Publication date: August 13th 2025
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance, Thriller
Phantom meets Clue:
She’s forced to murder to survive—until it’s her turn to die.
At Wolfsbane Hall, a secretive 1930s San Francisco murder mystery club, actress Celestine Sinclair plays a deadly role: executing victims who can only return to life once their murders are solved. Haunted by guilt yet bound by unwavering loyalty, she obeys the orders of the Specter—the club’s unseen mastermind and source of its magic.
But when his nemesis seizes control and poisons her, the game changes. The only way to survive? Solve the night’s mystery and unmask the Specter—an identity that has remained hidden for centuries. Even worse, the three prime suspects are the men closest to her: her lover, her enemy, and her best friend. One of them has betrayed her, and she has only hours left to uncover the truth.
The clock is ticking, the stakes are fatal, and this time, death will last forever.
Wolfsbane Hall: A Deluxe Edition Romantasy Thriller
Check out the Kickstarter here!
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Celestine Sinclair hated being a murderer.
She hated blood dripping through her fingertips and clumping in her hair. She hated watching poison devour a body, and the feeling of her hands stretching around a slender throat.
Everything about murder was ghastly, but if she had to choose, her favorite way to kill was suffocation with a pillow while a person was drugged and unconscious. It was two and a half minutes of hell—hell she deserved for the act—but at least it was quiet and didn’t leave a mess.
Celestine loathed messes.
Unfortunately, the very nature of her profession required much more theatrical deaths. The audience didn’t come to Wolfsbane Hall to watch, as they put it, dull and tedious deaths; no, like vultures, the rich, pompous pricks wanted carnage.
They wanted a show.
So, Celestine Sinclair would give them one. That was her one objective as an actress at the infamous nightclub: show above all else.
Show above one’s own sanity.
“You’re wasting time,” said a voice forged from darkness, twisting from the room’s shadows. It was glazed in honeyed whiskey. Sweet yet potent.
The Specter—the magical and mysterious owner of Wolfsbane Hall, the glittering palace at the edge of San Francisco, filled with as much mystery as magnificence. It was a place patrons became a part of a murder mystery show. Glitter, grandeur, and witchcraft were laced into every inch of the manor, interwoven into a tapestry of entertainment.
“You must prepare for your next murder,” the Specter said as a whisper in her ear, darkness twirling and cloaking her from the patrons meandering into the Grand Ballroom—the club’s showroom.
“I know, Specter,” Celestine breathed.
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About Author Hazel St. Lewis:
Hazel St. Lewis is a Northern California-based Romantasy author. Diagnosed with dyslexia at a young age, she struggled to read and write, but fantasy stories inspired her to start storytelling. Unfortunately, now, she is a little too obsessed with morally gray characters. When she isn’t writing, she can be found playing with her hoard of cats (too many to count…it’s a problem), singing songs to said cats, or painting.
Javier Jimenez is on a glide path to college while his brother, Alex, has done a 180 and is heading for trouble. Neither, however, have any idea what’s coming their way when George Jones sets in motion his plan for their neighborhood. It’s a cataclysmic vision of urban renewal replete with manmade disasters, civil unrest, and a tsunami of ambitious Zoomers.
Meanwhile, Alex and Javier’s feud quickly escalates, even as Alex finds himself in way over his head with Denker Street, the local gang. The bodies start falling, and Javier soon realizes Jones has put a target on his back. It’s time to go to ground. Can he keep Alex from falling further into the streets? Can he outplay Jones at his own game? All this and his own hopes, once so bright, now fading like a smog-shrouded LA skyline.
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Praise for Gone To Ground:
“With a heavy dose of wit and an intelligently conceived plot, Hatch masterfully lures the reader into his unpredictable and absorbing world.” ~ Booklife Prize
“Fast paced and poignant.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“Bewitching from the first page…Delivers in all aspects of suspense.” ~ Jadidsa Perez, Independent Book Review
“George Jones is one of the most evil characters you’ll ever find in a book.” ~ RG Belsky, award-winning author of It’s News to Me
“Gone to Ground is an engrossing read for anyone who appreciates layered storytelling with heart and edge. It’s a gritty, honest look at life in Los Angeles that doesn’t flinch from the darker realities.” ~ Literary Titan
“A gripping, suspense novel set in the streets of LA” ~ Reader’s Choice Book Awards
“Gone to Ground pairs suspense with witty observations to bring readers a special flavor of intrigue and irony as a Mexican-American high school senior becomes mixed up in a conspiracy that reaches into his Los Angeles community to threaten everything he loves.” ~ Diane Donovan, The Midwest Book Review
Carlos rode the boom lift thirty feet up, stepped onto the deck of the viaduct, and worked his way through the final course of rebar, checking the snap ties as he went. By noon, it would all be covered with two hundred yards of cement, an act of finality that had left him sleepless and bleary-eyed. He got to the unfinished edge and gazed out at the yuccas standing in the morning sun, their knobby arms raised as if surrendering. The only movement, the only noise came from the survey team a quarter mile ahead, hammering stakes and taking measurements through transits. His phone buzzed with a text from Raymond, the lead surveyor. It was an image of a tortoise craning its neck.
Carlos pulled out his walkie. “How many?”
