Archive for the ‘thriller’ Category

Knife River by Baron Birtcher ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: May 8, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, thriller
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KNIFE RIVER by Baron R Birtcher Banner

KNIFE RIVER
by Baron R Birtcher
April 15 – May 10, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
A sheriff fighting to keep the peace in 1970s Oregon faces a shocking secret from his town’s past, in this crime thriller from the author of Reckoning.

There are rules in the West no matter what era you were born in, and it’s up to lawman Ty Dawson to make sure they’re followed in the valley he calls home. The people living on this unforgiving land keep to themselves and are wary of the modern world’s encroachment into their quiet lives. So it’s not without some suspicion that Dawson confronts a newcomer to the region: a record producer who has built a music studio in an isolated compound. His latest project is a collaboration with a famous young rock star named Ian Swann, recording and filming his sessions for a movie. An amphitheater for a live show is being built on the land, giving Dawson flashbacks to the violent Altamont concert. Not on his watch. But even beefed up security can’t stop a disaster that’s been over a decade in the making. All it takes is one horrific case bleeding its way into the present to prove that the good ol’ days spawned a brand of evil no one wants to revisit . . .

 

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller

Published by: Open Road Media Publication Date: April 23, 2024 Number of Pages: 338 ISBN: 9781504086523 (ISBN10: 150408652X) Series: The Sheriff Ty Dawson Crime Thriller Series

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

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MY REVIEW

Praise for Knife River mentions the television series, Longmire. I loved that show and Sheriff Ty Dawson is every bit as pragmatic and tough as Sheriff Longmire.

The story begins with a prelude hinting at something that happened in 1964 in Meriwether County, Oregon. Twelve years later, in 1976, the ghosts of the past come back to haunt those that survived it.

I love western settings. My father and I would stay up late watching them on the television and my brother shared his Zane Grey books with me. I had my fingers and toes crossed that this book would have a hard to solve mystery, but also some rough and tumble cowboys. Those tall drinks of water with their sweat stained cowboy hats and dusty boots. Boy did I get all of that, and more. A particular quote from the book spoke volumes.

“I believe you told me you were born seeing the world between a horse’s ears.” I said. “Wouldn’t be right for me to keep a man from his birthplace.”

I’m kind of a character driven story kind of gal also. I need to be able to put a face to them. To connect with them. Whether in a good or bad way. Author Baron Birtcher really did use his storytelling skills to breathe life into his characters. It was so easy to put faces to names. I imagined how they moved. Their stride. Whether they stood still or waved their arms for emphasis when they talked.

The author also painted pretty pictures with his descriptions of Meriwether and the Diamond D ranch.  One quote in particular put me there.

“Smells like horse sweat and juniper out here,” she said. “Smells like home.”

I knew from the moment I read the first page that this would be one of those books that couldn’t be put aside for later. I started it before I went to work. Came home for lunch and read until I was late returning. And came home and stayed up to finish it. There are not that many books that grab me like this one did. Knife River now sits in a place of honor on my book shelf. The shelf where I keep those books that I loved so much I wanted them where I could easily find them. Some books are meant to be read more than once. This is one of them.

5 STARS

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Read an excerpt:
Prelude:
FACING WEST
SOME SAY THAT to be born into a thing is to be blind to half of it. Oftentimes, the things we seek and discover for ourselves are those we hold most dear. Any cattleman will tell you that a ranch is a living thing. Not only the livestock that graze the meadowland, but the blood that nourishes the hungry soil, the trees that inhale the wind, and the rain that carves runnels into the hardpan that, in time, grow into rivers. The Diamond D is no different in that respect, some would even say it was the beating heart of Meriwether County, Oregon. As both a stockman and the sheriff of this county, I believe this to be true. But the events that unfolded in the autumn of 1964 cast a cloud across that land. Not just across my ranch, but the entire valley, though they didn’t bear their terrible fruit until nearly a dozen years later, in the spring of 1976. The incidents still haunt me, though others paid a steeper price than I; some with their lives, or the lives of their loved ones, while some forfeit their sanity, and still others with their souls. That is where this story begins.  

CHAPTER ONE

LAMBS AND LIONS hold no sway over the springtime here in Meriwether County. Some years it will snow through mid-May, other times the golden sun rides high and bright, and the river flows fast, clear and deep with high-country melt on the first day of March. Most years, it’s both, with Mother Nature keeping her whims to herself until she alone decides to turn them loose upon us. But this particular Saturday morning was unusually quiet, not even a breath of breeze stirring the leaves of the cottonwoods that grew thick and untamed along the creekbank. I was standing outside on the gallery, sipping my coffee as I leaned on the porch rail, watching my wife, Jesse, hammer the last nail into a birdbox she had made. She must have felt my eyes on her, as she looked up from her work and smiled. A few moments later, she stepped up the stairs to where I stood and kissed me on the cheek, smelling of sawdust and lemongrass tea. “The bluebirds are back,” she said. “I just saw them.” “You haven’t lost your knack for building those things.” “Plenty of practice. You got home late last night.” I had spent the previous day transporting a man all the way from Lewiston up to the Portland lockup to await his trial. He stood accused of murdering his own wife and young child. It had been a long, depressing day, and by the time I completed the intake paperwork, locked up the substation in Meridian, and finally drove home to the ranch, Jesse was already asleep. But this morning, everything in her expression seemed overflowing with hope and expectation. Springtime was her season and always had been. “Want a hand putting that thing up?” I asked. She replied by handing it to me, together with the hammer. She watched me hang the birdbox on a post beside the vegetable garden, outside the kitchen window where I knew she’d spend her quiet mornings secretly observing the bluebirds as they built their nest and reared their brood. “You plan on helping Caleb pick the new cowboys today?” She asked me when I came back inside. It was the time of year when we hired a few temporary hands for Spring Works, when we’d round-up the cattle and calves from every corner of the ranch; we’d vet, brand and sort the livestock, and mend a perpetual string of breaks in the wire along miles of fenceline before we turned the herd out to the pastures for summer grazing. The Diamond D employed three permanent cowboys in addition to me and old Caleb Wheeler—our foreman for more than three decades—but with 63,000 deeded acres and another 14,000 under a Land Management lease, Spring Works was more work than the five of us could handle in the short span of time required to get it done. Every year a couple dozen hopeful itinerant riders, ropers, rodeo bums and saddle-tramps would answer the call for a temporary employment opportunity, and every year Caleb Wheeler got more riled up about what he viewed as the eroding quality of the contemporary American cowboy. He’d cuss and grump and holler about it, but he’d end up settling on three or four hands he reckoned could help us get the job done with a minimum of aggravation. “I’m staying out of it this year,” I said, and Jesse grinned. “Figured I’d lay in a cord or two for the woodshed instead, before the weather gets too hot.” “I saw some deadfall down by Corcoran’s,” she said. “That’s where I was headed.” “Make you some lunch to take with you?” “I don’t intend to be out that long.” “Good to hear,” she said, and winked at me before she turned, and stepped inside the house.   * * *   HALF AN HOUR later I was straddling a fallen spruce, angling the chainsaw to buck the trunk into three-foot rounds that I’d later split into quarters with the long-handled axe. The solitary labor, the sweat staining my shirt, and the burn down deep inside my muscles were a welcome balm after the week I’d had, and the air was rife with the smell of pine tar, sap and chain oil. I looked up and caught some movement in the distance, where the BLM forest gave onto an open range already knee deep with wildflowers and whipgrass. I recognized Tom Jenkins’ roping horse moving hellbent-for-leather across the flats, with young Tom leaning across her withers, one hand on the reins and the other holding his hat in place on top of his head. His mount was an admirable animal, a grullo Quarter Horse that stood nearly seventeen hands, fast and thick through the chest. Tom Jenkins handled her well, and he was beelining in my direction like he had something on his mind. I killed the power on the chainsaw and set it in the bed of the military surplus jeep I use when I do ranch work, stepped over to the fence and took a splash of water from the canteen I’d hung in the shade of a young cedar. I didn’t have to wait long before Tom pulled up in a skidding stop inside a cloud of dust, throwing a cascade of torn earth and pebbles through the barbed strands of the wire. “Mr. Dawson,” he said and touched a finger to his hat brim, sounding nearly as breathless as his horse. “I was hoping that was you.” “What are you doing out here all by yourself?” I asked, but suspected I already knew the answer. When I’d first met Tom Jenkins, he was nothing but a kid with a limp handshake, no eye-contact, and the familiar slope-shouldered gait and posture of the typical aimless teenaged slacker. At that time, he’d been well on his way to serious trouble, the variety and scope of which would have landed him in a six-by-eight jail cell where the other inmates would have eaten him alive. He is the nephew of my neighbor to the south of me, Snoose Corcoran, whose sister had sent the kid up here from California’s central valley to his uncle’s ranch in southeastern Oregon in hopes of putting some distance between young Tom and his unquestionably poor choices of acquaintances. Ill-equipped to deal with the boy himself, Snoose begged me to take the kid on as a maverick, and I’d reluctantly agreed. After six months working side by side with trail hardened cowboys on the Diamond D young Tom Jenkins’ attitude had been readjusted, straightening both his spine and fortitude. Now, at barely 18 years of age, Tom had assumed the reins of the floundering Corcoran cattle operation from his uncle Snoose, who had been gradually disappearing into a bottle. “Cow and a calf went missing from my place,” Tom answered. “Fence busted by the westward line, and I figured them two mighta headed for the water.” My ranch hands ended up nicknaming the kid “Silver,” after he’d astonished us all by stepping up and winning a silver buckle for the Diamond D in the team roping event at the annual rodeo. I knew Tom secretly treasured the handle they’d bestowed, wore it like a medal, but I never spoke it; that was between my men and him. “Where’s your uncle?” I asked. His shrug spoke sorrowful volumes. “So, what set you hightailing over here to see me, son?” I asked. “What’s the trouble? Besides the missing beeves.” “I was up there on the other side of the tree line,” he said. He twisted sideways in his saddle, took off his hat and gestured with it toward a distant stretch of blue sky. “There was an eagle making low passes over the meadow, so I stopped to watch it for a minute. It was so still and quiet out there, I could hear the eagle calling out while it was gliding on the thermals.” “You don’t see something like that every day,” I said. “Not even out here in the boondocks.” “No sir, that’s a fact,” Tom said. “But, while I sat there watching that creature flying, all of a sudden and out of nowhere, a helicopter come buzzing across the ridge, you know the one…” “Big stone bluff, looks like somebody cut it down the middle with a KA-BAR knife.” “That’s the one,” he said. “Well, that chopper came in fast, and went straight toward that bird…” The young man’s voice trailed off, his face contorted like he’d encountered a foul odor. “They circled it as it flew, like they were teasing it. Two men inside the—whattaya call it?” “Cockpit.” “Yeah, the cockpit. Then they started closing in on him, chasing it. The guy in the passenger seat had a rifle in his hands. I could see the barrel sticking out.” What Tom was describing to me was not only a despicable and loathsome act, it was a serious crime. The mere harassment of a protected species is a federal offense; hunting and killing one merely for the sick thrill of it was another matter entirely. “What happened, Tom?” He swallowed drily, shook his head and looked down at the ground between us. “He shot that bird right out of the sky, sir,” he said. “That eagle wasn’t even doing nothing, just gliding circles on the wind, and those assholes—sorry, sir—they shot him cold dead.” I could imagine the creature’s confused and lonely cry as it spiraled down, bleeding, terrified and helpless, to the earth. “You pretty sure about the location, Tom?” “About four, five miles thataway, near the bluff, where the river makes that sharp bend to the south.” “Did you get a look at either of the men?” “Naw, they were too far away and moving pretty fast. But I got a good look at the whirlybird.” I asked him for a description of the helicopter, and I knew right away he was referring to a Bell H-13, known to soldiers as a “Sioux.” They’d been in common use as scouting and medical evacuation aircraft by the military. I’d seen them every day when I was stationed in Korea. “Like the choppers on that TV show?” I asked. “Yes, sir. Exactly like on M*A*S*H.” “Big glass bubble on the front? No doors? Looks kinda like a dragonfly?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you see any numbers written on it? On the tail? Or maybe on the underside?” Tom Jenkins pressed his hat back on his head and gazed up at the empty sky beyond the forest, like he could return that beautiful animal to where it rightfully belonged through sheer force of his will. The high peaks beyond the meadow were streaked with deep blue shadows in the sunlight, their cloughs and gorges washed in purple and topped with snow so white it hurt your eyes. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing numbers or anything like that.” His face took on the aspect of defeat, as though some personal failure had cost the animal its life. “You did good, Tom. You did the right thing coming to me straight away. There was nothing else you could have done.” He nodded once, his lips pressed tight, and he leaned down to adjust a stirrup that needed no adjustment. “You want some help finding your cows?” I asked, thinking he might appreciate the company. “I can do it, sir, but thank you. I can haze ’em back home on my own.” “You gotta get eyeballs on the critters first. I can help you, son.” “Thank you just the same, Mr. Dawson… Sheriff… Hell, I don’t even know what to call you.” His expression softened for the first time since he’d showed up, a brief and fleeting smile, then his focus drifted far away again. “Something else, Tom?” “Just wondering.” “Wondering what?” “Do you think you can catch those guys who shot that bird?” “I’m going to try my damndest.” His eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “What’ll happen to ’em if you do?” I drew a bandana from the back pocket of my jeans, removed my hat, and dried the sweat that had been leaking from beneath the band. “It’s been against the law to kill an eagle since the 1940s. If you’re not an Indian, you can’t even possess a single feather. If you get caught, you pay a steep fine and then they send you off to jail. If you’re a rancher, you could lose the leases on your land.” Tom turned his gaze back on me, and I noted for the hundredth time that this young man no longer bore any resemblance to the person he had been on the day he first arrived here from California. “That punishment don’t seem tough enough,” Tom said. “Not for what I seen ’em do.” “No, it doesn’t.” He clucked softly to his horse, and reined her back in the direction from which they’d come. “I’d better get a move on,” he said. “Be careful out there, son,” I said to his retreating back, but my words were lost in the distance. *** Excerpt from KNIFE RIVER by Baron R Birtcher. Copyright 2024 by Baron R Birtcher. Reproduced with permission from Baron R Birtcher. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Baron Birtcher:

