trauma,
a famous novelist finds his life shattered once again, in this unsettling
psychological mystery thriller.

After years of turmoil, Brooks Anderson is sober and has a stable life with his
wife and two kids. He should be enjoying life, but the persistent nightmares
and sleepwalking tell a different story.

As hard as he’s tried, Brooks can’t run away from the defining event of his
life: the senseless murders of his mother and brother during a vacation in
Montauk. An eight-year-old Brooks was the sole survivor of the carnage, which
left him in a catatonic state. He buried his pain and eventually overcame his
demons. Or so he believed.

Now an unscrupulous journalist is threatening to write about the deaths.
Fearful that the truth will be twisted to suit sordid ends, Brooks decides to
write his own book, despite the grave misgivings of his agent, wife, and
father.

However, when the journalist is brutally killed, Brooks finds himself in the
authorities’ crosshairs. To prove his innocence and exorcise the past, he digs
deeper into his psyche and that fateful summer. His relentless pursuit of the
truth soon leads Brooks down a slippery slope that challenges everything—and
brings him face-to-face with the real monster of Montauk . .

 

Excerpt:
(part of chapter one)

CHAPTER ONE

Sheldon
Adler, my agent at Crown-Hawkins and my brother from another mother, is late as
usual. No fucking surprise there. When you’re meeting Sheldon, you
have to tack on an hour at least. I’m at our usual table at La Bonne
Grenouille, the best little French bistro in Manhattan that no one has ever
heard of, sipping a glass of ice-cold watermelon seltzer. Sheldon has been
my literary agent—no, make that literary savior—since he read my first
published short story that didn’t involve erect penises in The New
Yorker
. He contacted me out of the blue and suggested Hey, why don’t
you write a book and I’ll sell it? I wrote Fallen Angels in
twenty-four days in a drug haze. When it was finally published, it sold
less than two hundred copies, but Sheldon was so fucking proud you would’ve
thought it sold two million. I resigned myself to being a
failure. Months later, the book was plucked out of obscurity by the senior
literary critic of The New York Times and nominated for a
Pulitzer. A tabloid dubbed me “The Heroin Hemingway.” The name stuck,
even though I’ve been sober and drug-free for more than twenty-five years.

Sheldon got
me my first million-dollar advance. He’s the wolf that other wolves hire,
and his reputation is well-earned. My biggest supporter, he stayed with me
through the lean, mean years when I wrote truly terrible books. Despite my
abysmal marital track record, I’m extremely loyal. I wouldn’t dream of
leaving Sheldon and believe me, other agents have tried to poach me. And
unless I did or said something unacceptable that blew up on social media—which
is why I don’t have any social media accounts—Sheldon wouldn’t kick me to the
curb or toss me under the bus. All my skeletons are out there. Well,
most of them.

A portly man
with a vague resemblance to the great Mafia chronicler Mario Puzo, Sheldon
huffs his way to our table. I can’t say it to his face, but Sheldon needs
to lose forty—make that fifty—pounds, if not for himself, then for his young children. I’m
sixty-five and I can still fit into the jeans I wore when I was
nineteen. It takes discipline and willpower, of which I have plenty to
spare.

After we
order and exchange our typical innocuous pleasantries about the weather,
politics, and soccer, for we’re both rabid fans, Sheldon downs a gin and
tonic. It’s his first of the day and not his last. “Brooks, how is
the book coming along?” he booms in a guttural Brooklyn accent that has
other diners turning their heads.

“Great,” I reply cheerfully. “It couldn’t be going any better. Gold, pure gold.”

He tilts his head. “Cassie says you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Cassie’s my
third and—if I have anything to say about it—last wife. She interviewed me
for a puff piece and months later, when the pregnancy test was positive, I knew
I’d met my Waterloo, no thanks to Abba. An abortion was out of the
question. Now we have two children under six, our lives are a
merry-go-round of sweet chaos. Last fall, I had a vasectomy so there will
be no more miniature Andersons polluting the planet.

I finish my
seltzer and signal for another. “You know I never sleep well when I’m
writing. I do my best work after midnight.” In the old days, that
didn’t necessarily apply to writing.