A pause. “I count about twenty, twenty-five.” Carlos hissed. Nothing meant more trouble for projects like this than habitat issues, and the desert tortoise was at the top of the protected species list in this part of California. He kicked a water bottle off the deck, his head now flooding with a list of change orders, cost overruns, impact reports. The Sierra Club would have an injunction by the end of the week, his crew would scatter, and the job would be bad-mouthed in the trades, falton as they would call it. It was the bane of every publicly funded project. Things were always stop-and-go, and for contractors, consistency was king. “We’ll need some video. Get a geotag on it and email it over.” He paused and then told Raymond one more thing. “Tell your guys to go home. We gotta pull them off the job for now.” The radio chirped again. “One more you need to see.” Carlos opened the next text. It showed the flat underside of one of the tortoises, four legs helplessly splayed out. Along one edge of the shell, a small strip of aluminum had been riveted to it. The last picture was a closeup of the tag, showing a bar code and a set of Chinese characters. # # # Tasha passed through the metal detector and retrieved her phone on the other side. She tapped the screen, a clip showing a pod of tortoises ambling across the desert. The image needed no explanation. Muthafucka. In her six years as the Senator’s Chief of Staff, she’d had to learn ways to corral her temper—deep breaths, long drinks of water, long drinks of Grey Goose—but today all she wanted to do was throw her phone across the capitol rotunda. The rail project was her ticket to Washington, with or without the Senator. If things went pear-shaped here in Sacramento, she’d be back running school board elections in Los Angeles. She arrived in the back of the Senate chambers in time to catch the last legs of the reauthorization debate. Support was split for the bullet train, which was now so far over budget that it would require a fourth round of bonds. An eleventh-hour deal with a large off-shore hedge fund had given the project new life. The Speaker could either bring the reauthorization up for a vote now or tomorrow. Three hours ago, it would have been a lay-up for Tasha. She’d already put in an offer for a two-bedroom condo in Georgetown. The vote count on the screen and the adjournment clock ticking down lent the usually staid chambers a charged air. The Speaker stood at the dais, gavel in hand, talking with a staffer over his shoulder. From the steps below, a senate page reached up and slid the Speaker a note. He read it and looked over the top of his glasses without moving his head. Tasha followed his line of sight. A lone figure stood hands in pockets, silhouetted in a balcony doorway, his presence apparently the message. When Tasha looked back, the Speaker was already bringing his gavel down. The vote would be delayed until tomorrow at eight a.m., an eternity in Sacramento during the deal-making days of August. Careers often turned on these votes, and Tasha felt hers slipping away. The Sierra Club was probably already setting up the presser with their righteous refrains. She’d done her best to curry favor with the green slice of the electorate, keeping the Senator at or above 80% favorability. Coastal set asides, old-growth logging regulations. And this had come at considerable expense to the donor list, a hit she knew was worth the points he’d scored with the base. All those years triangulating, positioning, counter messaging, all the miles on the road, in the air, prepping, dodging, deflecting, polling, vetting, all that code-switching, hi-watt smiling, all the hours briefing and debriefing, and for what? So that a thirty-second video could expose him as an environmental hypocrite? Tasha knew this was no accident, and she knew who was behind it. # # # George Jones drove his matte black Land Rover past the valet at Torento, one of the few spots in Sacramento that could still be relied upon for discretion. He self-parked and walked past the hostess, straight to a corner booth where the Senator sat alone, hunched over a bowl of pasta. He saw Jones approach and dipped his head slightly to indicate an empty seat. Jones ignored the Senator, instead pulling up a rattan chair from a neighboring table. The restaurant was dimly lit, the high-backed booths upholstered in Oxblood leather, the room full of the hushed tones of last-minute horse trades. “Your train is coming in,” said the Senator without looking up. “But I suspect you already knew this.” The Senator attacked his pasta, his torso rocking with each spin of the fork. “Something about turtles.” He finally looked up and let out a breath. “I hear they’re on loan from the Zhang Zhao Preserve. They must have cost you a small fortune.” Then he shoved a forkful of pasta in his mouth. “They’re tortoises, not turtles, and I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Jones. A waiter arrived with a menu, and Jones waved him off. The Senator pulled out his napkin and dried the sweat from his upper lip, then stabbed at something in the sauce. “Turtles, tortoises. No one cares. All I know is they’re slow, and there’s too many.” He took a swallow of wine. “You have my ass in the air, and the vote is tomorrow. Seems like your reputation is well earned, Mr. Jones.” He broke off a piece of bread and dragged it through the white sauce. “Singapore, Athens, Hyderabad. Your resume, Mr. Jones,” his mouth finally empty, “some biblical shit.” Jones had actually flirted with the ministry at one point. “Pox and pestilence, rivers into blood. Moses didn’t fuck around, and neither do I.” A college girlfriend had once examined the headline of his palm, straight and uncrossed, and proclaimed it a sign of either intense religious conviction or a tendency toward psychopathy. “If there’s a transit node involved, I’ll salt the earth myself.” He made a show of checking his watch. The Senator leaned back, let his hands rest flat on the table, as if ready to make it levitate. “We’re prepared to reroute the line to Panorama City. Just know you’re the ghetto option.” He folded the napkin and looked at Jones. “And as we both know, bullet trains don’t stop in the ghetto.” “Of course it’s coming to the ghetto, Senator. There’s nowhere else to stick it.” He ran a hand down his pants to flatten a wrinkle. “Ghetto for now, Senator.” Jones nodded at the Senator’s bowl of pasta. “But I’ll bet you another bowl of that alfredo you seem to love so much that in a year, you’ll be making offers on our condos before they’re even out of plan-check.” The Senator gave Jones an appraising look. “Have you seen Panorama City lately, Jones? Great town if you’re a pole dancer. They have a tent city the size of Rhode Island.” “For a curious man,” he said, standing, “you ask the wrong questions.” Jones passed his gaze around the room. “Your work is done, Senator. Time for the ground