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Baron R Birtcher

Baron 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, Reckoning, and Knife River), as well as the critically-lauded stand-alone, RAIN DOGS. Baron is a 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 R Birtcher: Facebook – @BaronRBirtcher Goodreads BookBub Instagram – @baronbirtcher_author Twitter/X – @BaronBirtcher22

 

 

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

 

 

 

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The Nowhere Girls by Dana Perry ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: May 1, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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THE NOWHERE GIRLS
by Dana Perry
April 1 – May 10, 2024 Virtual Book Tour
THE NOWHERE GIRLS
Book 1 in the Detective Nikki Cassidy series

My kid sister was murdered fifteen years ago. Now the killer has struck again. And this time, I’m going to take my revenge… On the anniversary of her sister’s death, FBI agent Nikki Cassidy takes a call that has her heart pounding in her chest, the image of her beautiful sister Caitlin etched in her mind. Another girl has been taken. Days later, the lifeless body of twelve-year-old Natalie Jarvis is found in a remote patch of woodland, a crown of roses delicately placed on her head. Just like Caitlin. The killer is back. Nikki rushes to her small hometown of Groveton, Ohio. She will do anything to stop another young girl dying, but she soon realises that nothing is what it seems—everyone in her hometown is keeping a secret. And when a note is discovered near Natalie’s body addressed to Nikki, it’s clear what the murderer really wants: her… She’s caught killers before, but this time it’s personal. And Nikki will risk everything—even her own life—to get justice for every victim. It’s time to stop this twisted killer, once and for all…

If you love reading Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot, you won’t be able to put down this gripping new series. Full of heart-racing twists and turns, you’ll be hooked!
LAST ONE TO DIE
Book 2 in the Detective Nikki Cassidy series

Ten days ago, straight-A student Jessica Staley ran away from home. Now her lifeless body lies pale and still in an empty parking lot, her unblinking brown eyes staring up to the night sky… FBI agent Nikki Cassidy’s heart pounds as she takes in the short, dark hair and delicate features of fourteen-year-old schoolgirl Jessica Stanley. It’s another unsolved murder in Groveton, Ohio, just like her sister, Caitlin, fifteen years before. Her family beg her to keep her distance, but Nikki knows she can’t walk away. What if her sister’s killer is back? Talking to Jessica’s heartbroken family, Nikki learns that she wasn’t happy at home. Just days ago, she packed a few belongings into her school backpack and left, never to be seen alive again. Determined to give Jessica’s family the answers she never found for herself, Nikki works around the clock, trawling hours of CCTV footage from the scene. And just when she thinks she’s close to uncovering the truth, a chilling email arrives that confirms her deepest fear. There are more victims, Nikki. Can you ever stop me? This killer is playing a dangerous game, and he has Nikki in his sights now—one wrong move and she could be his next victim. She’s determined to unmask the monster who has tortured her hometown for decades. But what if the killer is someone close to her? What if it’s someone she loves?

Fans of Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot will absolutely love this gripping new series from Dana Perry. Prepare to stay up all night!
THE LOST ONES
Book 3 in the Detective Nikki Cassidy series

As dawn breaks over a small gas station on the outskirts of Groveton, Ohio, the body of a teenage girl lies totally still. Long blonde hair covers her face, and a length of frayed rope hangs loosely around her neck. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds her, just like her killer intended… When FBI agent Nikki Cassidy receives a call from Groveton’s Chief of Police, her heart pounds. A young girl just knocked on the door of Nikki’s old family home, claiming to be Nikki’s kid sister, Caitlin. But Caitlin was murdered fifteen years ago. Who is the girl and what does she want? Nikki thinks the impersonator could finally lead her to her sister’s twisted killer. But her hope is shattered when the girl’s lifeless body is found strangled at a local service stop. If the girl knew about Caitlin, could she have known the identity of the killer? Was she murdered before she could unmask them?

Going against her boss’s orders to stay away, Nikki traces the girl’s last known steps to her best friend, Shirley. Nikki learns that the girl was last seen meeting with a stranger at the mall. Could it have been her killer?

Closer than ever to uncovering the truth, Nikki can’t give up now. But when Shirley’s body is found at another service station, a length of rope wound around her neck, her heart shatters. Another young life has been lost. Nikki vows that this will be the last.

When an intruder breaks into her old home, Nikki knows it’s the killer sending her a sign. As she walks into the familiar old house in the dead of night, will she finally get justice and catch her sister’s killer, or did she just walk into a deadly trap?

Praise for Dana Perry:

THE NOWHERE GIRLS: “A twisty-breath-taking page-turner that will keep you on the edge of your seat until it’s stunning conclusion. Fast-paced and riveting, it keeps you guessing till the very end.” Lisa Regan, author

“A thrilling new series.” Killer Nashville

“A fantastic book… Dana Perry has created one heck of female lead!” NetGalley reviewer

“Wow!!!!! What did I just read!!! Mind blown!!!! Absolutely shattered after being up all night reading but boy was it worth it! Absolutely unputdownable!!” Bookworm86

“This was an edge-of-your-seat page-turner!” @annette_reads_daily

 

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller

Published by: Bookouture Publication Date: April 2, 2024 Number of Pages: 341 ISBN: 9781803147932 (ISBN10: 1803147938) Series: Detective Nikki Cassidy

 

Enjoy this peek inside:

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About Author Dana Perry:

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Dana Perry

I am a New York City author who writes mystery thrillers under the pen name of Dana Perry – and also as R.G. Belsky.

Catch Up With Dana Perry: www.RGBelsky.com/dana-perry-books Goodreads BookBub Twitter/X – @DanaPerryAuthor Facebook – @DanaPerryAuthor Instagram – @dickbelsky

 

 

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Tour Participants:

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

 

 

Enter Now for Your Chance to Win!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Dana Perry & R.G. Belsky. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

 

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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.

Red Pines ~ The Trapnell Thriller Series by Jill Hand ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: April 13, 2024 in giveaways, thriller
Tags: ,
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The South’s wealthiest, most dysfunctional family is back,

with old scores to settle and a surprising houseguest.

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Red Pines

Trapnell Thriller Book 3

by Jill Hand

Genre: Thriller

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“In this hilarious third installment, Jill Hand gives us the weirdest, funniest family saga yet.”

–Wayne Turmel, author of Johnny Lycan: The Werewolf PI series

The discovery of the bodies of two “honky-tonk hitmen” on land belonging to a former relative brings the Trapnell siblings, self-centered Aimee, indolent Trainor, and brilliant Marsh, back to White Oaks, their opulent ancestral home. FBI Special Agent Carson Burns is tasked with protecting them, something she finds increasingly difficult, as sinister events keep occurring which barely avoid being fatal.

Adding to the confusion is a deposed dictator who has eluded his Secret Service watchdogs and is pretending to be Marsh’s valet.

It becomes clear that someone intends to murder the Trapnells, but who? And why? A rapper called Baby Patty Cake insists the Illuminati are to blame, but that can’t be true, can it?

What readers are saying:

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Author Jill Hand has crafted a thriller that offers the ideal balance of humor and suspense to create a delightfully entertaining experience filled with quirky characters and unexpected twists. The dysfunctional dynamics of the Trapnell family are an absolute joy and a great foil to play off during the biggest surprises of the plot, while the witty dialogue and eccentric scenarios provide plenty of laughs along the way. The clues unfold at a great pace to allow us to figure things out alongside Agent Burns, yet the reader is kept in a fair amount of suspense about the true motives behind the attempts on the Trapnells’ lives, leading to a satisfying and surprising conclusion. Overall, Red Pines is a captivating read that offers equal parts humor and suspense, making it a must-read for fans of comedic thrillers everywhere.

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Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Dooley Voight drove them the thirty-five miles from the airport to Cobbs, a sleepy village not far from the Florida border. Cobbs had been the domain of the Trapnell family for generations. On the outskirts of town was their plantation house, White Oaks. It sprawled, vast and palatial, under the late afternoon sun, its meticulously tended green lawns, columned portico and dazzling white façade a vision of opulence.

Holy cow, thought Burns, stunned by the sight. It’s a genuine Georgia plantation. Leave it to Bad Choices to own a plantation.

As if he had read her thoughts, Marsh said, “A penny for your thoughts, Agent Burns.”

“My thoughts aren’t worth a penny,” she replied.

“I sincerely doubt that. I’ll show you around later. There are many interesting things to see at White Oaks. There’s a graveyard that’s supposed to be haunted, and a room where one of my ancestors kept his wife imprisoned for twenty years. The story goes that it stemmed from the having a disagreement over a game of whist. The scratches are still visible on the back of the door, where she clawed at it in a futile attempt to escape.”

“Great,” said Burns. “Can’t wait to see that.”

“I sure do enjoy comin’ out here to y’all’s stately home,” Dooley said to Marsh as he piloted his Lexus up the mile-long drive paved with white oyster shells. The shells crunched under the car’s tires as it rolled along at a sedate five miles per hour.

Dooley had the air-conditioning turned up. The thermometer on the dashboard registered eight-eight degrees Fahrenheit. That was considered normal, even a bit cool for Cobbs in late May. It would be another month before the real heat would set in, causing all outdoor activity to grind to a torpid, tropical crawl.

Aimee was already having reservations about returning to her ancestral home. The last time she was there, she and Marsh and Trainor, as well as their stepsister, Karen, had almost been murdered. The time before that, Trainor had allowed their father to strangle a sideshow performer Bad things had a way of happening at White Oaks.

Aimee resolved to watch her back. She hoped the level-headed presence of Special Agent Burns would be a calming influence.

“This is the second time today I been here,” Dooley remarked as they approached the circular turnaround in front of the house. In the center a marble fountain in the shape of a pod of dolphins sent jets of water into the air.

Pulled up to the portico steps was Blanton’s white 1959 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith. Its tall, stainless steel radiator grille was topped by a sculpture of a crouching woman, her robes billowing out behind her. “Nellie in her Nightie,” was how jocular Rolls-Royce factory workers used to refer to the mascot, although its official name was the Spirit of Ecstasy. Parked behind the Rolls was a cherry-red BMW XM sedan.

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Black Willows

Trapnell Thriller Book 2

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A mysterious cowboy is stalking the eccentric Trapnell siblings. Is he a supernatural entity or a hired killer? To complicate things, the will making them heirs to their billionaire father’s estate is missing and a relative has returned from a watery grave.

Last time, the Trapnells saved the world from destruction. This time they may not be able to save themselves. Black Willows is a darkly funny Southern-fried adventure, complete with Voodoo, arson, and alligators.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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“And then,” Palmer Trapnell told an architect named Chase Merriweather, “An alarm will sound, one of those that goes aoogah! aoogah! The room will start filling up with ice-cold water and everyone will have to swim to safety. What do you think of that?”

Merriweather looked over Palmer’s shoulder to where her husband stood. Trainor Trapnell was shaking his head and frantically waving his hands, as if to say, No way! That’s insane!