The waitress
delivers our meals: me, a grilled chicken Caesar salad with extra feta, and
Sheldon a porterhouse with crispy julienne potatoes and parmesan creamed
spinach. I eye his steak with unconcealed envy, but Cassie’s always after
me to eat healthier. I sigh and add more dressing to my salad. Cassie
would be pleased.

“Yeah, I
know. You have the constitution of fucking Secretariat. You did drugs
with Keith Richards and Lou Reed.” Sheldon cut into his steak; it’s not
just blue, it’s bloody raw. Just looking at it makes me queasy. “But
this is different. You’re writing about your goddamn family.”

“I can be objective.”

Sheldon puts
his fork down. “Not about this, Brooks. Come on. The
cold-blooded executions of your mother and brother—”

I suddenly
lose my appetite. Sheldon means well. Cassie does, too. But this
quasi-intervention is the last thing I need. “Sheldon, you know as well as
Cassie that I had no choice. I wasn’t going to let that fucking
guttersnipe drag my mother through the mud.” The fucking guttersnipe in
question is Marshall Reagan (no relation to the former president), a douchebag
posing as a journalist. His brand is writing scandalous, unauthorized
biographies of the rich and famous because he knows he can get away with
it. No dirt, no sleaze, is beneath him. And when he can’t find
anything salacious, he makes shit up and pulls it out of his ass like saltwater
taffy.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I
do know. I know exactly the angle he’d take. That my mother was
having an affair with Julian.” Julian Broadhurst, born in Lancaster,
England, in 1942. An artist who was supposedly the protégé of Peter
Max. Julian had long blond hair and drove a robin’s-egg-blue Aston Martin. Palmer
and I loathed him. “And when Mom wanted to end it, he killed her. But
that wasn’t enough, fuck no. When my brother tried to protect her, Julian
killed him, too.” I shake my head, the bile percolating like a fresh pot
of coffee. “My mother was brilliant. Graduated from Mount Holyoke
with honors. And she was utterly devoted to my father. To
us. The idea that she’d have a summer fling with that bohemian scumbag—” I
choke on the words (or is it a sliver of chicken that went down the wrong
pipe?). “And you know damn well that when that cocksucker Reagan’s done
tarring and feathering her, he’ll start in on my father, who has been nothing
less than a fucking saint. Saint Bernard.” I rap my fist on the
table. “It’s fucking ludicrous.”

Sheldon
nods, sympathy oozing from every pore. “All I’m saying is that you have a
lot on your plate. The book. The next book. Your father’s
gala. You’re writing a speech for that, right? Jesus fucking Christ,
Brooks. You’re not Superman. It’s bound to take a toll on you.”

“So, what
are you suggesting? I can’t return the advance. It’s already
spent.” Six million gone in a heartbeat. Lawyers. Trust
funds. The new house in Water Mill. And I was finally able to get my
ex-wives off my back with a tidy lump sum. For the first time in years, no
alimony to shill out every goddamn month. All thanks to Sheldon, who
hadn’t budged an inch during the multi-house book auction. He earned his
commission ten times over.

“No one’s
suggesting that. That’s crazy.” Sheldon’s halfway through his steak. “But
we can ask to push the deadline back by a couple of months.”

“No.” I’m
a stubborn son of a bitch. If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s living
up to my contractual obligations. I’ve never missed a deadline. I
could be fucking pushing up daisies and I’d still deliver.

Sheldon sighs. “Why are you being so goddamn obstinate?”

“I’m well into the book now, it’s just a matter of research.”

“Really?” He gives me a side-eye. “Cassie says you’ve barely written the first chapter.”

I’m annoyed. Mostly because Cassie’s right. “It’s all in my head, Sheldon. Don’t worry.”

 

About P.J. McIlvaine:

.

 

PJ McIlvaine
is a prolific and creative children’s author/screenwriter/writer/journalist.

PJ will have
two books coming out in 2023: A GOOD MAN, a gritty adult contemporary psych
thriller from Bloodhound Books and THE CURIOUS CONUNDRUM OF CHARLEMAGNE CROSS,
a young adult alternate history adventure set in Victorian London from Orange
Blossom Books.

PJ’s debut
middle-grade supernatural historical mystery adventure VIOLET YORKE, GILDED
GIRL: GHOSTS IN THE CLOSET (Darkstroke Books, April 2022) is about a poor
little rich girl in NYC 1912 who sees ghosts.