game.” When he got to his car, Jones pulled out a phone and spoke first in Mandarin before ending in English. “Call LA. I want updates every six hours.” Then he pulled out the second phone and punched in a text. VDL go # # # The man in the boat hadn’t had a bite and didn’t much care. He came for the solitude, the stars, and the sounds of the reservoir at four a.m. Most people fished during the day from the dam wall where it was wide enough to park their coolers and fold-out chairs. Van der Lipp Dam itself was the third largest in the western United States and the oldest by a decade. A sluice had been built at the base of the dam’s southern end, a failsafe option for a uranium enrichment plant from the 1950s. The plant had long since been dismantled, though the sluice, which emptied into a dry lakebed in the San Fernando Valley, remained. A vehicle approached, the light wash of high beams coming through the pine trees. The man in the boat had not seen anyone use the access road in his twenty-odd years of fishing the reservoir. It was a white panel van, and it very quickly turned, reversed itself, and backed up ten feet from the water’s edge. The rear door opened, and a team of five people climbed out, two of them in wetsuits, hoisting scuba tanks from the back of the van. They worked without talking, testing the respirators, buckling their weight belts. In less than a minute, they were walking backwards into the water, each clutching something the size of a shoebox. Soon, the only evidence of either of them was a trail of bubbles rising to the surface. The man then took out a pair of binoculars he kept for birding and watched two other men walk out onto the dam’s catwalk. The first man carried a coil of rope slung over his shoulder; the second wore a backpack and had on a climber’s harness. When they were about one hundred feet out, the first man sat down and tied himself onto a railing stanchion and belayed the second man over the edge of the dam. The team worked noiselessly, their movements practiced and efficient. In twenty minutes, the divers surfaced and took off their flippers and tanks. Soon after, the man in the harness reappeared on top of the dam. As they loaded up to leave, a fish took the man’s lure and pulled the rod off his lap, hitting the aluminum gunwale. A second bang followed when the reel hit the bottom of the boat. The noise echoed across the lake. All five men stopped what they were doing and looked in the man’s direction. The man, still hidden in darkness, also froze. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Finally, one of the five men from the white panel van reached for something in the front seat and disappeared into the woods. The other four climbed back in and drove back down the access road to somewhere called Panorama City. Ten minutes later the man in the boat lay face down now, hidden amongst the tule in the shallow water of the lake, two in the chest and one in the head. His boat lay at the bottom of the lake, also with three holes shot through it. The shooter had collected the six empty shells and then walked the eight miles back down the access road to the city street. He’d boarded the 154 bus which would take him to meet up with the others. Someplace called Frogtown was about to become the newest body of water in Los Angeles. *** Excerpt from Gone To Ground by Morgan Hatch. Copyright 2025 by Morgan Hatch. Reproduced with permission from Morgan Hatch. All rights reserved.
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About Author Morgan Hatch:
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Having taught in the LA public schools for thirty years, Morgan now writes about the people and places he has come to know in the course of his career. During the pandemic, he began writing Gone To Ground. At the same time, Los Angeles was going through a series of scandals involving public officials as well as an uptick in the perennial “crises” of homelessness, immigration, and gentrification. Add to this the on-again-off-again California bullet train, and you have the main threads of this novel. Morgan lives in Los Angeles with his wife where he’s trying to learn his mother-in-law’s recipe for dal dhokli.
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Can one woman stop
a chemical magnate from destroying life on Earth?
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108
by Dheepa R. Maturi
Genre: Eco-Thriller
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Can one woman stop a
chemical magnate from destroying life on Earth?
While working the night shift at a San Francisco news agency, Bayla Jeevan has
a shocking out-of-body experience. Her consciousness is transported deep into
an Indian forest, where she witnesses a noxious liquid spreading through the
soil. At the same time, she receives a message from her father, presumed dead
for fifteen years, warning her of imminent danger. Coincidence? Unlikely.
Halfway around the world, agrochemical corporation ZedChem-led by billionaire
Krakun Zed-tests its latest innovation, a product heralded as the solution to
topsoil erosion. But the data reveals something else entirely.
As Bayla sets out looking for answers, she learns more about her past-and her
family’s connections to a secret organization with ancient roots and to Zed
himself. Will Bayla be able to stop the corporation from ruining global
agriculture and devastating human existence forever?
In this action-packed eco-thriller, the bonds of family-and the power to save
Earth-are put to the test.
The scent of jasmine caught Bayla Jeevan off guard.
She never allowed herself to think about the land where she’d grown up, but here she was, daydreaming of axlewood groves and haldina plants and, yes, jasmine. And of a woman, unfamiliar and yet . . .
Stop it, she scolded herself.
Her eyes scanned the room. The interns sat working at their desks while the rest of the staff exited the Environment Wire news agency. Most were heading to La Cantina next door before going home.
“Weren’t you here just a few nights ago?” Braden Turner had stepped out of his glassed-in office and was looking at her with concern—or was it amusement?
She winced. “Someone needed to switch. It’s okay—really.”
“Well, keep an eye on the board.” He tipped his head to indicate the electronic monitor mounted nearby. Originally installed to track fire activity in Northern California, it now showed an office-evacuation prompt at least once a week.
The overhead purifiers kicked into high gear as they labored to scrub the day’s accumulation of toxins from the office air. Bayla jerked her thumb toward the EtherScreens and spoke loudly: “I’d better . . .”
Braden answered through the din. “Yep, go ahead. See you in the morning.”
She nodded and turned away, making a show of adjusting the EtherScreen projections but watching from the corner of her eye as Braden walked toward the door.
For the next eight hours, she’d be working alone.