“Well,” the architect said cautiously. “It’s an interesting concept.”

“I know! Escape rooms are popular right now. My friend Chandler Woodbury has one. It’s at Lakeland Mall, between Razzle-Dazzle Doughnuts and Sweet and Sassy Lingerie, where that store that sold things like blacklight posters and lava lamps used to be. You have to find clues to figure out how to escape from a room done up like a library in a spooky old mansion. This will be much better.”

Palmer beamed complacently. Her sandy blonde hair was cut in an asymmetrical style popularized by an actress with a starring role in a daytime television drama. Palmer was a former dog groomer who had advanced several rungs up the social ladder by marrying Trainor. With her bright pink lipstick and Lilly Pulitzer twin set, she was the apotheosis of an affluent young Atlanta matron.

Palmer and Chandler Woodbury, ostensibly friends, were locked in a mortal combat of one-upmanship. If Chandler had an escape room then Palmer wanted a better one.

“But the logistics,” Trainor said desperately. He drew up a chair and seated himself next to his wife at the polished mahogany conference table in Merriweather’s office. He spread his hands in mute appeal to the architect to put an end to this nonsense. “That’s what they’re called, right? Logistics? Ways of doin’ things? You can’t fill up a room up with water and make people swim out. It’s not safe. What if somebody drowns? And how do you empty the water out afterwards? I don’t see it.”

He turned to Palmer who had folded her arms across her chest and was pouting. “I’m sorry, Chicken Legs, but I think it might be illegal.”

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White Oaks

Trapnell Thriller Book 1

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“An ingeniously dark comic thriller about greed, gluttony and murder that is destined for the big screen.” –Best Thrillers

Aimee Trapnell reluctantly leaves her apartment on Manhattan’s Central Park West to return to her childhood home in Georgia for her father’s ninetieth birthday. Also on hand are her two brothers, wily Marsh and ne’er-do-well Trainor. With a forty-billion-dollar inheritance at stake, they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make the old man happy.

To their shock they learn that what their father wants for his birthday is to kill someone. He doesn’t care who it is. He just wants to know what it’s like to commit murder.

Betrayal, double-dealing, and fast-paced action set the Trapnells on a collision course with an unexpected villain. Their journey takes them from the swamps of Georgia, to Italy’s glittering Amalfi coast, to rugged Yellowstone National Park.

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Chapter 31 – What Peewee Pelletier Found

Earlier that morning a man named Pewee Pelletier drove his pickup truck through a gap in the tall privet hedge in front of White Oaks. A discrete metal sign, white letters on a forest green background, declared it to be the service entrance to the estate.

The truck’s tires crunched on the gravel roadbed as Pewee drove past the kitchen wing, past the greenhouses and the water cascade, water burbling over its stone steps, and down beyond the old slave graveyard. He parked beside the white granite mausoleum. TRAPNELL was carved in stern block letters in the triangular pediment above the door.

It’s only seven-fifteen and already it’s hot as a crotch, Peewee thought, squinting at the white disc that was the sun, blazing mercilessly above the tangle of trees marking the beginning of the swamp. He wanted to finish the day’s work early and go fishing. He’d sweep out the mausoleum and get it looking shipshape for Blanton Trapnell’s big sendoff. Then he’d swing by Holy Redeemer and White Knoll cemeteries and cut the grass before knocking off for the day. With any luck he’d be on the lake in his bass boat by noon, along with a cold six-pack and a container of minnows from Buzzy’s. Perhaps he’d get Gordon Buzzy to sell him a bottle of Old Rocking Chair. He bit into the egg salad sandwich his wife had made for him.

Chewing egg salad on white bread liberally smeared with mayonnaise he looked at the mausoleum and snorted in contempt. The damn thing probably cost more than his house. Rich people, he thought resentfully. At least rich people died, just like everybody else. Blanton Trapnell wouldn’t be driving his Rolls-Royce through town anymore, not deigning to wave at Pewee when Peewee drove past going the other way in his truck.

Peewee always waved when he encountered other drivers. It was the neighborly thing to do, but Blanton Trapnell thought he was too good to acknowledge people like Peewee who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Blanton Trapnell wasn’t neighborly. Now he was dead and good riddance. Let’s see what Saint Peter would have to say about his lack of neighborliness when he showed up at the Pearly Gates. Peewee bit into the dill pickle his wife had packed along with the sandwich. Pickle juice ran down through the beard stubble on his chin as he smiled, thinking of Old Man Trapnell being denied admission to Heaven and instead being cast, shrieking, into a lake of fire.

He crumpled the pieces of wax paper the sandwich and the pickle had been wrapped in and stuck them in the hip pocket of his green Carhartt work pants. Then he took the key hanging from a cardboard tag marked ‘Trapnell’ that Chapman had given him and went to unlock the door.

Leaving the bronze door open to let it air out inside, Peewee got a push broom and a pry bar out of the truck. He carried them into the cool interior of the mausoleum and sniffed cautiously. It smelled musty, like closed-up spaces always did. He also detected the unmistakable stink of decomposition.

The decomp odor wasn’t coming from any of the corpses in the crypts. Those were embalmed and would be as dry as old leather. It was something freshly dead, most likely a possum or a raccoon that had crawled through the ventilation shaft on the roof. Pewee figured he’d find whatever it was lying in the shadows, paws-up. He drew on a pair of rubber work gloves and patted the black plastic trash bag tucked in his belt. Ms. Possum or Mr. Raccoon would be going into the bag. He just hoped they weren’t too gooshy.

A stained glass window in the rear wall threw splashes of red, blue and green over the stone floor. The window’s subject was utterly inexplicable to Peewee: not Jesus or some saint but three naked men being attacked by huge snakes. Peewee stared at it, trying to recall which Bible story it could have come from. There were several involving animals. There was Daniel in the lions’ den, and Jonah and the whale, and one about a talking donkey that got pissed off when its owner kept hitting it with a stick, but he couldn’t think of anything involving snakes, other than the Garden of Eden thing.

“Rich people,” he muttered shaking his head.

He leaned the broom against the wall inside the door. He’d sweep the floor before he locked up.

The double crypt where Blanton Trapnell’s coffin would go was on the left wall, down near the snake window. Trapnell’s second wife was in there and he would be going in beside her. The late Mrs. Trapnell had been a terror. Peewee wouldn’t want to wait for the last trumpet to blow while lying beside a bitch like Deirdre Trapnell. Fortunately he wouldn’t have to. He’d be buried out at Holy Redeemer with his wife and his mama and daddy and the rest of his family. The Trapnells could keep their old mausoleum with its bizarre naked-men-and-snakes window, thank you very much.

Pewee intended to use the pry bar to remove the granite slab known in the funeral trade as a shutter from the front of the double crypt. The shutter was inscribed with Blanton’s name and date of birth, as well as his wife’s name and her dates of birth and death. A stonecutter would add Blanton’s final date and it would go back in place and be sealed, after his bronze casket went in.

The casket was a model called the Chancellor made by the Batesville Casket Company. It cost $25,000. It had a variety of high-end features, including a rounded glass seal, bronze swing-bar handles, fully adjustable inner bed with head and foot velvet pillows and matching velvet blanket and a hidden locking mechanism.

Blanton’s purchase of the most expensive casket among those on display in Chapman’s showroom had been a red letter day for Lycott and Joelle Chapman and their two children. The family celebrated by taking a trip to Jekyll Island, where they’d gone to a water park.

Peewee walked down the center aisle, pausing to kick at a drift of leaves that must have blown in under the door. As he kicked at the leaves, scattering them, his work boot came in contact with something unyielding. He looked down to see what it was and found it was a foot, clad in a narrow, polished black shoe.

The pry bar hit the stone floor with a clatter as Peewee turned tail and ran.

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Jill Hand is a member of International Thriller Writers. Her Southern Gothic novels, White Oaks, and Black Willows, are available on Amazon and from the publisher, Black Rose Writing.

Advance readers called White Oaks a fast-paced, hilarious account of three siblings who are competing for their father’s forty-billion-dollar fortune while trying to prevent the destruction of Planet Earth.

Diane Donovan, senior reviewer from Midwest Book Review praised White Oaks, calling it, “an unusually multifaceted tale that holds the ability to prompt laughter from thriller-style tension.”

A sequel to White Oaks, Black Willows, follows the adventures of the squabbling, dysfunctional Trapnell family. Red Pines, third in the series of Trapnell family thrillers, was just released in April 2024.

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Black Dust by Arla Jones ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: April 7, 2024 in giveaways, suspense, thriller, Uncategorized
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Get ready for a pulse-pounding journey through the darkest corridors of power in the Otis Thorne thriller series!

In the second Otis Thorne thriller, a malevolent alliance triggers a global pandemic, forcing Thorne and Noah into a race against time. Can they unravel the sinister plot?

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Black Dust

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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 2

by Arla Jones

Genre: Thriller, Suspense

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An action-packed thriller for fans of Clancy, Thor, and Flynn, Great for readers of political conspiracies and CIA counterterrorism missions.

In the gripping second installment of the Otis Thorne thriller series, the world is thrust into chaos as a malevolent alliance between Russia and North Korea unleashes a deadly biological weapon upon the United States. The insidious plan triggers a devastating global pandemic, pushing Otis Thorne and his trusted ally, Noah, into a perilous race against time. As they unravel the sinister plot, they find out who is behind the deadly biological attack against their country. With lives hanging in the balance and the fate of nations at stake, Thorne and Noah must navigate a treacherous web of deception, danger, and intrigue to uncover the truth and stop the relentless march of the pandemic.

This second book will leave you breathless and wanting more.

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 1 The Biting Dust

 

 An underground research facility, North Korea, 2027

 

The underground facility was perfect for secret tests, including nuclear and chemical experiments that they did not want any of their enemies or neighboring countries to see on the satellite. The facility was dug deep underground into a volcanic mountain that hadn’t experienced any volcanic activity for years. Only the high-ranking members of the Worker’s Party knew about this facility.

The secret nuclear weapon and chemical weapon research in this facility created an environmental change in the bugs that had come in contact with the research area. The tiny insects that survived the chemical environmental change moved in the air like a cloud of black dust, looking for a living animal or person, and then attaching to the skin. The scientists called these bugs:

무는 먼지 muneun meonji which meant the biting dust.

It was a new form of life, not exactly anything that had existed before, but they were tough and resilient, like cockroaches, and could survive almost anything. The only difference was that these bugs were microscopic and moved together, never individually.

The scientists were both surprised and horrified by what they had created. They knew that, for example, grasshoppers could change their behavior because of crowding, which is called density-dependent phenotypic plasticity and refers to the bugs changing behavior due to environmental factors. The North Korean scientists suspected that something similar had happened to these bugs that had survived the chemical and nuclear research area, and thus, this new form of black bugs appeared on Earth.

When the sun set and it became dark, these bugs searched for their next target, any warm-blooded living thing would do, and they started biting. For some reason, the bugs never moved or bit during the daytime.

The scientists first thought was that the reports of the biting bugs were just imagination or hallucination, but when they got a sample of the black dust under the microscope, the bug looked more like a blackish-green crystal than a normal bug except this crystallized bug was alive. It was a new form of life created by chemical weapons.

The researchers observed that these insects exhibited movement to locate their target specifically during cooler temperatures, typically after sunset. They hypothesized that each minuscule bug functioned like a vampire, extracting blood from the host, resulting in a sensation of biting and itching. This experience often gave the impression of something crawling on the skin, followed by a subsequent sting, with the intensity increasing based on the number of bugs present on the skin. The scientists studied the bugs some more and realized that and realized they could reproduce themselves.

The bugs displayed no distinction between males and females. The researchers observed that the life cycle of adult-sized insects spanned approximately five days, following a developmental period of one week to reach this stage.

At the end of the adult-sized bugs’ life cycle, the insect emitted a cloud of black dust, smaller than its original size and measuring approximately one-fifth of a millimeter. These entities, referred to by scientists as eggs, cracked open resembling a butterfly’s cocoon, revealing larvae inside. These juvenile bugs exhibited rapid growth, reaching the size of an adult, around half a millimeter, within a week. The most troubling discovery was that the scientists could not find any method to kill these bugs or their eggs. They tried all kinds of pesticides to no avail. They even tried to burn a building infested with these bugs, but the bugs survived.

They conceded that there was no established method for exterminating these nightcrawlers. However, the scientists soon recognized that they possessed an unparalleled weapon, unique in the world. It was now imperative to devise a strategy for employing these insects to their advantage against their adversaries.

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The next phase was to experiment with the labor camp prisoners. They chose a distant location in Hoeryong, where the notorious concentration camp was reportedly closed in 2012. However, in reality, it was still running state-supported secret experiments on the remaining political prisoners.