PJ’s debut
picture book LITTLE LENA AND THE BIG TABLE (June 2019, Big Belly Book Co.),
with illustrations by Leila Nabih, is about a determined little girl tired of
eating with her annoying cousins at the kid’s table, only to discover that the
big table isn’t much better. She has another picture book, DRAGON ROAR
(MacLaren-Cochrane Publishing, October 2021) artwork by Logan Rogers, about a
lonely, sick dragon who has lost his mighty roar, and the brave village girl
who helps him find it again.

PJ is also a
co-host and founding member of #PBPitch, the premiere Twitter pitch party for
picture book creators.

PJ has been
published in numerous outlets including The New York Times and Newsday, and is
a regular contributor for The Children’s Book Insider newsletter (paid
firewall), writing about the path to publication and interviews with
established and debut kid lit authors.

PJ lives on Eastern Long Island with her family and furbaby Luna.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Giveaway Details:

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Welcome to the book tour for Zipline by P. Anthony Michael. Read on for my review!

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Potter-Cover-Project-full-jpg-scaled

Zipline

Publication Date: June 2022

Genre: Thriller/ Suspense

If Gail knew Uncle Perkins’ stories were true, she wouldn’t have taken her friends up that mountain.

The plan was simple. Hike, camp, and ride the zipline back down the mountain. But Uncle Perkins’ stories are true, and the horrors are real. Now the simple plan is the only plan they have to get off that mountain or disappear, remaining there forever.

Zipline is an immediately gripping, fast-paced, unique story that will keep you entertained until the last sent

Available on Amazon

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MY REVIEW

I have a bucket list and taking a ride on a zipline is on the list. After reading this book, I’m sure I’ll be imaging what scary things I’m rushing past as I zip along above the tree canopy.

Coming in at just 82 pages in my paperback copy, Zipline packs an eerie punch. The author managed to flesh out his characters too, and that’s no mean feat with so few pages.

There’s something strange happening at Finch Mountain. Nicknamed BEASTLY, that tag and an old man’s warning should have been enough to deter Gail and her friends. That old saying, “Curiosity Killed The Cat” turns out to be oh so true as they venture into the dark forest. And the second part of that saying, “Satisfaction Brought Them Back” proves not so true.

The action begins almost immediately and the story “zips” along. Will they get off the mountain? Who survives? Anyone? My curiosity was answered and what fun it was finding out.

4 STARS

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About the Author

Michael received a creative writing certificate from the University of West Virginia in the late 90s. He’s been running a successful writer’s group called For The Love Of Words for almost two decades. When he has time, he teaches in the local library Story 101 – How to create a story. He has won in every category over a five-year period in a state-funded wordsmith competition in Poetry, Essay, Short Story, and One-Act Play.

P. Anthony Michael

Book Tour Organized By:

R&R Button

R&R Book Tours

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Devil Within by James L’Etoile Banner

Devil Within
by James L’Etoile
July 24 – August 18, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:

The border is a hostile place with searing heat and venomous serpents. Yet the deadliest predator targets the innocent.

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A sniper strikes in the Valley of the Sun and Detective Nathan Parker soon finds a connection between the victims—each of them had a role in an organization founded to help undocumented migrants make the dangerous crossing. Parker discovers no one is exactly who they seem. There’s the devil you know and then there’s the devil within—when the two collide, no one is safe.

Devil Within is the sequel to the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop.

Book Details:

Genre: Procedural/Thriller

Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: July 2023 Number of Pages: 310 Series: The Nathan Parker Detective Series, Book 2