Bayla scanned the screens. Taking in twenty-four rotating screens of environmental data at once required sharp concentration, but she was used to it. A few times per month, midlevel researchers like her monitored overnight information and siphoned it to the appropriate interns. They, in turn, pushed their findings up the writing and editorial chain.
Bayla’s hands flowed through the air in front of her. The EtherScreen technology allowed her to manipulate the displays and information by gesture alone, with no physical touch required.
On one screen to her left, the Global Monitoring Lab released the latest spikes in atmospheric carbon dioxide over the Arctic Circle. That was Ethan’s area. She swept the data to him for examination.
She grimaced at eyewitness photos of New Yorkers skirmishing around bread trucks, attacking hapless drivers. Rani could handle that—sweep. Immediately, an e-zine headline popped up on the same screen: “NYC mayor’s office plants evidence of food crisis.” Sighing, she pushed it to the trash folder.
On her right appeared the Census Bureau count of persons displaced from the South Florida coastline. Usually that information would go to Kwame, but Tara was already analyzing similar numbers along the entire East Coast. Sweep.
The same display rotated to satellite images of the latest lethal heat wave moving across South Asia. She flinched a little, then swept the information to Min-Lee.
Minutes, then hours, slipped by as Bayla continued to review and sweep, review and sweep. When she began to yawn, she stood to stretch and ward off her sleepiness.
There it was again—a whiff of jasmine.
Stop it, she admonished herself, shaking her head in an effort to push away the daydream. What had triggered it again?
“Bayla!” Her eyes widened, and she sat down hard. She dug her fingernails into her forearm.
That voice.
Craning her neck, she looked around. At the far end of the floor, the interns sat bent over their desks. One was snoring, his head buried in his arms. The only other sounds were the hum of EtherScreen projections and the whir of air purifiers.
“Bayla, we need you!”
Yes—it was her father’s voice.
She hadn’t heard it in fifteen years.
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Dheepa R. Maturi is
a New York–born, Midwest-raised Indian-American writer who explores the
intersection of identity, culture, and ecology, especially through hope in the
face of ecological grief. She has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize,
and her essays and poetry have appeared in numerous literary journals and
anthologies. She lives with her family in the Indianapolis area.
Jailed Army Ranger Dakota Judd is offered a life-altering deal from Jean Steele, an ambitious and attractive Black FBI agent. Infiltrate a White Supremacist prison gang while he’s incarcerated, then embed himself into their militia on the outside. Become the eyes and ears of the FBI. If successful, his record will be expunged and he can live a normal life. If he fails, he’ll wind up dead.
Embedded, the first book in the new Dakota Judd thriller series, features John Lansing’s trademark propulsive, page-turning writing style, with a tough but sympathetic protagonist. Accompanying Dakota are two powerful women: Aunt Billie, his tough-as-nails wingman, a retired female detective who makes sure Dakota stays alive as he rotates back to civilian life where peril awaits, and Jean Steele, Dakota’s FBI handler, who must thwart her romantic impulses towards Dakota, as one false move can cost her a career in the male-dominated FBI.
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Praise for Embedded:
“Embedded hooked me from the start and it never let up. It’s a thriller brimming with unexpected twists, convincing characters and dialogue that rings true. And Lansing created one absolutely badass protagonist in his hero Dakota Judd.” ~ Dietrich Kalteis, award-winning author of Dirty Little War
“John Lansing is the king of page-turning thrillers and his new novel, Embedded, is a crown jewel. The book should come with a warning: Don’t expect to sleep until you finish the last page. It’s that good!” ~ Steven Manchester, #1 bestselling author, Ashes
“Dakota Judd is a fantastic addition to the pantheon of thriller heroes. Smart, resourceful, and realistic, he’s also a man of ethics. Lansing writes action scenes as if he’s been there himself, and the plot is straight out of the headlines. I highly recommend Embedded for readers who like a clever, action-packed read.” ~ Terry Shames, Macavity Award-winning Author of Deep Dive, second in The Jessie Madison Series.
“With Embedded, John Lansing launches his new Dakota Judd thriller series like an Atlas rocket. The story takes off with a bang yet still manages to accelerate all the way to the nail-biting climax. The characters are fully fleshed and nuanced, and the wild ride has more twists than a licorice stick. A must read.” ~ Craig Faustus Buck, award-winning author of Go Down Hard
“John Lansing’s brilliant new thriller, Embedded, showcases his razor-sharp prose and masterful plotting in a tense crucible of trust and deception. Dakota Judd is a riveting new hero I’ll gladly follow through this new series.” ~ Lisa Towles, Award winning author of Specimen and other thrillers
Book Details:
Genre: Thriller
Published by: White Street Press Publication Date: July 8, 2025 Number of Pages: 317 Series: Dakota Judd Thriller Series, Book 1
Dakota Judd wasn’t a man who questioned decisions once made. He’d had more than enough time to dissect every moment of the incursion. He could’ve turned a blind eye; after all, it was war. But reliving the raid, in fractured dreams that continued to insinuate themselves into his waking moments, was a burden he’d carry for life. His action sure as shit created an unexpected detour. But with disciplined daily pushups, chin-ups, and laps, his body was still intimidating. He lived by the Ranger credo, “Further, Faster, Harder.” That much he could control. Life behind bars, he took one day at a time. Rangers were trained to expect the unexpected, but nothing could prepare him for what was in store from the woman who sat across the metal table from Dakota.