This infamous camp was in North Hamgyong province in northeast North Korea, close to China’s border and about 700 miles away from the Sea of Japan. Regardless of how close the camp was to the Chinese border, not many prisoners escaped.

It was heavily guarded, and the experiments and malnutrition made the prisoners weak and sick. Most of them were brought there in the back of a truck in the middle of the night, so they never saw the outside of the camp and where it was located. They had poor-quality shoes that were not made to walk long distances along the valleys and hills on uneven ground. If they escaped, their prison outfit would not keep them warm during the freezing nights when the temperature dropped below twenty Fahrenheit.

It was the perfect place for the new secret weapon experiment.

The prisoners were never told what the new experiment would be. They were just exposed to it. This time it was the bugs!

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Fathers and Sons

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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 1

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A High-Stake Conspiracy with Historical Roots. A Sci-Fi Political Thriller. Moral Dilemmas. Infiltration of Trusted Institutions. International Espionage. Blackmail and Personal Stakes. Race Against Time.

In ‘Fathers and Sons,’ a riveting thriller unfolds as a clandestine organization threatens to plunge the United States into chaos by undermining both its political stability and the integrity of President Andrew Burr.

Otis Thorne, a former CIA operative, becomes President Burr’s last hope as he unearths a sinister infiltration of the White House, leaving trust in short supply. With the United Nations General Assembly looming, Thorne races against time to expose the conspiracy, exacerbated by the coercive demand that President Burr deliver a specific pro-Russian speech. The stakes intensify as the blackmailers hold the life of the President’s son in the balance, with a series of demands that trace their origins back to the darkest days of WWII, Nazi Germany, and the Soviet Union.

Will Thorne untangle the web of deceit in time to save not only the President’s family but the entire nation from an insidious plot decades in the making?

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Chapter 1 The Secret Meeting

 

On a cold, crisp night in the waning winter days of 2026, a lonely doorman stood in front of a dimly lit restaurant waiting for someone. It was past midnight. Most restaurants in the King Street area of Arlington, Virginia, closed at midnight or earlier. With the constant swarm of customers earlier that same evening, the bright lights and sounds of chatter and music gave way to soothing darkness. The night softened the sharp edges of the buildings and toned down the harsh bright colors of the restaurant signs.

If there had been an observer, he would have noticed a line of limousines arriving. In each one of the limousines was a single passenger. After the passengers got out of their luxurious limousines and walked up the few marble steps to the heavy iron door, the limousines drove quietly away. Each passenger showed his right wrist to the burly-looking doorman, who then opened the door and let the passenger inside after checking it.

An exclusive group of rich and powerful men had gathered for a clandestine meeting. This was their first gathering in person. The men had talked several times on the phone and held video conferences, but they had never met in person. Only Hydra, their leader, had met the participants individually on a few selected occasions. But those meetings had been kept discreet and in remote locations, like his well-guarded dacha, his luxury holiday country home by the Black Sea.

These men wanted to shape the global economy and international politics for the benefit of their homeland and themselves. Operation Pobeda had brought them together. Pobeda means a victory or a coup in the Russian language. The operation had started over seventy years ago and had required lots of money and time to prepare. But the most important thing was that they needed one man on their side who could fulfill their demands and get them what they wanted, namely the president of the United States.

The group called themselves Septem, the Seven. The name, Septem, referred to the number of participants in the group—seven—even though not all of them participated in person in the meetings. The Septem needed one day to start a successful execution of all the activities in Operation Pobeda that would change the world and threaten the stability of the world order.

The ages of the Septem ranged from mid-forties to seventies. Each man had a different tattoo on their right wrist: Phoenix, Hydra, Werewolf, Hippogriff, Cyborg, Nachtkrapp, and Basilisk. Each tattoo represented a mythical or a sci-fi creature. They used their tattoos both as an identity check as well as code names because they did not want to be heard communicating with each other by their real names and talking about their secret operation. Their faces and businesses were too familiar to everyone following the news. If their collaboration had been known, someone might have started asking questions. These men were too clever and too careful to let any outsiders know about Operation Pobeda. They knew that knowledge was both leverage and power. The stakes were high.

When the Septem group members entered the restaurant, they glanced around to ensure it was as private and secure as their leader, Hydra, had promised. The place was empty except for these men who had arrived.

The color scheme inside was of cool grays and blues, with metallic touches on the walls. The tiny lights on the ceiling bathed the room in a soft glow. The thick blue curtains were drawn over the windows so no one would see inside the restaurant. One wooden table was placed in the center of the room. A few flower arrangements of white Callas and purple anemones in tall vases on the pedestals were arranged around the dining room.

The table was set for seven men with as many tablet computers on it. In the middle of the table, a set of glasses and bottles of sparkling water, house wine, brandy, and vodka bottles were ready. However, none of the participants considered this visit a social one.

One seat was empty, but there was a tablet computer because this participant joined the meeting via video call. He had covered his face with a black bird mask called il dottore. The mask had glass openings in the eyes and a long, curved black beak. The bird mask was fitting because his tattoo represented a mythological bird—a Nachtkrapp, a scary night raven, inked inside his right wrist. Just like all the other participants, he showed his wrist to the others for identification purposes. He used voice-altering software that gave his voice a deep metallic sound to make sure that nobody recognized him.

They could have had all the meetings online via video conference call, but none wanted to do that because someone could still be listening, monitoring, and might discover their plans. The man with the Hippogriff tattoo on his wrist owned the restaurant, and no outsider could have planted listening devices there without him knowing it. He also provided limousines for the participants. The most important thing was to keep Operation Pobeda secret. The other reason was that if they had to make difficult decisions, it was always better to do it face-to-face, for example, if they had to sacrifice a member of this group to ensure the operation’s success.

“Is everyone in order?” Hydra, the spokesman, asked with a thick Russian accent. He glanced at the computer screen in front of him. They were all there. The operation was ready to launch.

Hydra was in his early seventies. He was a tall, slender, white-haired man with eyes as friendly as a shark’s. The many-headed serpentine monster, Hydra, was tattooed on the inside of his right wrist. He was one of the oligarchs that had emerged in Russia after its transition from socialism to capitalism, and he was well-connected to the Russian mob and the government. He knew how and who to bribe to get things done in the new Russia. His billions had come from owning media companies in Russia and transferring his investments to Swiss bank accounts before the economic sanctions sank the ruble.

“Yes, Hydra, Operation Pobeda will be set in motion today as agreed,” an elderly man with salt and pepper hair replied. “The doppelganger is ready to play his part.” He had a Basilisk tattoo, a legendary reptile that can kill with a single glance.

“Any new developments?” Hydra asked. His icy gaze went around the table. Some of the participants faced his stare with blank, brave looks, and some turned their eyes toward the tablets in front of them. Everyone feared Hydra, their government ally, their strategist, not just because of his fortune but because of his influence and his high-level allies in Russia.

“Everything is going as planned. No delays, no changes. My men are in place and ready to go to the airport,” a man wearing a black leather vest and pants replied. He had a huge, fiery-looking Werewolf with flaming eyes tattooed on his right wrist. He looked like a member of a motorcycle gang. He was in his mid-forties and had earned his fortune in drugs, sex, collecting debts, and later setting up legal shell companies to hide his more illicit businesses.

“Thank you for the update, Werewolf,” Hydra replied and asked the one person participating via video conference, “Do you have anything else to share with the rest of us, Nachtkrapp?”

“The President won’t have a clue what hit him,” Nachtkrapp replied with a metallic voice, but you could still hear a slight Bostonian accent.

“Everything seems to be in order. “If there is nothing else, then we will meet again after the first phase of Operation Pobeda is over,” Hydra said, ending the clandestine meeting.

It had started raining, and the raindrops glinted in the streetlights like silver silk. The doorman held a large umbrella for each man until they got into their limousines. Then he went back for the next one. Hydra was the first to leave, and Werewolf was the last. Each man left the same way they came, alone and in a dark limousine with tinted windows. The doorman closed the restaurant doors and turned off the lights.

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Enthusiastic about crafting high-octane thrillers packed with action and unexpected plot twists, Arla Jones, blends her personal experiences to create tales that will set your heart pounding. With each keystroke, she conjures compelling characters, some you’ll root for, and others you’ll love to despise. Beyond the keyboard, the author finds solace in gardening and draws inspiration from the vibrant world around her. Immerse yourself in her stories, where danger and desire collide, and be prepared for an unforgettable, exhilarating journey. Brace yourself, dear reader, as Arla Jones is poised to take you on a thrilling ride you won’t easily forget.

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A Peek Inside The Guest House by Bonnie Traymore

Posted: April 5, 2024 in Excerpt, thriller
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THE GUEST HOUSE
by Bonnie Traymore
April 1-5, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

He holds out his business card, and she plucks it from his fingers without touching them. “Hope to see you around, Allie Dawson,” he says. That was over a month ago. It seemed too good to be true, but Allie told herself to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut. That was her first mistake. When she saw Laura Foster’s email welcoming her into a cohort of grant recipients, Allie literally jumped for joy. She was headed to Silicon Valley with a chance to bring her innovative product to market. She’s deaf with a cochlear implant, and she’s developed a screen that can clip onto eyeglasses and caption speech in real time. But she had no idea how tight the rental market would be, or how cutthroat the competition is for everything from housing to venture capital. So, after a futile search to find a short-term apartment she could afford, she rented a guest house from a chummy real estate agent who approached her at a coffee shop.

But it’s clear now that she should have trusted her instincts. Because there’s something off about her landlord. And his moody wife. And the cryptic Hungarian guy renting his master suite.

Are they after her technology? She knows what it feels like to see her life flash before her eyes, and she doesn’t need that kind of stress right now.

So why is she still living there?

And has she already seen too much?

Innovation, greed, and danger collide in The Guest House, Silicon Valley Series Book 2, a stand-alone sequel to the best-selling hit page-turner The Stepfamily.
Praise for The Guest House:

“This twisty, spine-tingling thriller will have you hooked to the very last page.” ~ Leslie Lutz, Award-winning author of Fractured Tide

“The Guest House grabs you by the throat from the very first page and never lets go.” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the award-winning Clare Carlson series

“The suspense was at an all time high and I devoured this book in a few hours. The twists were twisting in this one! I was invested and very entertained while reading this. Traymore did a great job weaving a tale that was gripping while also educating me on the D/deaf or hard of hearing community” ~ NetGalley/Amazon

“This was a quick and easy read for me. As a reader who loves a psychological thriller it’s sometimes easy to see through the plots, but this story had me guessing for the most part until the end. Just the right level of spooky for me without the blood and gore that some authors choose to use. Would definitely recommend.” ~ NetGalley/Amazon

“With its blend of suspense, mystery, and compelling characters, “The Guest House” offers a thrilling reading experience that will keep readers guessing and turning pages late into the night. Traymore’s exploration of complex themes and her inclusion of diverse characters, including those from the D/deaf community, adds depth and richness to the narrative, making this a must-read for fans of psychological thrillers and suspenseful fiction alike.” ~ Amazon

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Published by: Pathways Publishing Publication Date: March 1, 2024 Number of Pages: 300

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:
PROLOGUE
One thing I’ve realized over the years is that not everyone has what it takes to go the distance when the time comes. If you want something done right, you need to be prepared to do it yourself. I’m committed to reaching my goals, whatever the costs. If I could achieve them without spilling any blood, of course, that would be my preference. I have killed before though, and I’ll do it again if that’s what it takes to succeed. But only if I have no choice. That’s what separates me from the crazies. I get no pleasure out of harming people. In fact, it leaves me feeling very empty. But I won’t stop until I get what I need. And I’ll eliminate anyone who stands in my way.  