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter One

Nia Saldana didn’t think today would be the day she died. Why would she? She was careful and avoided situations which drew too much attention. She never wanted to be noticed. When you got noticed, it only led to trouble, or worse. She cursed herself for snooping around her employer’s office as she tidied up. The big man wasn’t who he pretended to be. If others knew what she saw… Nia fought off anxiety driving home after another twelve-hour day cleaning homes on Camelback Mountain, the upscale enclave in Central Phoenix. Commuter traffic on this section of the 101 loop was a field of brake lights and her hands gripped the wheel, knowing she’d be home after her two girls were asleep. Her sister Sofia never complained when she watched the girls and loved them as if they were her own. Nia regretted every minute away from them, and the envelope of cash on the seat next to her meant she could stop and pick up a little pink box of day-old Mexican pastries for the girls as a sweet surprise. A job that didn’t require hours away from her girls was a dream. She didn’t dare look for a better-paying job. There was too much at risk for a single, undocumented mother. One wrong move, like getting caught in her employer’s office, and she would join her deported husband in Hermosillo. What would happen to the girls then? She pushed a worn stuffed animal away from her leg when she caught a sudden blur from the right. A familiar black SUV cut across her path, nearly clipping the front end of her Nissan Sentra. She knew her boss was furious; in a way she’d never seen before. But to chase her on the freeway because of what she’d discovered? Reckless. A pop caught her attention. Seconds later, the heavy SUV lurched and bumped Nia’s sedan into the left lane, pushing her into the gravel median. A second pop sounded moments before the wheel wrenched from Nia’s hands sending the Sentra into a hard spin to the left until it faced back into the oncoming traffic. Rubber barked on the asphalt as a semi-truck slammed on its brakes and the trailer jackknifed, a wall of metal rushing toward Nia’s windshield. The Sentra crumpled from the impact of the heavy eighteen-wheeler. The thin metal roof folded in pinning her against the seat. The steering wheel crushed against the driver’s seat, and Nia with it. The pressure against her chest made breathing impossible. If her brother-in-law hadn’t sold the airbag for a few dollars…. Nia glanced at the blood-spattered stuffed animal and pulled it close to her. Inside her broken passenger side window, Nia watched as the SUV plowed into the metal rails in the center divider without slowing down. The driver slumped over the wheel after his vehicle came to rest. Why? Why did he? The grip on the stuffed animal loosened as she grew cold. The faces of her two young girls were the last images she held while she slipped away.