Jean Steele was an African American FBI Agent with high cheek- bones, chestnut skin, shoulder-length brown hair, who wore a professional navy pantsuit. She was an attractive woman, something not lost on Dakota. They were in the Greeley Federal Penitentiary’s visiting room designated for cops and lawyers. No cameras or recorders allowed. Steele removed her sunglasses before starting the interview, revealing sharp, intelligent, brown eyes that locked on Dakota’s. “So, Mister Judd…you’ve served six years of a seven-year sentence,” she said, glancing up from her notes. Dakota picked up the light scent of J’adore. The perfume his ex- fiancé wore. “And three months before your early discharge, having been granted early release for exemplary compliance with institutional regulations, you blow it all by stabbing a Black inmate in the thigh, severing his deep femoral vein, leaving him to bleed out in the weight- room, almost killing him. Dakota…you don’t look like a foolish man.” “Is that a question, or an answer?” Dakota’s eyes creased into an easy smile. He hadn’t had a conversation with a good-looking woman for a very long time, and was intrigued by her visit and up to the challenge. “In this case, it was kill or be killed,” he said matter-of-factly. “The man was out of his league, and I had no choice.” “They didn’t find a weapon on the victim.” “I left it in his leg. I’m sure it’s all in your report.” “The Federal paperwork is in process to rescind your early release.” Dakota was aware they weren’t only going to rescind, they were going to add two years to his original sentence, bringing the life-killing number to nine. “Why are you here, Agent Steele?” Dakota asked, cutting to the chase. “What did I do to deserve a visit from the Feds?” Steele held his gaze. “The government needs your help.” “Why the interest?” “You’ve had no gang affiliations since your arrest and conviction. That couldn’t have been an easy ride.” Dakota leaned back in the metal chair and let her talk. “The OC Wolf Pack are an anti-government white supremacist militia operating out of Orange County. We’ve been picking up chatter on the dark web and social media. The Wolf Pack may have a link to California Senator Jack Bradley, who’s up for re-election. “Bradley’s constituency leans heavily to the extreme right. He hides their bias like a momma bear protects her cubs. The Wolf Pack are crude. And even though they share similar philosophies with the senator they are to be seen and not heard. That’s where Blackfox Elite Protection fits in. We think Blackfox is providing the money used to fund Bradley’s re-election and a growing list of homegrown militias.” “What’s their MO?” “Blackfox recruits ex-military, retired cops, FBI, and guns for hire. It’s an elite private security force that has no compunction employing known felons. They’re supported by a group of wealthy right-wing patriots…their description. Blackfox is getting fat on government contracts, assisted in part by the CEO’s tight relationship with the senator who’s the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, to the tune of forty-five million in the last quarter.” Agent Steele had definitely piqued his interest. “Aren’t you gonna ask where I stand?” “If I thought you stood with them, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Neither would you.” Dakota didn’t argue the point. “Where do I fit in?” “We need someone outside local law enforcement.” “And outside of the FBI,” Dakota intuited. Steele nodded. “A few of our retired agents still have friends in high places. We’re aware of leaks. We need to shore them up. You’ve got the bona fides. Your skill set, your attack on a commanding officer while serving in Afghanistan. Your exemplary record before the assault charges, your silver medal. That, and now, stabbing a Black inmate three months before your release, should make you a rock star with the skinheads in quadrant-D. “We need someone to cozy up to the supremacists who have ties to the Wolf Pack in Orange County and a probable link to Blackfox, our main target. Best-case scenario, you infiltrate Blackfox upon your release, and deliver their plans.” “Why?” “The Alt-right’s first armed insurrection on the U.S. Capital failed, but shook the world. We want to shut these militia groups down before there’s a second attempt that succeeds.” “Why would I sign on?” “That’s up to you. The Army is about to rescind your pardon and add time to your release date for attempted manslaughter. When you get out…you’ll be handed over to the United States Probation Office, where they’ll dog you with years of probation and a host of rules that if not followed, will stack on more prison time. You’ll be living in purgatory.” “I don’t respond to threats,” he said without attitude. “We’re offering you a lifeline.” “I’m sure you’ll understand, Agent Steele. I’ve got trust issues with the government.” “I understand, and Blackfox will understand. I’ll be your handler. You won’t have to deal with the suits.” “You’re wearing a suit.” “I’ll have your back. Infiltrate Blackfox. Become our eyes and ears, and you walk away a free man. Your conviction, expunged. Pension reinstated. You can work, vote, get married, have kids. A normal life.” Steele pulled a contract out of her attaché case and slid it across the table. “How do I explain you?” “I work at your law firm.” Steele hands him a contact card. It read, Jean Clarkson. Associate at Peluso, Costa, and Litto, Attorneys at Law. “It passes the sniff test.” Not the way Dakota thought his day was going to unfold. “Take some time,” she continued. “Read the fine print. I already had a conversation with your representative, Joseph Peluso, and sent him a copy of the contract. It guarantees your future for services rendered.” “What did he say?” “He was inclined to accept, but wouldn’t give me a definitive answer until we spoke. Said it was your call.” “Sounds like Peluso.” Dakota Judd lifted the paperwork, maintaining eye contact, trying to get a read on this federal agent before diving into the contract that might just be the answer to his prayers. He held the life-changing document in his hands, but his mind drifted on the scent of J’adore. The contract was fifteen pages of legalese that protected the government from any liability in the execution of said agreement. Shorthand for: If Dakota signed the contract, he was agreeing to risk his life in service to the government. If successful in the mission, he’d have his life back. He’d be a free man with no one looking over his shoulder. If he failed, well, he’d be back in the slammer, or he’d be dead. Dakota straightened the pages, looked deep into Steele’s eyes, and nodded his assent. Steele handed him a pen. Dakota signed on the dotted line. “Good,” Agent Steele said. She slid the contract into her attaché case and pushed away from the table. “I’ll be in touch.” Steele started toward the door and then turned on her heel. “And Dakota…try and stay alive for the next eight weeks.” *** Excerpt from Embedded by John Lansing. Copyright 2025 by John Lansing. Reproduced with permission from John Lansing. All rights reserved.