ONE

Allie
I’m half awake when I feel a thud reverberate through my apartment and shake the bed. I spring up, and my heart is immediately in my throat. Is this what an earthquake feels like? Grabbing my phone, I check to see if there’s an alert. It’s 3:17 in the morning, and there’s nothing of concern on my phone, but maybe it takes a while to get the word out. I’m new to California, so I have no idea what an earthquake feels like or if anyone even bats an eye at something like this. I hold still for a few minutes, and I don’t feel any more shaking. I reach for my speech processor on the nightstand. I’m deaf, and without my cochlear implant I hear nothing. Now I’m concerned there might be an intruder or some other threat lurking outside my door. The small guest house I rent sits behind a stately, expensive home, and the owners have been away for the last week. There’s a boarder who rents a suite inside the main house. I thought he was still around, although it’s hard to tell with him. The guy’s kind of a ghost, and I don’t normally run into him much. Once my speech processor is in place, I notice some kind of intermittent scraping noise outside. A tingling sensation crawls up my scalp. They have a dog, and she’s not barking. But then I haven’t heard her at all this week, come to think of it. Maybe they took her with them? I peek out the window, poised to call 9-1-1 if someone is burglarizing the house, and I spot my landlord—at least I think it’s my landlord—dragging a large duffel bag across the lawn. It seems heavy, and he’s straining to move it. He whips his head around towards me, and I quickly duck down and out of sight. Did he see me? My heart starts to race. I hear a voice call out. “Hurry up,” it says. A woman’s voice? I’m terrified of the dark, so I keep the bathroom light on when I sleep. I’m hoping it’s not bright enough for him to see inside my place. I lift the curtain just a hair and look out again. His back is to me, so hopefully he didn’t notice me. What the hell is he doing? I thought they were away until tomorrow. Did they come home early and I didn’t hear them? But this is strange. And this living arrangement made me uneasy from the start. Maybe I need to look for another place, although the thought of that puts my stomach in knots. It’s a nice unit at a decent price, and the rental market is extremely tight here. Perhaps he has a good explanation for what he’s doing, although I can’t imagine what it could be. I double-check the dead bolt on the door, turn off the bathroom light, and get back into bed. I’m not taking my speech processor off though, so I probably won’t be able to get back to sleep; I’m used to total silence. I grab my phone, hold it under my comforter, and start thumbing through apartment listings as I wait for the sun to rise.  
One month earlier

TWO

Allie
I rush into Starbucks to grab a pick-me-up before I embark on my next round of apartment viewings. It’s packed in here, and I need to use the bathroom. Badly. I’ve never been to this Starbucks before. Rancho Shopping Center, according to my app. “I’ve got a to-go order,” I say to the barista. “Is there a restroom in here?” “Over there,” she says, pointing towards the other side of the café. “Past the pickup area.” I’m also hungry and hot. But I’m on a tight schedule, so although I’d like to chill for a while, I need to keep going. I locate the restroom and, thankfully, there’s no line. When I come out, I rush up to the counter to look for my drink order. I pick up a few cups that could be mine and examine them, but my latte’s not ready yet. I let out a long sigh and glance at my watch. A frazzled worker glares at me but quickly softens her look. I offer her an apologetic smile, not wanting to stress her out any further. I’m surprised she heard me over the whir of the blenders and the milling of the coffee grinder. They’re very backed up and seem hopelessly understaffed. I worked my way through college at jobs like that, so I know exactly how she feels. And if I can’t get my idea off the ground before my funding dries up, I might be right there behind that counter with her. But I can’t be late for my next appointment, so if my order doesn’t come up soon, I’ll need to leave without it. I’ve just finished a two-week boot camp along with the other women in my cohort, a requirement of the organization that gave me the funding for my start-up venture. I’ve also been looking at apartments on this visit, and I’m starting to think I might have to give up and go back to Milwaukee, at least for now, which is not an ideal option. The man standing to my right says something, but I don’t catch it. I can’t hear anything out of my right ear, and the background noise is making it harder. And I remind myself that this is exactly why I’m here, trying to bring my concept to market. I turn to face him so I can read his lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” “New in town?” he asks. “Yes. Is it that obvious?” “You went to the wrong side of the store for your pickup,” he says, “and you’re holding a rental car key.” His wandering eyes look out from a kind, almost jovial face. I glance down at the key in my hand, wondering if I should be more discreet. I don’t need to advertise the fact that I’m a single woman traveling alone. “You’re very observant,” I say. “Not always,” he replies. I hope he’s not hitting on me. He’s nearly twice my age if I had to guess. There are a lot of rich guys around here who can probably get women half their age to go out with them. He’s dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, sporting a Patek Philippe on his wrist—and not an entry-level one. Money’s a compensating factor for some women, but not for me. Not for that big of an age gap. Then I notice a wedding ring and relax a little. Perhaps he’s just being friendly. “Looking for a place to live?” he asks. “Um, yes.” “I’m in real estate,” he says. “Oh.” I nod. That explains it. Now I’m going to get the sales pitch. I should tell him to move on and not waste his time. I’m not planning to buy. But I realize he’s just doing his job. Maybe I can learn something from him. Networking in person isn’t my strong suit, and I need to get better at it. “Mike Tabernaky,” he says. “Allie Dawson,” I reply. “Is it just yourself, or do you have a family?” “Just me.” Saying that out loud makes me feel vulnerable all of a sudden. “Well, it just so happens we have a guest house behind our home that’s become available. It’s nearby, in Cupertino. Just over the border from Los Altos. Perfect for a single person.” Generally, I’m a trusting person, but this seems a bit too good to be true. My mind flashes to the shower scene in Psycho. “That’s great, thanks. But I think I may have found something.” He nods as he chews on his lower lip. “Allie? Your order’s ready,” the barista calls out. “Well, that’s me,” I say. “I need to run. Nice to meet you, Mike.” I offer him a fluttery wave and flash my best Midwestern-girl smile. If I end up living in this neighborhood, I’ll probably see him again, so I don’t want to seem rude or unappreciative. Plus, he might know some venture capitalists he can introduce me to. “Here. Take my card. In case it doesn’t work out.” He reaches out to me with his business card perched between his thumb and forefinger. I pluck the card from his fingers without touching them. “Thanks,” I say. “You’re welcome, Allie Dawson. Hope to see you around.” I head outside and mentally prepare myself for another round of apartment viewings, trying to lower my expectations. The market’s supposedly softening for renters, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. And without a steady stream of income, I’ve been having a hard time qualifying for a place to rent. I gave up my stable job as a luxury branding specialist to pursue this opportunity. At the moment, I’m hoping that wasn’t the biggest mistake of my life. It’s a competitive market, and I’m sure there are a ton of prospective renters who seem more desirable, with longer track records in the area. That’s why I’m a little overdressed for the occasion, in my red cap-sleeved Tory Burch dress paired with strappy black sandals. I want to make a good impression and try to appear a bit more mature than my twenty-nine years. When I open the door to my rental, a white Kia Soul, the heat inside the car hits me and nearly knocks me off my feet. It’s late August, so hopefully it will cool down soon. They say it doesn’t get this hot here too often—just my luck. I see heat waves radiating off the black vinyl interior. I run around to the other side and open the door to air it out a little. I don’t want to show up sweaty and disheveled. Then I shut the passenger door, head back over to the driver’s side, and hop in. The seat is warm but, thankfully, not burning hot. I sit down, strap myself in, and realize that I still have the business card in my hand. I tuck it into my wallet, start the car, crank the a/c, and pull up the address on my app. Then I take one last look in the rearview mirror, apply some lipstick, and fluff my hair. I make a mental note to find a hairdresser. My dirty blonde roots are showing, and I’m badly in need of a trim. Still, I’m presentable enough. The dark circles under my eyes are gone because the loud people renting the front half of my Airbnb left yesterday morning, and I finally got a good night’s sleep. I’m not used to sleeping with my speech processor on, so any noise at all bothers me. I felt vulnerable sleeping without it in an unfamiliar place though, so it seemed safer to sacrifice deep sleep. Last night was better, and the extra hit of caffeine is starting to kick in. I can do this. *** Today’s apartment search was even worse than the previous ones, probably because it’s Saturday and everyone’s available. I had four appointments, and each rental had a steady stream of prospective tenants, including the unit that was totally unacceptable to me with no air conditioning, smelly, dog-pee-soaked carpets, and communal laundry. Even the cramped one-bedroom suite I’m sitting in right now is better than that one, but I can’t afford this Airbnb for much longer, even if I could stand sharing part of a house with a revolving door of random travelers. I’m burning too much cash and energy on this trip, and although I filled out applications at the other three apartments, I’m not holding my breath. Now I’m taking some time to regroup. I decide I’ll reach out to the organization that helped me with my pre-seed funding and see if they can give me some suggestions. I reach into my wallet to grab the executive director’s business card. But I come across the card I got from Mike Tabernaky, the real estate agent I met at Starbucks, with the guest house. I pull that out instead. He’s a luxury property specialist and the principal broker at the firm. Maybe he does have a pipeline of wealthy venture capitalists he can introduce me to. At the very least, I should try to connect with him on social media. But why would he be giving his card out to people at Starbucks when the rental market is this hot? Perhaps he doesn’t want to deal with a parade of random strangers at his home? Or maybe he wants a single person, but he can’t say that in the advertising because of antidiscrimination laws. I do a search and find his website. It’s a small firm with two other agents and a few upscale listings on the site. I tell myself that if I’m going to be a successful entrepreneur, I need to take some risks. If an opportunity like this dropped in my lap, maybe it’s fate. Part of the success story I’ll tell one day about how I was ready to give up when I found a place to live from a random guy I met at Starbucks who introduced me to so-and-so…and then it all fell into place. Am I this desperate? Yes, but I’m also not stupid. I’ll make an appointment to see the unit, and I’ll have my brother on the phone with me when I go see it, just in case. It’ll be fine. I pull out my phone, take a deep breath, and punch in Mike’s number. I’m a little surprised when it goes to voicemail and a little relieved. It would be more concerning if he was sitting around waiting for my call. Perhaps it’s rented already and I missed my shot. The thought of that makes me want it more. I open up my email and start drafting a message to Mina Rao, Executive Director at Start-Her, the accelerator that’s sponsoring me, hoping that something comes through before I have to hang it up and head back east rather than burn through the money they gave me before I even get started.  

THREE

Laura
It’s Monday morning and I’m in my home office when Mina calls. The ringtone wakes my sleeping three-month-old, and Kai starts wailing. I could kick myself for not remembering to silence my phone. I pick up the call, put it on speaker, and reach for him. “This can wait, Laura,” Mina says to me as Kai continues his fussing. It annoys me that my subordinate is second-guessing my decision to pick up the call, and I fight the urge to snap at her. She means well, but Mina’s not the only person in my life insinuating that I should take more time off. It’s wearing on my frazzled nerves. It’s not the baby or my career that’s making me stressed. It’s the horrible image that haunts my dreams. The one I can’t tell anyone about. But that’s not Mina’s fault, so I take a deep breath and let it go. “No. He’ll settle down. Hang on a minute.” “Take your time.” I lift my shirt, place him on my breast, and grab a pen. “Okay. What’s up?” I ask. Mina runs through a slew of information in record time. She’s my executive director. We met at a now-defunct start-up that folded a little over a year ago. I’ve since founded an accelerator for female entrepreneurs, and my first class of ten awardees has received an initial round of funding. The timing is less than ideal with a newborn, but I’m not letting motherhood stop me. There are some promising ideas on the table, ones that could really make a difference in the world. One woman developed a prototype of a blood-testing machine that could be a game changer in health care, if she can bring it to market. Another is working on a clip-on screen that would allow eyeglass wearers to read captions of conversations in real time. Now is not the time to step back. “What happened to Allie Dawson? Did she find a place yet?” I ask. Allie Dawson is working on the caption device, and her project excites me because it serves an unmet need in the market, it won’t get bogged down in a ton of regulatory red tape, and it’s not overly capital-intensive to produce. “Not yet, but she has a lead on a unit in Cupertino. She’s got an appointment this afternoon, and she’s a little wary of going by herself, so I offered to go with her,” Mina says. “Why?” “It’s a guest house. Of some real estate broker guy who approached her at Starbucks.” Mina gives me the rundown. It sounds fine to me, but I can see how a single woman might be a little uncomfortable renting a place from a stranger who befriended her at a coffee shop, although that’s what real estate professionals tend to do. It’s nice that Mina offered to go with her. “Give me his name and I’ll check him out,” I say. We go over the rest of the items on my list and sign off. I’m more tired than usual this morning and not only because of Kai. I had the nightmare again. It took hours for me to fall back to sleep, only to be woken again an hour later by my baby’s cries. I can’t go on like this. I search my inbox for the therapist I contacted a few weeks back, to finally schedule an intake appointment. But a call comes in from a venture capitalist I’ve been courting, and then Kai needs to be changed, so it goes on the back burner once again. *** My husband, Peter, enters my home office, and I glance at the clock. It’s after six already. The hours flew by, and I still haven’t reached out to the therapist. “How was your day?” He places his hands on my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. Then he scoops up Kai and cradles him in his arms. “Fine. And yours?” “Always a ten.” My husband’s been on cloud nine since I told him about our unplanned pregnancy. I must admit, I’d been looking forward to an empty nest after over a decade of raising my stepchildren. It took me a while to get used to the idea of starting all over. But I’m enjoying motherhood far more than I’d anticipated. It doesn’t hurt that we came into some substantial money around the same time we found out about the baby, from stock gains at Peter’s biotech company, which brought a cancer drug to market. There are no financial pressures bearing down on us anymore. Not like there were before. But I’m not about to back down on my career, partly because I love what I’m doing, but also because slowing down might give me too much time to think about the craziness of last year. Four attempts on my life. The threat is gone, but not the anxiety. I sometimes wonder if Peter’s as jubilant as he seems. How can he be, after everything that’s happened? But his happiness seems genuine, and I’m even a little envious of his ability to move on and forget about it. “I have some more work to finish up. Can you take him for a bit?” “Just try and stop me.” “Thanks.” He starts walking out the door, and I go back to my inbox to search for the therapist’s email. Then he interrupts me again. “Laura?” “Yes?” “Why don’t you try and move the nanny to full-time?” Ugh. We’ve talked this to death, and I’m so sick of repeating myself. “I can manage for now. I don’t want someone here all the time, hovering over me. I told you.” “You like her?” “I do.” “Then just get her here full-time. You can lock yourself in your office, and she can sit and wait around until you need her. It’s better than losing a good nanny. What if someone else offers her full-time?” “Peter. Enough!” I throw up my hands. “I need to focus right now. If you want to help me, then please, give me some space. This isn’t helping.” He thinks I’m on edge because the baby and my career are too much for me. But that’s not the reason. His eyes widen, and then he lowers them in defeat. It’s obvious my words stung. His expression is somber as he turns from me and walks out the door. “Close the door, please,” I say, in a softer tone. Then I rest my heavy head in my hands and take a deep breath. I remind myself that he means well, even if he is annoying me. I know I’m being short with him, and that’s another thing to put on my list for the therapist. How to get over the resentment I feel towards my husband. I pull up the therapist’s email, click on her scheduler, and secure an appointment for next week. Next, I locate the web page of Mike Tabernaky, luxury real estate broker. At first glance, he seems legitimate. But it does give me pause that someone like him is renting out his guest house. The market’s pretty hot right now, and he has some high-end listings on his page. It seems a little desperate. I check his broker credentials on the state website, and he’s in good standing. No formal complaints. No red flags. There’s nothing in the criminal or civil databases either, aside from a few speeding tickets. Maybe he has kids in college, or perhaps he’s just the kind of guy who likes to maximize his property value. We live in an expensive area, and people do rent their guest houses. I tell myself it’s fine and mentally cross it off my list. There’s more to do, as always, but none of it is urgent. It’s dinnertime, so I close my laptop and head out to join my family, vowing to be more congenial to Peter. But I’m not telling him about the therapist. He doesn’t know what’s bothering me, and it needs to stay that way for now. *** Excerpt from The Guest House by Bonnie Traymore. Copyright 2024 by Bonnie Traymore. Reproduced with permission from Bonnie Traymore. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Bonnie Traymore:

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Bonnie Traymore

Bonnie Traymore is the award-winning, Amazon best selling author of page-turner mystery/thrillers that hit close to home. Her books feature strong but relatable female protagonists. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With Bonnie Traymore: www.BonnieTraymore.com Goodreads BookBub – @btraymore Instagram – @bonnietraymore Twitter/X – @btraymore Facebook – @bonnietraymore

 

 

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Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ Helluland by C.R. Lindstrom

Posted: March 29, 2024 in giveaways, thriller, urban fantasy, YA
Tags: , , ,
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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Helluland organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author C.R. Lindstrom will award a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card. randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Helluland

by C.R. Lindstrom

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Genre: Geo Political Thriller crossed with a Young Adult Urban Fantasy

Synopis

A GIFT AWAKENING. A LEGEND REVEALED.

In a remote corner of the Arctic, unexplained phenomenon haunt an isolated community. Several people have disappeared, and somehow young Erika Holstrom knows why. Still reeling from the loss of her mother, she escapes to university, only to be followed by unsettling visions of the future.

When a Russian submarine vanishes in the far North, Erika’s nightmares suggest the answers lay buried deep in her family history. Now, just as the melting polar ice releases its sinister secrets, Erika and her friends are in a race against time to convince the sceptical authorities what is really happening in her Arctic homeland, before it’s too late.

Will they succeed, or is the frozen North lost forever…

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Katherine was staring down the Russian defence attaché when her intelligence officer burst in the room. Realising Katherine was not alone, the J2 covered his mouth while whispering to her. “General, the USS Samuel Ronaldson is reporting they’ve lost contact with their helo.”

Damn.

“Colonel Borishov,” she breathed, “you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.”

The attaché started to protest before Katherine closed the door behind her, leaving the Russian with her chief of staff.

The Arctic headquarters in Pond Inlet’s community centre was already alive with activity. Katherine took her position at the head of a series of flat screens and looked to her J3 operations officer. “Report, please.”

“Ma’am, at approximately 20:44 Zulu, the USS Samuel Ronaldson, operating in the south-western search zone, dispatched one of its helos to act as overwatch due to deteriorating sea ice conditions.” The J3 pointed to the electronic map to his front. Katherine mentally deducted five hours from the reported time, since Zulu was based on Greenwich Mean Time, or GMT in England. The operations officer continued. “General, roughly thirty minutes later the Russian frigate Nikolay Khabalov entered the Ronaldson’s search area from the south and dispatched its own helo.”

Katherine’s face was tense. She could tell where this was leading, but hoped she was wrong. The J3 pressed on.

“Though there was considerable electronic interference at the time, at roughly 21:20 Zulu, radar contact was lost with the Khabalov and Ronaldson helos. From what we gather, they were both within the same grid square when this occurred. Ma’am, at this point we are assuming a midair collision between the helicopters. The Ronaldson has undertaken its search and rescue procedures, and we believe the Khabalov is doing the same.”

Katherine looked about the room. All eyes were on her.

“Any survivors, J3?” she asked quietly.

“Unknown at this time, ma’am, though no emergency beacons have been detected.”

Katherine pulled a notepad from the right cargo pocket of her pants and scribbled down several points before directing the operations officer.

“Engage the search and rescue protocols if not already done, and request SAR aircraft to support us from Goose Bay and Thule. Open up a secure line to both Ottawa and Washington.”

The headquarters staff started carrying out her orders when Katherine glanced grudgingly at her closed office door.

“J3, please ask Colonel Borishov to join me. He deserves to know what has happened.”

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About Author C.R. Lindstrom:

C.R. Lindström is a debut author with a passion for lore and history.

Amazon / Goodreads / Books2Read

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Wet, Warm And Noisy by David A. Willson ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: March 26, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, Science Fiction, thriller
Tags: , , ,
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Wet, Warm and Noisy by David A. Willson Banner

Wet, Warm and Noisy

by David A. Willson

March 4-29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

A supernatural crime thriller set in Alaska, the Last Frontier…

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Surrounded by the unforgiving climate of the frozen north, Jake Ward, a tenacious Alaska State Trooper Investigator and cancer survivor, is on a relentless quest to regain his health and return to full-duty status. But Ward’s world takes a bone-chilling turn during a routine polygraph examination when a woman escapes custody, leaving an officer critically injured. What started as an ordinary investigation transforms into a complex web of intrigue, where medical experimentation and consciousness collide. In “Wet, Warm, and Noisy,” Willson masterfully blurs the boundaries between law enforcement and the supernatural, leading readers on a heart-pounding journey through a realm where the tangible and the mysterious intersect. With time slipping away, can Ward decipher the enigmas that defy reason, or will forces that transcend human experience overwhelm him? Author David A. Willson, with over two decades of experience as an Alaska State Trooper, brings a rare authenticity to crime fiction that will both enlighten and captivate you. Prepare yourself for an electrifying thriller that challenges the very foundations of our reality.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Speculative Crime Thriller

Published by: Seeker Press Publication Date: March 2024 Number of Pages: 236 ASIN: B0CR4BV1XP Series: A Jake Ward Novel, 1

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

I don’t know what it is about frozen tundras that draws me to stories that occur in those environments. Perhaps it’s the cold, harsh environment. And how the characters have to survive it along with whatever means them harm. Perhaps it’s the characters themselves. They have to be double tough to survive and thrive. Or perhaps it’s the group dynamics that must happen on a place so cutoff, so isolated. It’s work together or survival of the fittest.

There were several things I especially loved about this book. One was the characters. They were genuine, with many flaws and vulnerabilities. Each had more than one challenge to overcome. Another was the inside look at investigating from a lawman’s perspective. Even the small steps were intriguing. And  then there was the supernatural element. Something totally foreign to me that felt so real, like it could happen. Last but not least was this story unfolded from several perspectives which made the characters that much more real to me. Explained why they reacted or did what they did.