Chapter Two

Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker weaved his way through the snarl of traffic on the freeway. Phoenix dwellers took it in stride because commute hours meant a sludge across the valley with a daily multi-car pile-up, or a disabled vehicle in the tunnel. None of the usual reasons for traffic meltdowns would justify a Major Crimes detective call out. Parker’s Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Ford Explorer was unmarked, but the antenna bristling on the roof and the flashing red and blue lights in the grill gave it away. As he approached, he wasn’t certain what warranted a major crimes investigator. Parker spotted the vehicles spun out in the median, the front end of a compact sedan crumpled under a big rig trailer. No one would survive this one. Fire engines stopped traffic in the two lanes near the accident. A single lane of cars bled through the remaining gap in the freeway, going slow enough to glimpse the gruesome wreckage. Deputy Marcus Stone called Parker on his cell phone rather than make the call over the department radio frequency. The call was quick on detail, other than Deputy Stone needed Parker at the scene. Parker’s mind shuffled through the possibilities as he pulled his Explorer to the far left median. He spotted the wrecked SUV on the center divider, twenty yards from the jackknifed semi-truck. A high-profile victim, or an influential Phoenix power player caught in a deadly drunk driving crash? Maybe. Politics was king, even in the desert. The twisted remains of the Nissan underneath the big rig, however, didn’t scream of valley nobility. Parker spotted deputy Stone near the rear of the Phoenix Metro Fire Department engine. Stone looked gray. “Marcus.” Stone didn’t take his gaze from the fire crew using an air powered extraction device, sometimes called the Jaws of Life, to peel back the exposed left front quarter panel of the gutted Nissan Sentra . “We’ve got two deceased.” Stone jutted his square jaw at the Nissan. “A young woman. In the SUV against the guardrail, our second victim, a middleaged white male.” “Looks nasty. Any statements from witnesses about how it happened. Why’d you call me out, anyway? Traffic accidents aren’t usually our thing.” Stone started toward the SUV. “Come with me.” Stone didn’t wait for Parker and made a path around the littered wreckage toward the black SUV. Parker noticed the driver slumped over the wheel after the fire department opened the driver’s door and left him in place. From experience, Parker knew fire crews extracted accident victims from the vehicles and tried to administer lifesaving treatment. The driver’s razor cut gray hair lay matted in crimson. His skull disappeared in a jagged mess of blood and bone behind his ear. “He’s been shot. Dammit, this makes three in a month,” Parker said. “That’s why I called you.” Instinctively, Parker glanced at his surroundings. The freeway sat in the bottom of a wash, with city streets twenty feet above on both sides. An unnatural valley, but a natural killing ground for the Sun Valley Sniper. “Get any ID on this guy?” Stone held a plastic evidence bag in his hand. Parker hadn’t noticed the deputy gripping the plastic envelope since his arrival. “Roger Jessup. Local attorney, according to the Arizona Bar card in his wallet.” “Can’t say I’ve heard of him before. Gives us an angle to look at—you know, the whole disgruntled client thing.” They both turned at the sound of ripping metal pulled from the Nissan Sentra. Two fire fighters crouched into the passenger compartment, cut the seatbelt, and pulled the driver from the car. They placed her gently on a yellow tarp spread on the gravel shoulder. “I take it she wasn’t a shooting victim?” Parker said. “No. The collision with the SUV spun her out and then the big rig finished it. Wrong place, wrong time, poor thing.” “You call in the Medical Examiner?” Stone shook his head. “Didn’t know how you would handle it.” “No problem. While I call the M.E., could you ask the fire crews to set up some tarps to give our victims a bit of respect?” “On it.” Stone strode off to the closest fire fighter and started pointing at the scene. Parker approached the Nissan as the fire department crew draped a tarp over the dead woman. Parker saw she was olive skinned, young, perhaps in her early thirties, with dark black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was attractive, but even in death, she carried signs of stress, lines creasing her forehead, and dark bags under her eyes. Parker dropped to one knee and scanned the passenger compartment. The driver was crushed. If it wasn’t bad enough, Parker spotted a well-loved stuffed animal on the seat. “Oh man. She’s got kids.” He reached for her purse and pulled the inexpensive plastic and cardboard handbag from the floorboard. Parker had seen these knockoff items before, carried by women coming over the border. He fished through the purse for a wallet and ID. Nothing. No driver’s license, insurance cards, or credit cards. When he stood, he spotted a blood-stained envelope. When he lifted it from the seat, it held one hundred dollars. No note or message in with the five twenty-dollar bills. The face of the envelope bore a simple inscription: “Nia.” “Nia, what happened?” Parker thought deputy Stone might be right. He was about to write it off as another case of a random victim until he found the bullet hole in the Nissan’s front tire. The tire exploded outward on the opposite side of the path of entry. Likely sending the compact sedan into an uncontrolled skid, careening off any vehicles in the next lane. What were the chances of two cars being shot at in evening commuter traffic? *** Excerpt from Devil Within by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2023 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author James L’Etoile:
James L'Etoile

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novel, 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. Black Label earned the Silver Falchion for Best Book by an Attending Author at Killer Nashville and he was nominated for The Bill Crider Award for short fiction. His most recent novel is the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop. Look for Devil Within and Face of Greed, both coming in 2023.

You can find out more at: www.JamesLEtoile.com Goodreads BookBub – @crimewriter Instagram – @authorjamesletoile Twitter – @JamesLEtoile Facebook – @AuthorJamesLetoile

 

 

Tour Participants:

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

 

 

Join In for a Chance to WIN!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for James L’Etoile. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Long Dark Road organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Author Joan Hall Hovey will be awarding a $10 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 the other stops on the tour.

A Long Dark Road

by Joan Hall Hovey

 

https://i2.wp.com/blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWowjuXcd7AIxiMzqftLF-YK54dcEUCjDV-ABaTaaQqqUgjtuk6jbArY4o3xrjTa3xsVExpCHRSb1dBqwW5KbKzkX7EWAViAvNQqcoPKWeNdSnSf-yVzdQwJM1-Qg4NCNQiYvsxQQSMpQb7lL-SwOW3jLG2BmdPSC-ptrsU1zmoRJlCxl2BAI6mOUNns/s1842/BookCover_ALongDarkRoad.jpg?ssl=1

 

Genre: Thriller

Synopsis

Selected Tales of Suspense containing 5 short stories and a novella

“Joan Hall Hovey knows suspense. She keeps it simmering in every scene she writes and knows just the right moments to turn up the heat. She also knows character creating richly layered people to populate her stories, sometimes with no more than a single sentence stocked with perfectly chosen description words or phrases… terrific suspense .”James Hankins, author of Brothers and Bones