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About Author John Lansing:
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John Lansing is the author of six thrillers featuring Jack Bertolino—The Devil’s Necktie, Blond Cargo, Dead Is Dead, The Fourth Gunman, 25 to Life, and MIA, the prequel—as well as the true-crime non-fiction book Good Cop Bad Money, written with former NYPD Inspector Glen Morisano. Embedded is John’s first thriller in the Dakota Judd series. He’s been a writer and supervising producer on network television, and the co-executive producer of the ABC series Scoundrels, and co-wrote two MOWs for CBS. The Devil’s Necktie is in development at Andria Litto’s Amuse Entertainment, with Barbara DeFina attached as a producer.
A native of Long Island, John now resides in Los Angeles.
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Book Title: A Table Rock Mystery by Tom Wood Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 284 pages Genre: thriller , psychological thriller Publisher: BQB Publishing Release date: March 2024 Content Rating: PG. My book is rated PG for the times some of the mob characters utter mild curse words
Book Description:
A young couple decides to trade city lights for the twinkling stars of Branson, Missouri to fulfill their lifelong dream of owning a small-town tavern. But their idyllic country life filled with music and laughter takes a dark turn when a simple evening walk along the Ozark shoreline spirals into a whirlwind of chaos.
A forged loan application ignites a chain reaction of events leading to a shocking kidnapping and a string of murders that has the local sheriff’s office scrambling to uncover the truth.
What started out as a dream quickly transforms into a nightmare as innocent people find themselves caught in a web of crime, betrayal, and one multi-million-dollar secret. With each twist more unexpected then the last, the real question is: who will make it out alive?
Tom Wood became a reporter and byline journalist at four newspapers in suburban Chicago after retiring from the U.S. Postal Service. After Alone Along Writers’ Roads, published in 2024, A Table Rock Mystery is his second published novel.
In a twisted web of lies, she’s either the spider or the fly.
When a psychiatric clinic assistant turns up dead, Dr. Leslie Schoen finds herself a suspect in the case—and facing allegations which could destroy her career. As Detective Davis works the investigation, Leslie launches her own inquiries. She soon uncovers deception and illegal schemes involving stolen prescription opioids at her clinic. It seems everyone around her is hiding something, and as she gets closer to the truth, the threats against her escalate. She struggles with keeping dangerous information from her pregnant wife, Izzy, and knows she needs to confront traumatic demons from her own past. But as she delves deeper into a web of lies, one thing becomes clear: someone will do anything to keep their criminal plans in the shadows.
With her family and even her life on the line, Leslie must outwit those who want her silenced before it’s too late. No one’s motives are what they seem, and the killer may be closer than anyone thinks.
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Tangled Darkness Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Psychological Thriller, Medical Thriller, LGBTQ + Mystery
Published by: Rowan Prose Publishing Publication Date: July 15, 2025 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 9798227130914
Leslie Schoen glanced at her desk clock for the umpteenth time in an hour—five minutes had vanished since her last check. Izzy should have called by now. If time had to drag, at least she was waiting in a cozy, lived-in room. Stacks of medical books, journals, and files insulated her downtown Portland clinic office from the outside world. The early twentieth-century building held high ceilings and finished wood floors. Art and her credentials covered the walls. She easily connected with clients face-to-face from her little nook—settled behind the desk with an open side extension facing the room. The cherry furniture complemented the floor and its oriental rug. Floor lamps and spacious windows provided end-of-day light, and comfortable leather chairs added to the room’s warmth.
With all appointments completed and phone calls returned, Leslie stared at her mobile, willing it to ring. She fed her day’s schedule through the shredder under her desk, noticing her inbox sat empty for once in a long while. Her eyes took in a neatly organized desk. The day’s appointments passed quickly. As a psychiatrist, she juggled mundane paperwork and intense personal connections. Whether managing prescriptions or leading an emotional therapy session, her job was never dull. The phone rang as she rose for a view from her streetside window. At last. “Hey, hon, what’s happened?” She sat again. “I have the best news,” Izzy spoke in a hush. “I’m still in the exam room. The doctor’s coming back any minute.” “What news?” Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m pregnant.” She sat forward in her chair, glued to the edge, as shock rippled through her limbs like a charge of electricity. A new reality formed in her mind: motherhood before forty—she’d just make it. “Oh. My. God.” Izzy’s breathing punctuated the sudden quiet between them. Leslie sprang to her feet. “Wait. I’m closing the door.” Damon materialized just as she stepped toward the doorway. His sharp-angled cheekbones, dark circles under his eyes, and overgrown curly black hair made him look tired and thin, older than his thirty-two years. She pressed her phone to her chest to cover the microphone. “You heading out soon?” He extended a handful of envelopes. “On the phone. It’ll be a while.” She accepted her mail and closed the door. “Izzy?” “I’m here. They’re getting info about our next steps, reminding me of all the other times. I keep running through our false starts while I’m waiting.” Their last pregnancy flashed through Leslie’s mind like an old-fashioned horror story. “What about the labs? The blood test?” “This time, I hope it’s different.” Izzy paced her words. “But the number is sky-high. It’s a definite positive, along with my exam.” “Oh, sweetheart, we did it!” She harnessed her energy by walking back and forth. “How are you? Tell me everything the OB said.” “Hold on.” Izzy sounded out of breath. A door closed in the background. “Gotta go! I’ll tell you all the details at home.” Leslie’s face relaxed as Izzy’s enthusiasm swept through her. She snatched her coat, reflecting on the challenges fertility treatment dwarfed: all she’d endured to get and keep her Oregon medical license, finish psychiatric training, and start her practice. She grabbed her purse and noticed a Personal and