Wet, Warm And Noisy. There’s a particular quote that explains the mysterious title. It’s remained in my head. Along with everything the author incorporated into this supernatural tale of quantum brain activity. I’m happy to say this book delivered in every way and I’m going to be watching this author now. I have my fingers and toes crossed that he will be writing a sequel, or several.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Palmer, Alaska – Today
Cool springtime winds kicked up across the shooting range just outside the Palmer city limits. Behind the long mound of dirty ice and gravel that served as a backstop, the majestic Chugach mountains, half-covered in snow, stood proudly in the distance as two men faced a target stand. The target was cardboard, the outline of a human torso stapled to two upright posts. The men were real, however. One was an Alaska State Trooper firearms instructor serving as range master. The other was Trooper Investigator Jacob Ward. The shot timer sounded and Ward’s right hand went to his hip. In a fluid motion, his thumb defeated the retention mechanism and his fingers clasped the handgrip to free the .40 caliber Glock pistol from his belt, then pointed it toward the target. At least he hadn’t gotten hung up on the holster this time. Grip. Clear. Rock-and-lock. Almost a second had already passed when his left hand moved from its place on his solar plexus to the pistol, completing his grip on the gun. The smack step. He pushed it forward to the target, closing one eye as he focused on the front sight. The look step. He imagined his index finger pulling the slack off the trigger as he prepared to deliver two shots, center mass, but couldn’t be sure, because he couldn’t feel it. Not even a bit. Pop. Pop. Two shots. One had gone early, and hit wide of the target because his presentation was terrible. It’d been too long since he’d been to the range and the results were showing. Then, of course, there was the other issue. He aimed the gun higher, focusing on the head of the paper target. Focus. His finger started to pull back again when the shot timer beeped again. Pop. Too late. “Overtime,” the range master said, as if Jake didn’t know. It was his third penalty in as many rounds. “First shot went off early, which wouldn’t be a problem if you had a better presentation, but it’s wide. And slow.” “Yeah.” “Fingers still numb?” “Nah,” Ward lied, then turned back and forth, doing his safety scans before inserting a full magazine and replacing the pistol into the holster at his hip. Frustrated and nervous, he needlessly adjusted his hearing protection. A breeze swept across the range, startling him as it brought a chill to his shaved head. Maybe he should have worn something warmer than his State Trooper ball cap, but the blue BDUs and cap were as close to a uniform as he could get until he got approval for full duty. He wanted to feel like a Trooper today. In a bad way. “Are you pushing this too soon? The Captain is happy to keep you on light duty for a while yet.” “If I don’t get out here and just do it, I’ll never qualify. Neuropathy or not.” “True. But with three overtimes already, I’m not sure you’re gonna make any progress with a qual course today.” The burly range master took a step closer, a concerned look on his face. Ward had rarely seen the man show any feeling – he was all business. “Everyone knows you shoot well, but you’ve had a rough go lately. You’ll get there, but not all at once. Let’s ditch the course and do some slow presentations. Dry practice, maybe. Fundamentals.” But Ward didn’t move, instead squaring up to the target. It wasn’t just the neuropathy and numb fingers. He had weak toes and shaky hands. And shaky confidence. But he wouldn’t get his mojo back by sitting at a desk. And pity didn’t help one bit. “Suit yourself,” the range master said, then let out a huff and took a step back. He paused a moment, then raised his voice back to range levels. “Again, fail to stop drill at seven yards. Five seconds from the holster.” Ward focused, his eyes drilling a hole in the target where he wanted the shots to hit. “Shooter ready!” The timer sounded. * * * The drive to work along the Glenn Highway was uneventful, other than a speeder that insisted on doing eighty-five, tailgating everyone who dared occupy their lane. If he’d been driving his assigned vehicle, Ward would have activated his emergency lights and pulled the punk over for a friendly conversation. But light duty status means no Trooper rig unless you have special permission, not even an unmarked one. And no gun, at least until he could qualify. The occasional wind gust caused Ward’s blue Chevy pickup to sway within the lanes, distracting him from the sound of the political commentary streaming through the truck’s speakers. The talk radio host paused for a news report announcing a shooting at a gas station in Anchorage last night, municipal budget cuts, and something about a missing college kid. There would always be crime, and therefore, plenty of job security. The traffic got thicker as Ward traveled through Eagle River, Anchorage’s closest suburb, then even worse as he exited off the highway onto Muldoon Road. Muldoon became Tudor Road, and he turned into the parking lot of the Alaska Bureau of Investigation. He parked the truck and came through the side entrance, stopping at the break room to see if the coffee was rolling yet, hoping that a fellow caffeine addict had beaten him to work today. The empty pot announced no such luck. A few minutes later, he welcomed a steady stream of black goodness into the pot and he was on his way down the hall to the office. The Alaska Bureau of Investigation’s Technical Crimes Unit was a modest space in a boring, rectangular building in east Anchorage. What happened between those walls, however, was anything but boring. One sergeant, two civilian techs and three investigators were involved in some of the biggest criminal investigations in Alaska. Even when they didn’t have primary case responsibility, they provided critical support to other officers. It was the variety that had attracted Ward to this kind of work. Sure, he had a talent for technology, which helped get the job, but that wasn’t why he was here. What attracted him was the fact that no two days were ever the same. He could write a search warrant for a child exploitation case in the morning, then do a forensic computer exam for a homicide case before lunch. He might kick a door on a building search, only to be called away to sit shotgun in a helicopter, acting as a spotter for a search and rescue. The variety of work duties assigned to an Alaska State Trooper Investigator was unparalleled. Unless you were on light duty. “Ward!” It was Sergeant Ballack down the hall, shouting from his office. Ward got to his feet, snagging his notebook and a pen on the way out of his cubicle. That shout always came with some ‘other duty as assigned,’ or so the trooper saying goes. As always, the sergeant’s office smelled old, musty maybe. He didn’t know if it was Ballack’s bad cologne or his shampoo, but then his sense of smell kinda sucked. Chemotherapy will do that to ya. The Sergeant turned to face Ward as he entered, grabbing a few papers off his desk as he did so. The man had quite the glorious head of hair and it probably took some pretty fancy conditioner to keep its form, adding a good three inches to his already impressive height. “Whatcha got for me, boss?” “Have a seat,” Ballack said. He was impeccably dressed, as always, with a sharp red tie and blue tailored suit. “How ya feeling?” “I’m fine.” “Ward, you’re not fine. Cut the crap. Nobody who’s battling pancreatic cancer is fine. Serious. How are you?” “Surgery went well enough. Chemo is over and my oncologist thinks I’ve got a shot. Neuropathy is getting better every day. I’m ready for full duty, sir.” “My wife has a friend that works at a cancer clinic. She said you’re not out of the woods till you hit five years. Is that right?” Heck, I’d love to make it five years. A few months ago, I thought I was toast. “With pancreatic, it comes back fast, or it doesn’t come back at all. If I make it two years, I’m probably ok.” He didn’t tell him about the other problems, though. Digestive issues causing low energy, the numb fingers and toes, memory lapses, concentration, yada yada. Ya can’t kill cancer cells without killing a lot of other stuff, apparently. “Don’t rush it, ok?” Ballack put down the papers. “I can keep you busy on light duty for a long time.” Not the words he wanted to hear, and standing in the Sarge’s office discussing death and light duty, which was almost as bad, tested Ward’s patience. “What do you have there, Sarge?” “Polygraph. You game?” “Absolutely. What’s the case?” “Palmer patrol picked up some crazy chick on grave shift. Ahem. I mean, ‘a person in crisis.’ She tried to break into a warehouse a couple of nights ago. Then she babbled about being kidnapped, something about a kid, all kinds of nutty stuff.” Ballack rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking poly her, see if she’s cracked. If her claims are legit, we’ll follow up. What do you think?” “I’ve been looking for some actual police work to do.” He reached for the paper. “Find out about the kidnapping. If it happened at all. If you get admissions about why she was trying to get into the warehouse, well, that’s really the target.” “We rarely run polygraphs on victims.” “She’s full of crap. She’s a doper who tried to rob a building and we want to know why. Poly is a pretext for interrogation on the burg.” “That’s fine. I haven’t run a poly in months and I’m going blind on all those public information requests you keep handing me. It’ll give me something real to do.” Ward moved to walk out of the office. “Ward.” He turned back. “Take it easy, son.” “It’s a polygraph, boss.” Ward furrowed his brow. “I’ll survive.” “Sergeant Vance told me about the range.” Crap. “Don’t push it, Ward. I’m not talking about the polygraph, or the range. Just in general. Bodies take time to heal and you’ve been through hell.” He has no idea. “Got it, boss.” “I mean it. We’ll wait for you to be strong.” Ward bit his lip, trying to hold back, but the pity was too much for his pride. “I got it, ok? Got it. You care. Everyone cares. Don’t rush it. Loud and clear. I’m good.” Then he walked out of the room. *** Excerpt from Wet, Warm and Noisy by David A. Willson. Copyright 2024 by David A. Willson. Reproduced with permission from David A. Willson. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author David A. Willson:
David A. Willson

David A. Willson, a retired Alaska State Trooper with more than two decades of service, brings unmatched authenticity to his crime fiction. During his career, he served as a certified police instructor, polygraph program coordinator, court-certified computer forensics expert and supervisor of both Major Crimes and Technical Crimes units. With over a decade in an investigative capacity, he supervised thousands of felony cases, chasing Alaska’s most dangerous criminals.

Catch Up With Our Author: www.DavidAWillson.com Goodreads BookBub – @DavidAWillson Facebook – @DWillsonAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

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Struck Dead by Andrea Kane ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: March 25, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, suspense, thriller
Tags: , , ,
2

Struck Dead by Andrea Kane Banner

Struck Dead

by Andrea Kane

March 4 – 29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

The fragile line between life and death… Families that will never be the same…

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When a tragic hit-and-run takes the life of a hardworking family man, multi-millionaire Christopher Hillington becomes the prime suspect, and the whole city of New York alights with speculation as to what happened. But before the NYPD can establish Hillington’s guilt, he himself is brutally murdered in his own home. As he lays dying, he scrawls the name Casey Woods with his own blood, and the Forensic Instincts team is drawn into a complex mystery that has placed its president in the sights of a desperate killer. A millionaire’s life is full of secrets and suspects. So as the baffled NYPD investigates Casey for the murder, and the body-count ratchets up, Casey herself becomes another potential victim. The FI team’s hardcore investigation has them twisting and turning through suspects and secrets, where the stakes intensify―and so does the collateral damage. As Casey and the team get closer to finding the killer, the unthinkable happens, and the life of one of FI’s own hangs in the blood-stained balance. They say dead men tell no tales, but blood doesn’t lie. Peeling back layer after layer of deception, the team will cross whatever lines are necessary to solve the case, get justice for the families, and make their team whole again…unless the relentless killer gets to them first.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense Thriller

Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing Publication Date: March 2024 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 9781682320631 (ISBN10: 1682320634) Series: Forensic Instincts (#10)

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

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MY REVIEW

I admit that I’ve only read a couple of books in this series. And those weren’t in any order. I kept meaning to go back and start at the beginning and read my way through to this one, the 10th in the series. That didn’t happen. Still, I’m fascinated by the idea of this series. A PI team made up of the best of the best in their areas of expertise. A tight investigative team as much family as coworkers. Also, each book can stand alone but I saw how the character’s lives had changed and relationships were formed. It made me more curious to read how each of their stories began. I’m a fan of character growth.

There’s two crimes to solve, and so many clues to unravel. The author’s talent in making it complex and not easily seen was impressive. I was fascinated by even the little things that came up, wondering how important they would be in solving the crimes.

A strong beginning, suspenseful and twisting road in the middle, and a nice curve ball at the satisfying conclusion. Now, I’m planning that leap back to the beginning so I can get to know the characters as they are introduced. I’m sure each book will bring that character growth I love along with new characters and some complex cases. Can’t wait!

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

1

Offices of Forensic Instincts Tribeca, New York Main conference room Monday, 9:40 a.m.
Casey Woods, the president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the oval table, her jaw having dropped. She pressed her iPhone closer to her ear, and tried to reconcile herself, both to who the caller was, and the reason for her call. She certainly didn’t sound like the Angela King that Casey knew. And why in the name of heaven was she reaching out to Casey, of all people? Angela repeated her original demand: “I need you to meet me now—as in drop everything and get over here.” This time her voice was commanding but shaken. Shaken? Angela King? Casey’s mind raced. Angela was a high-powered and aggressive criminal defense attorney at Harris, Porter, & Donnelly. A virtual barracuda. Rumor had it that she was next up to make partner. No surprise. She successfully defended the richest of the rich, from corporate executives, to wealthy entrepreneurs, to “businessmen” with rumored links to Organized Crime—a fact she chose to overlook since they were affluent enough to pay her fees. She and Forensic Instincts were on opposite sides of law enforcement. They’d battled it out more than once the criminals that FI had helped catch becoming the very criminals Angela would defend. Needless to say, the FI team and Angela weren’t friends. And yet, here she was, calling Casey on an urgent, time-is-of-the-essence matter—one she seemed incredibly high-strung about. “Casey?” Angela repeated. “Did you hear me?” Casey lowered herself into a chair. “I heard you. What is this about? And why me, of all people?” “You’ll see for yourself,” Angela replied. She rattled off the address of a luxury skyscraper on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “Hurry. I’m jeopardizing my career by waiting to call 9-1-1. I can’t wait much longer. But you have to view the scene first and later provide me with some answers. No more questions. Just come. I have a key to the building’s back door. I’ll let you in. We’ll use the freight elevator.” Casey’s common sense was urging her to refuse. 9-1-1 meant a crime scene, and questions meant involving her. Both those things were screaming for her to stay away. She pushed aside that inner voice. She was too intrigued to refuse. “I’m on my way.” She shrugged into her wool winter coat as she called John Nickels, Forensic Instincts’ number one on their security team. Then, she blew out the front door, not waiting to fill the FI team in on where she was going. There was no time. Plus, they’d only try to talk her out of it. Holiday decorations were glistening everywhere, and tiny snowflakes danced in the air. Casey didn’t notice any of it. John pulled around a few minutes later, and Casey hopped into the car, gave him the address, and urged him to hurry. With a brief nod, John was on his way, navigating the FDR Drive in record time. He got Casey to her destination in thirteen minutes. He dropped her off around back, far from the doorman’s view. Then, he waited to return her to the brownstone once her meeting was over, as per her instructions. Angela was pacing inside the building, and opened the door to let Casey in the moment she saw her. No matter how dire the occasion, Angela always looked stunning. An Armani cobalt blue pants suit that set off her dark skin, matching four-inch Louboutin heels, and long wavy black hair styled at the highest end salon. She carried herself like a queen. In short, she was a knock-out. Now she looked more rattled than Casey had ever seen her. “Let’s go,” she said. She led the way to the freight elevator, where she and Casey rode up. “Tell me what’s going on,” Casey stated flatly. Angela didn’t answer. She glanced at her Apple Watch, her gaze snapping up as the elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor. The doors slid open. Angela paused only long enough to ensure that Casey was right behind her. Then, she strode down the hall, made a turn, and halted in front of Apartment Twenty-One B. She unlocked the door, pulled Casey inside, and faced her to offer the first few words of an explanation. “This is the home of my client, Christopher Hillington. We had a nine-thirty AM meeting scheduled to be held here.” Casey’s brows rose. Christopher Hillington was a renowned and phenomenally wealthy managing director of the private equity firm YNE. He was also a major suspect in a vehicular homicide, and Casey knew through various news sources that he’d been questioned several times by the NYPD and was on the verge of arrest. “I see you know of him,” Angela said. “Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised.” She gestured toward a breathtaking sunken living room. “In here.” Casey bit back her question about what Angela had just said. She sensed she was about to get her answers. So she remained silent. The two women stepped down and Angela stood to a side and waited. Casey got the full view immediately. Christopher Hillington’s body was crumpled on the Oriental carpet beside his desk, blood pooling out around him. His head was bashed in, clearly having been struck multiple times by a heavy object. The bloodied sledge hammer lying next to the body was obviously the murder weapon. Judging from the damage done, the killer had been, not only determined, but brutal. Casey eyeballed the scene, feeling sickened as well as confused. She was about to ask Angela what this horrific scene had to do with her when she spotted the letters, written in blood, on the lower edge of the desk, right beside Hillington’s outstretched arm. She walked over, careful not to touch anything, squatted down, and squinted. The two words were completely legible, and they made Casey’s blood run cold. Casey Woods. *** Excerpt from Struck Dead by Andrea Kane. Copyright 2024 by Andrea Kane. Reproduced with permission from Andrea Kane. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Andrea Kane:

.