“Taut plotting, great characters, and chilling suspense. Abook you can’t put down, exhibits a master’s touch. Alfred Hitchcock would be smiling. – Book Pleasures Review, Steve Moore

 

 

 
 

Enjoy this peek inside “Tragic Spawn” (novella) :

 

Hearing the closing of the front door, her thoughts scattered and she turned around. The faint fall of footsteps was headed in her direction. A smile broke from Melanie. Francie. “Francie, I’m in the bedroom,” she called out. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I know I said I’d call you when I was being released from the hospital, but I wanted … she stopped. The footsteps halted in her bedroom doorway, came no farther. Frowning, she thought: No, not Francie standing there. Not her father, either. She would know if it was him. He would speak. A shot of adrenaline shot through her. Someone was there. Someone had followed her into the house. How could she have been so stupid as to forget to lock the back door behind her? What was the matter with her? And then she saw movement in that milky whiteness at the corner of her eye. Felt a shifting of air in front of her. Don’t show fear, came the warning voice inside her mind. Don’t show fear. Stay calm.

“Who is it?”

No answer. The fine hairs prickled on the back of her neck and it was hard to breathe, let alone speak. “Can I help you? Have you come to the wrong house?” She heard the tremor in her voice. Receiving no answer, alarm quickly turned to panic, a reaction that both angered and frightened her.

“Who are you? Instantly, the bit of whiteness at the corner of her eye went dark as a hand touched her cheek and it was as if spider webs were draped over her face and she was suddenly screaming screaming, hands flailing like a mad woman.

About Author Joan Hall Hovey:

I’ve always been drawn to the dark side of our human psyche, and devoured everything from Edgar Allan Poe to Shirley Jackson growing up and later Ruth Rendell and Stephen King and so many more wonderful writers than I could list here. It was my dream to become a published writer for as long as I can remember, and have written eight novels. My latest book is ‘A Long Dark Road’. My love of reading seemed to go hand-in-hand with the writing.

I grew up in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada’s oldest incorporated city, situated on the Bay of Fundy. I married young and had four incredible children, three boys and a girl. My eldest son passed away in 2018, of ALS, which was the moment I knew I was in control of nothing. Nothing at all. And how it feels to have your heart shredded, slowly. But still, we must be grateful for what we have.

When the children were still small we moved to Gondola Point, where we lived in a modest home my husband built, overlooking the Kennebecasis River. Lots of lovely tall pine trees and bird song. It was country then, but no more. We lived there happily with various beloved pets over the years. People often remarked that the view must be inspiring, and it was, but the truth is when I was at my computer, my back was to the river, my head already filled with characters and scenes as I lived in a world of the imagination.

My husband is gone now, my children grown with children of their own and I moved back to the city to escape the loneliness. I live in a pleasant apartment in a historical part of the city with my sweet calico cat, Bella. From my window, I can see a beautiful old church with the steeple jutting into the sky, and a clock that competes with the moon. It is Sunday morning and the church bells are ringing as I type this.

I hope you enjoy my books!

Author Links: Goodreads / Facebook / Website

Purchase Links: Amazon / B&N

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~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the DOOR to DOOR, NIGHT by NIGHT Vol. 1 by Cullen Bunn & Sally Cantirino Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours.

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Check out my Review and make sure to enter the giveaway!

 

DOOR TO DOOR, NIGHT BY NIGHT Vol. 1
: A World Full Of Monsters

By Cullen Bunn
& Sally Cantirino (Illustrations)

 

 

Pub. Date: July 25, 2023

Publisher: Vault Comics

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 128

.

Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/DOOR-to-DOOR-NIGHT-by-NIGHT-Vol-1

 

A supernatural horror thriller
splattered with dark humor in the vein of Grady Hendrix (My Best Friend’s
Exorcism
), Stranger Things, Welcome to Night Vale, Supernatural, and
the Midnight, Texas series (Charlaine Harris), DOOR TO
DOOR, NIGHT BY NIGHT Vol. 1: A World Full of Monsters 
tells the tale
of a traveling sales team who find that once certain doors open, they are
impossible to close.

SALES PEOPLE BY DAY. MONSTER HUNTERS BY NIGHT.