Confidential envelope from her licensing board among her tossed mail. Tearing it open, she read the opening line with confusion before starting again. You are hereby notified that the Oregon Medical Board has opened an investigation into your potential misuse of the patient sample medication: buprenorphine and/or Suboxone (the combination drug with buprenorphine). She didn’t prescribe Suboxone. Her hands shook as she read the letter for the second time and grasped the allegation—that she had swiped controlled drugs. Potentially addictive drugs. The board’s assertion baffled her. Where would she even access Suboxone—the potent opiate buprenorphine, a DEA Class III with serious abuse potential and street value? The allegation made no sense. “Really? Who would do this?” Images of Bryce invaded her mind—her officemate whose addiction treatment program dispensed Suboxone samples. She considered Michelle, their nurse—eccentric perhaps, but her unwavering commitment to patients was clear. And Sloan worked longer hours than any psychologist she’d encountered, his office well-worn after decades of service. She reread the letter, her gut seeping dread. The complainant is, at this time, unnamed in our investigation. Your written response, required within fourteen days, will precede a formal interview. Potential consequences of failure to respond include, but are not limited to, suspension of your medical license. Leslie threw the notice—the lie—back onto her tidy desk. This inquiry would stress her family just as she and Izzy reached for their dream—the pregnancy. Was it a mistake? Samples placed in the main sample closet instead of Bryce’s private safe? After three years, she knew her handful of coworkers well. Despite sharing Bryce’s lease and renting his employees’ services, she intentionally kept her practice separate from his. If narcotics truly had vanished—if this wasn’t merely an administrative mix-up—the allegation must’ve been instigated by someone in his practice. Was this payback? No doubt, Bryce’s attitude toward her had soured since she questioned his billing practices after their office manager left. Leslie glanced at her closed door. Damon worked directly across the hall, but was like the younger brother she had never been given. No chance it was him. She rose and moved to her far office window, the accusation’s weight pressing against her chest. Taking measured breaths, she tried to focus her scattered mind while overlooking a blustery downtown Portland, Oregon, at dusk. Wind swept the leaves into small, helpless spirals, its faint whirring audible through the glass. While viewing the street from the third story, trees and people walking the sidewalk apace drifted further away like in a murky, surreal dream. Bryce alone distributed Suboxone samples and other buprenorphine opiates in their office. Had she misjudged when agreeing to share both staff and a lease with an addiction psychiatrist and his rehab team? While her adult psychiatry practice shared similarities, her focus on legally connected mental health cases distinguished her from the group. Remaining outside Bryce’s practice created enough distance. People with opioid addictions dotted her client list too. Still, she rejected his practice of treating opiate addicts with long-term opiates. When tampered with and misused, buprenorphine—bupe for short—was potentially lethal. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window’s reflection—her long bangs pulled to the side from a casual side part, the sunlit highlights in her chestnut hair dim. She scarcely recognized herself. The board notice drained the color from her face, making her cheekbones and narrowly defined nose stand out starkly. At thirty-nine, this transformation had descended without warning—her brown eyes appearing black above the tight line of her rounded lips. She hurried back to her desk and texted Bryce, who was lounging somewhere on vacation. Need a call, must talk. With a quick sweep, she gathered her laptop case and other belongings for the trip home. As she opened the door, Damon stepped out of the main sample closet at the end of the hall. “Time for home?” He offered a weary smile. “Yeah.” Though they’d been on the same team for years, Leslie’s gut said, wait. Did she misread this kid? She hoisted her bags onto her shoulder. “What’s going on?” Damon’s brows rose as she brushed past him into the hall. He’d always been good at reading her. Keeping quiet around a once-friendly coworker tested her resolve. She used to find him approachable, but now her wife was the only confidant she craved. Tonight, of all nights, Izzy would be waiting at home, probably wondering what was keeping her. “I can’t go there right now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Wait.” She stopped and turned. “Hey.” His pitch dropped. “You’re worrying me. Did something bad happen?” Maybe she should have asked him what he knew about opiate sample deliveries, but he looked exhausted, and she needed to collect herself before broaching such a sensitive topic. “Sorry, I’ve got to go, Damon. Bye.” *** As Leslie drove through downtown Portland in the six o’clock rush hour, steam rose from manhole covers like apparitions haunting the cracked sidewalks. Homeless tents lined Burnside Street leading to the bridge, markers of lost hope. She recalled a stint with her licensing board a decade earlier. The dump she’d inhabited alone, a barren apartment, matched her emptiness while getting sober under the monitoring program required to keep her medical license. Surviving those first alcohol-free years tested her resolve daily, but meeting Izzy at two years sober multiplied their individual strengths—one plus one became three. Their synergy, connection, and eventually marriage buoyed her through varied, sometimes brutal changes. Having to bring Izzy this bad news during their pregnancy celebration simply stunk. As she veered onto Sandy Boulevard, the fading early evening light threw the surrounding trees into an altered dimension. With no reply from Bryce, she turned into a northeast neighborhood and tapped her dashboard for a Bluetooth call. “Doctor Bryce Nelson. Message at the tone.” Beep. “Bryce, I need your input on an office situation. Reach me as soon as you can.” His failure to respond to her text typified Bryce’s recent behavior. Since persuading her to attend rehab for alcoholism years ago, he’d changed so much. Her mind flashed on the moment he convinced her that a life of sobriety was essential if she wanted to keep practicing medicine. Now, so much more stood on the line. Her expanding family depended on her. This allegation threatened more than just her career. The DEA might investigate her narcotics prescription authority, risking many of the anti-anxiety and insomnia