Andrea Kane

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-two novels, including eighteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night. Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller. She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood. Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Struck Dead, showcases the dynamic, eclectic team of investigators as they hunt down a desperate killer who’s threatened one of their own. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, and Struck Dead. Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind. With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages. Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Author Hometown – Warren, New Jersey

Catch Up With Andrea Kane: www.AndreaKane.com Goodreads BookBub Instagram – @authorandreakane Twitter/X – @andrea_kane Facebook – @AuthorAndreaKane

 

 

Tour Participants:

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Objects Of Desire by Valerie Webster ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: March 13, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, thriller
Tags: , ,
2

Objects of Desire by Valerie Webster Banner

Objects of Desire
by Valerie Webster
March 11-22, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

It’s August in Baltimore City. Nothing’s hotter – until Rita Mars gets a shocking visit from the police. Her ex-partner is missing and police are relentless in trying to pin her to the disappearance. One cop in particular has made her his crusade to indict. In the meantime, Rita accepts a client who suspects someone is out to destroy the charitable foundation she works for. Rita hires a hacker named Roswell and a cyber game of cat and mouse commences. This is a high-speed chase of a read that will leave you wondering – could it happen here?

 

 

 

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller

Published by: Ignited Ink Publication Date: November 19, 2023 Number of Pages: 372 ISBN: 9781952347085 (ISBN10: 1952347084) Series: A Rita Mars Thriller, 2

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

You’ll be tracking two separate cases in this one. And so will the main character, P.I. Rita Mars. There’s the messy breakup with her former partner, Diane, who is now a missing person, and the circumstances of that split put Rita on the suspect list. And then there’s the financial hanky panky being played out in another arena.

Well, I sure did have to put on my sleuthing hat and use the old brain pan to sift through all the false leads and kind of zero in on some guilty parties. That was fun. As was getting to know Rita and her background. She had so much on her plate in her personal life and she did a bang up job of managing her team. The author did such a good job of showing me Rita and filling me in on her past that I forgot this wasn’t even the first book in the series. It was that easy to settle in with the characters and become friends.

There’s lots of mystery for you fans of the genre and some comedy to lighten things up. I’m planning on going back to read the beginning of the series and hope to read more as it continues.

4 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:
Prologue
“I ain’t here to clean the house.” The person on the porch blocked the usually sunny opened doorway. “I’m sorry?” The woman inside the house stood waiting for an answer. She was a tiny person, slim, noticeably agitated by the unexpected break in her routine. “I brought you something.” “I have a meeting this morning. I’m afraid I have to get ready. Maybe later.” The woman inside started to close the door, but a booted foot wedged in the frame to stop progress. A broad hand with thick stubby fingers rested against the door. “Just take a minute.” The woman inside hesitated, irritated, undecided. “Promise. A minute.” The boot in the door sill stayed in place. “Uh, ok. “The woman ran a hand through her hair. “But I really need to finish dressing for my meeting.” “No problem.” The beefy palm touched the door but did not push. The woman inside opened her house. The figure outside stepped in, overshadowing the home owner by almost a foot. “Nice house. I always wondered what it was like in here.” “You have something for me?” asked the woman. “I do.” The visitor took time surveying the foyer and living room as the two stood by the still open door. “Can we hurry this up, I need to leave.” A trickle of sweat beaded at her temple. She glanced toward the kitchen where her cell phone lay on the counter. “Ok, so let’s get you ready to go.” The figure’s paw snagged the woman’s arm and clutched it so that the woman’s sleeve crushed with the pressure. “Hey, let go.” The woman pulled against the grip but she was no match. “Stop.” She dug her nails into the grasping arm. “Let’s go upstairs.” The woman was half dragged, half lifted toward her stairwell. “What is the matter with you? I’m going to call the police.” The woman threw all her weight away from her trapped arm trying to loosen it. “Stop,” she cried. She began to flail with every ounce of strength. The intruder shook her head. “Now you know you don’t want to do that. We need to get you packed up and ready.” The woman now grabbed the banister as the intruder strong-armed her up the steps. She could not hold against the brute strength of her attacker who easily drew her upward. “Gotta suitcase?” The attacker maintained the commanding grip. The attacker held fast while she went through the woman’s chest of drawers, her closet and bathroom, throwing clothes and toiletries into a small roll-aboard that had been in the bedroom closet. All the while, the impinged victim wrestled, clawed and dug her teeth into the arm that tightened around hers. The woman screamed again, but the free meaty hand covered her mouth. The attacker drew out a roll of duct tape and secured the woman to a vanity chair. She then took a pillow case and made a gag. “Get you all set up here,” said the attacker. “You’ll need stuff. Now I know this is a little bit of a surprise for you. But don’t worry, I will take care of you.” The woman in the vanity chair bowed her head as tears streamed down her face. “Ok, so we’ve got everything, I think.” The attacker shut and snapped the suitcase closed. “I wanna take that pillow case off your mouth but you need not to scream. You gonna be good?” The woman nodded and her intruder unknotted the pillowcase. “Uh, I think I should leave a note,” said the woman. “I don’t think so.” The intruder had removed the gag, but made no move to release the woman from the vanity chair. The woman’s eyes roved quickly back and forth as she scoured her brain for an escape plan. “People will wonder where I am and we don’t want them to know, do we?” “That’s my girl,” said the attacker. “Good idea.” *** Excerpt from Objects of Desire by Valerie Webster. Copyright 2024 by Valerie Webster. Reproduced with permission from Valerie Webster. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Valerie Webster:

.

Valerie Webster

Valerie Webster is a crime fiction author whose 30+ year career was focused on developing and implementing technology applications for the purpose of criminal surveillance and tracking, information security, crime deterrence and homeland security. She interlaces her work on real cases and policing applications throughout her writing and her storytelling leads you through the shadow worlds of the criminal as well as the crime fighters. She has written two books in the Rita Mars Series: DRIVEN: A RITA MARS THRILLER is her debut novel in the series. Her second book is OBJECTS OF DESIRE: A RITA MARS THRILLER. Valerie makes her home near Boulder, CO. Learn more about Valerie and her work at valeriewebster.com

Catch Up With Valerie Webster: ValerieWebster.com Goodreads BookBub – @vwebster Instagram – @rmarsauthor Facebook – @RMars4Hire

 

 

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

 

 

 

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The Nightmare Machine by Tim White ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: February 28, 2024 in Fantasy, giveaways, reviews, thriller
Tags: , , ,
13

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I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the THE NIGHTMARE MACHINE by Tim White Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours.

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

 

THE NIGHTMARE MACHINE

 by Tim White

 

 

Pub. Date: February 20, 2024

Publisher: Ocean Scribe Publishing

Formats:  Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 600

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Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/THE-NIGHTMARE-MACHINE

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Purchase the book directly from Tim! There’s also a prequel novella! 

 

What
is The Nightmare Machine? Think Silent Hill meets Inception and Monster
Hunter International.

Five millennia of suffering. A pilgrimage steeped in terror. Will her quest
bring redemption or only a false promise of salvation?

Bangor,
Maine. Sara Holcomb knows what she must do. Raised within a secret order
devoted to protecting humanity from a malevolent god, the dutiful
seventeen-year-old prepares for a terrifying expedition through a world of
nightmares. So when the time comes, she convinces three close friends to escort
her on a perilous journey to an otherworldly cathedral of bone and blood.

Transported
to a land of chaos and horror while they sleep, Sara wrestles with guilt at
bringing people she holds dear to this hell from which they may not escape. And
as vicious traps and pitiless creatures tear at their bodies and minds, the
honor-bound young woman fears they won’t be strong enough to complete the
mission that will preserve mankind.

 

MY REVIEW

The first thing that caught my attention was the stunning story displayed on the cover. Yes, it pulls you in, wanting to know this girl and her story. It’s absolutely perfect for what’s revealed inside. And the title. It’s also perfect. A teenage girl, descendant of a long line of Maidens, destined to save the world. She takes three friends as protectors into a hidden world. One filled with danger. Teeming with monsters worthy of your worst nightmares. To enter. They sleep. To survive. They awaken.

The first chapter sets up the intrigue. A typical girl. One with horrible nightmares. And hints of a family secret. I was hooked and remained that way through the entire story. Sara was an ordinary girl thrust into a horrific saga. Her character was so genuinely written and I really empathized with her. She had to face things a much older person might not have handled as well as she did.

Dylan was in love with Sara. But that wasn’t why she chose him as one of her protectors. He was a boy wonder. A budding genius and curious about how things worked. His mind worked in mysterious ways and she trusted him.

Dylan and Sara both helped Dr. Alex Warner at a small recovery clinic helping people overcome their addictions. I was unsure how that made her a good choice for a protector aside from knowing Sara and Dylan. Once they began their quest, it began clear.

Tom’s place on the list of protectors was obvious.  He was a veteran of war and had survived some horrific situations. He was no stranger to violence and death and his training made him a perfect candidate to work as a team. I really enjoyed his part in the story. He was someone you didn’t want to mess with yet he had a lot of baggage and that gave him an aura of vulnerability.

I tried to envision this nightmare world the group had entered. The author did a great job of showing it to me through words and my imagination did the rest.

As for how the story moved along. I mentioned the first chapter hooked me and kept me hooked. Well that’s true. And the characters sealed the deal for me. Along with the cruel world in The Nightmare Machine and the outrageous and dangerous monsters that were unleashed in it’s pages. Whoa. I do love monsters and there were some humdingers in the book.

Packed with action, suspense and horror, I was thrilled to get everything I wanted out of this story. That was great. And even more exciting. There’s more to come! Can’t wait for that.

5  STARS

 

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About Author Tim White:

.

 

Tim White is
an author, editor, writing coach, and game designer in Phoenix, Arizona. He
started writing fiction in 1996 and nonfiction in 2006. As of 2023, he has
published more than 1,000 nonfiction articles and three nonfiction books. He
has written three novels, four novellas, dozens of tabletop role-playing game
(TTRPG) scripts, and hundreds of short stories.

Tim is a
zealous crusader for the power of storytelling to promote human flourishing. He
writes fiction in several genres, particularly one that he calls “Romantic
horror” (as in “Romantic-era novelists” such as Victor Hugo and Alexandre
Dumas, not as in “romance novel”). This little-known genre is unique in that it
uses fear as a backdrop against which heroism is sharply contrasted,
dramatized, and elevated.

Tim’s
storytelling philosophy is summed up eloquently by one of his favorite authors:

“I often
hear people say that they read to escape reality, but I believe that what
they’re really doing is reading to find reason for hope, to find strength.
While a bad book leaves readers with a sense of hopelessness and despair, a
good novel, through stories of values realized, of wrongs righted, can bring to
readers a connection to the wonder of life. A good novel shows how life can and
ought to be lived. It not only entertains but energizes and uplifts readers.” ―
Terry Goodkind

Before
transitioning to writing full time, Tim was an Army combat medic, and later, a
nurse paramedic specializing in trauma and surgery. He is a lifelong shooter
and has ranked moderately well in state-level 3-gun competitions. He loves
board games, video games, and role-playing games; cats; Pembroke Corgis; good
coffee; good books; and escape rooms. He owns an escape room venue in Arizona,
where he designs and builds every prop and puzzle in-house.

Sign up for one or all of Tim’s Newsletters!

Website | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub

 

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Giveaway Details: (there are 2 giveaways)

Bargain Booksy Giveaway:

.

One winner will be chosen at random on 4/15/2024 and notified via email
that they have won the 20 eBooks and a Kindle.

Giveaway Link: https://www.bargainbooksy.com/thriller-giveaway-021524/

Rockstar Book Tours Giveaway:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card courtesy of Rockstar Book Tours,
International.

Ends March 5th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

2/19/2024

@darkfantasyreviews

IG Post

2/19/2024

Kountry Girl Bookaholic

Excerpt/IG Post

2/20/2024

jlreadstoperpetuity

IG Post

2/20/2024

Writer of Wrongs

Excerpt

2/21/2024

The Melting Plot

IG Post

2/21/2024

A Dream Within A Dream

Excerpt

2/22/2024

Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt/IG Post

2/22/2024

GryffindorBookishnerd

IG Review

2/23/2024

Kim’s Book Reviews and Writing Aha’s

Review/IG Post

2/23/2024

@books.mo.reads

IG Review

 Week Two:

2/26/2024

Books and Zebras

IG Review

2/26/2024

@stargirls.magical.tale

IG Review

2/27/2024

@dana.loves.books

IG Review/TikTok Post

2/27/2024

Review Thick And Thin

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