It’s 1987, and the Heritage Mills sales team travels from town to town,
knocking on doors. They’re the best at what they do… which also means they’re
the worst. They’re broken, each and every one of them, haunted by closets so
full of skeletons, they’re bursting. When they discover a terrible secret
behind one fateful door, it opens their eyes to a world full of real monsters
hidden in every small town.

Knock, knock. What’s there? Open the door if you dare…

From all-star creators, writer Cullen Bunn (Harrow County, The Last Book
You’ll Ever Read
) and artist Sally Cantirino (I Walk With Monsters,
Human Remains
) comes the story of a motley crew going to battle against
supernatural evil throughout the American South.

For fans of the devilishly delicious blend of nostalgic horror and dark humor,
small town secrets, moonlight fright, Stranger Things, Welcome to Night
Vale,
 My Best Friend’s Exorcism, IT, Summer of Night, The
Pallbearer’s Club, The Autumnal, Proctor Valley Road, Gideon Falls, The Boys,
B.P.R.D.,
 and Something Is Killing the Children.

Volume 1 collects issues #1-4 of the smash 12-issue series!

“It’s all kinds of demon-hunting, low-life fun!” — Cavan Scott
(Comic writer, screenwriter & New York Times bestselling
author. STAR WARS: THE HIGH REPUBLIC; TITANS UNITED; SHADOW SERVICE;
THE WARD; DEAD SEAS
).

“Bunn and Cantirino, as a collaborative team, create a unique, beautiful, and
terrifying world filled with monsters we could not imagine.” – Gatecrashers

“…this kind of horror storytelling … delivers across the board.” – The Fandom
Post

“A beautiful example of the merging of humor and horror.” – Gatecrashers

“…delivers on its promise …This is absolutely worth picking up.” – Comicon.com

“…supernatural horror at its best.” – Capes and Tights

 

 ..

MY REVIEW

Supernatural horror. I’m in for that. And there’s plenty of it in this book. Along with a cast of nice and not so nice characters. And it’s filled with action displayed in colorful, awesome graphics.

A group of door to door sales people find so much more than just some customers who slam doors in their face. They discover that monsters are real. And this is where the story takes off. You know that scene where there’s a creepy house and you know they shouldn’t go near it? Well, this group of individuals don’t take the missing person’s posters plastered all over it seriously and they enter. Normally this would have me screaming, “Don’t you watch horror movies, guys?” But nope, I was all for finding out what was inside myself. And boy did they, and me. From then on it’s bloody good fun.

Do I want to read about these characters again? Yes. And the good news is there is more coming. Can’t wait.

4 STARS

.

 

 

 

About Cullen Bunn:

 

Cullen Bunn is a New
York Times
 bestselling author and prolific writer of
horror/supernatural comics series and graphic novels including THE
SIXTH GUN, HARROW COUNTY, BONE PARISH, THE DAMNED, THE EMPTY MAN, THE GHOUL
NEXT DOOR, BASILISK, SHADOWMAN
, and many other titles including The
Last Book You’ll Ever Read 
for Vault Comics. He has fought for his
life against mountain lions and performed on stage as the World’s Youngest Hypnotist.

 

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads |
Amazon  | BookBub

 

 

 

 

 

About Sally Cantirino:

Sally Cantirino is
a comic artist and illustrator currently based in New Jersey. She has been
self-publishing comics and zines since she was a teenager. Her recent
comics work includes I Walk With Monsters and Human
Remains
 for Vault Comics,  “The Final Girls”, “Last Song”,
and “We Have To Go Back”. She has also done artwork for World Champ Game Co and
bands like La Dispute and Murder By Death.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads

 

 

 

Giveaway contest ribbon promo label prize. Vector giveaway banner badge design template

 

2 winners will receive a finished copy of DOOR to DOOR, NIGHT by NIGHT Vol. 1, US Only.

Ends August 15th, midnight EST.

.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

.

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

7/17/2023

Ramblings of a Coffee Addicted Writer

Review/IG Post

7/18/2023

@enjoyingbooksagain

IG Review

7/19/2023

Character Madness and Musings

Interview

7/20/2023

The Book Countess

Review/IG Post

7/21/2023

Fieldstone_lfl

IG Review/LFL Drop Pic

7/22/2023

Tara’s Book Addiction

IG Post

Week Two:

7/23/2023

Sadie’s
Spotlight

Interview

7/24/2023

A Dream Within A Dream

Excerpt

7/25/2023

Writer of Wrongs

Excerpt

7/26/2023

Locks, Hooks and Books

Review

7/27/2023

Brandi Danielle Davis

Review/IG Post

7/28/2023

#BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog

Excerpt/IG Post

7/29/2023

@by_hckilgour

IG Review

Week Three:

7/30/2023

A Blue Box Full of Books

IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post

7/31/2023

Bookish In Bed

Review/IG Post

8/1/2023

Books With a Chance

Review/IG Post

8/2/2023

Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post

8/3/2023

Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers

Review/IG Post

8/4/2023

OneMoreExclamation

Review/IG Post

8/5/2023

celiamcmahonreads

Review/IG Post

Week Four:

8/6/2023

@bookish_aly_cat

IG Review

8/7/2023

@My.Bookish.Mind

Review/IG Post

8/8/2023

FUONLYKNEW

Review

8/9/2023

Jaime_of_gryffindor

IG Review

8/10/2023

@enthuse_reader

IG Review/TikTok Post

8/11/2023

Two Points of Interest

Review

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

 

Saving Piper Moonlight

by Joann Keder

 

(Piney Falls Mysteries, #2)
Publication date: July 13th 2020
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Piper has lived her entire childhood on the run. She’s about to uncover the deadly reason why…

In the second book of the Piney Falls Mysteries series, Piper Moonlight is tired of constantly looking over her shoulder, afraid of the remaining Fallen Branch cult members. She decides the best place to land is in Piney Falls, Oregon, where the cult originated. At least everyone there knows her story and she’ll be safe.

When she arrives, she finds employment under the watchful eye of Cosmo Hill, also a former Fallen Branch member, at his bakery. Cosmo doesn’t trust Piper or her story. He enlists the help of his fiancé , marketing wonder and super sleuth Lanie Anders to uncover the truth of Piper’s past.

Lanie and Cosmo soon discover there are still shocking secrets buried within the layers of the former cult. As those secrets come to light, those who keep them will stop at nothing to stay hidden. The ugly truth of Fallen Branch will force Lanie, Cosmo and Piper to make unthinkable choices to save themselves and the life they know in Piney Falls.

Goodreads / Amazon

~~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

“Can I ask–did you ever love me?”

There is laughter from the other room and a chill runs down his spine.

“I assumed we’d already discussed the uselessness of emotions. They get in the way. Imagine if I let that interfere during the last two decades. We wouldn’t be where we are, on schedule for the metamorphosis.”

“YOU wouldn’t be on schedule. The rest of us–well, me–would be fine. You don’t remember those times we were gardening at Fallen Branch, talking about the future? You said then you couldn’t picture anyone else by your side.”

“I couldn’t. That didn’t mean I loved you, though. You were the perfect partner…for a time. As you’ve said: you didn’t have control of your emotions and I could direct you easily. I gave you a list. You accomplished every bullet point.” The Killer stalks closer. “Is there anything you want them to know? I’m giving you this gift that we never gave the others. A thank you for your service. Let’s call it my ‘emotion’ for today.”

“Tell them I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough to continue by your side and I wasn’t smart enough to survive on my own.”

“That’s not at all what I thought you would say.”

“What did you expect? A lengthy speech? I’ve always left those to you.”

“I thought you might want them to know you were a brave soldier in our war. Kind of make them proud, at least.”

He throws his hands in the air. “I give up. You’ll make it your own story no matter what. I learned long ago that it’s impossible to please you. They’ll learn that soon enough.”

“I hope not.”

“Tell them…I tried. Just get on with it now. I can’t bear to think about it anymore.”

His killer hands him a cup. “Cheers, my friend. It was a good ride while it lasted.”

His hand brushes his killer’s and without looking up, he lifts it to his lips.

 

About Author Joann Keder:

USA TODAY bestselling author, Joann Keder spent most of her years in the Midwest, growing up and raising a family on the Great Plains of Nebraska. She worked for sixteen years as a piano teacher before returning to school to receive a master’s degree in creative writing. A mid-life move to the Pacific Northwest led her to re-examine her priorities. She now creates stories about life and relationships in small towns while her ever-patient husband encourages her on.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

 

 

 

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

.

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.