medications she prescribed. At least they wouldn’t impinge on her antidepressant prescriptions. Legal charges? Jail or probation? Loss of her license? Who knew? With her board history, scrutiny would intensify for every practice decision she made. What would the charge do to her relationships with her office clan and her arrangement to share handling after-hours calls with her friend and colleague, Susan Blake? Her throat tightened as a tear rolled down her cheek, her skin burning underneath. She wiped the droplet away as though denying her tears would deny the fear behind them. Clamping her lips together, the certainty of panic pooled in her limbs, tingling in her fingers. Her vision blurred. She pulled over to a curb just as a flood of emotions—fear, anger, worry, love for her wife, their home, and the life they built together—spilled over into sobs. She leaned against the steering wheel as her shoulders rocked and the tears streamed down at a steady pace. The specter of old demons clamped down on her chest. As her tearfulness waned, she let loose the tension in her hands and shook them. Remembering others who shared her struggle, Leslie took a deep breath. Izzy and their pregnancy needed her attention. The two of them had already endured so much together. She and Izzy had seen enough loss in the last year to overwhelm a funeral director. Her lawyer would compose and send a response to the board within two weeks. She planned to call him in the morning and sat taller. She reached into her bag for a tissue and told herself to snap out of it. The mirror reflected a face drained by the emotional blast, but some healthy color had returned to her cheeks. She brushed her hair back to graze her shoulders. This crisis screamed, “Call your AA sponsor,” but the woman left on her honeymoon two days before. In the meantime, Leslie texted another program friend to arrange a call. *** Excerpt from Tangled Darkness by MM Desch. Copyright 2025 by MM Desch. Reproduced with permission from MM Desch. All rights reserved.
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About Author Mary Desch:
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Mary Desch, writing under the pen name MM Desch, brings a wealth of psychiatric expertise to her gripping psychological thrillers. Drawing from her extensive career as a general and addiction psychiatrist across multiple states, she crafts relatable characters facing intense psychological and physical dangers. Her deep understanding of human motivations, conflicts, and trauma recovery infuses her writing with authenticity and suspense. A lifelong mystery enthusiast, Mary’s passion for the genre evolved from childhood fascination with Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine to a deep appreciation for detective fiction in college. This enduring love for suspenseful storytelling naturally led her to write psychological thrillers.
When not delving into the intricacies of her next novel or novella, Mary enjoys hiking, long walks with her wife and their spirited mini schnauzer, exploring local food scenes, golfing, and following women’s professional basketball.
Mary’s debut thriller, Tangled Darkness, marks the beginning of a promising foray into psychological suspense fiction.
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What if the Ark of the Covenant isn’t a reference to the chest containing the Ten Commandments God revealed to Moses atop Mount Sinai?
What if it refers to the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh whose contents would revolutionize religious history? As ex-Jesuit Scott Larson and adventuress Zady Jones learn, such a discovery can be deadly.
A terrorist attack on the Great Pyramid of Giza ratchets up the tension in Washington, D.C., where President John Jenkins has been impeached for an order declaring the U.S. a Judeo-Christian nation. The terrorists threaten more attacks in Egypt and the U.S. unless their demand is met—and it’s something only Larson and Jones can give them. When the efforts to meet the terrorists’ demand goes awry and Zady’s sister is kidnapped, Larson and Jones race to save her. Along the way, they receive a series of mysterious clues that point to the existence of a shocking historical secret, one that could not only topple Jenkins’ presidency but upend Judeo-Christianity.
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Praise for The Ignoble Lie:
“This fast-paced religious thriller will especially appeal to fans of The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. Unlike that book, though, The Ignoble Lie digs deep into Biblical lore and ancient history, back to the origins of the historical Moses in ancient Egypt. If you like your thrillers seasoned with Church conspiracies, Egyptian archaeology, and murderous mercenaries, look no further. You won’t be able to put it down.” ~ Chris
“The Ignoble Lie by Matthew Peters is a sophisticated geopolitical thriller that intertwines religious history, political intrigue, and clandestine warfare… I loved the characters in The Ignoble Lie — believable and thoroughly explored. The prose, the sparkling dialogue, and the deft plotting are the elements that captivated me, together with the suspenseful storytelling. 5 Stars” ~ Christian Sia for Readers’ Favorite
Book Details:
Genre: Political/Religious thriller
Published by: Mélange Books Publication Date: May 12, 2025 Number of Pages: 368 ISBN: 979-8886533712 (print) Series: Of Gods & Men, Book 1
Under a spring sunset, the pyramids of Giza stood like pointed stone islands in a timeless sea of desert sand. At the northeast corner of the plateau, several armed guards perched atop camels at the base of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. The leader of the security force nodded as three lean bearded men garbed in long, white robes and carrying cameras and other electronic equipment approached. The trio formed a loose line and then trudged up the massive beige limestone blocks to the main entrance on the north face of the pyramid.
When they stepped inside, the cool air moved slightly like a palm frond breeze fanned by ancient servants. The men could still hear the hum of the generator outside as they made their way down a long, sloping, cramped corridor in the pale glow of the electric lighting. Following the metal conduit from the generator, they began climbing a longer passage. Their stated job was simple: set up the cameras needed to film the contents of the recently discovered room behind the west wall of the King’s Chamber, one of only two known chambers in the vast structure. Official filming by an international team would commence in the morning and the world would soon learn of the contents.
An hour later, one of the men burst out of the pyramid’s entrance covered in blood. Sweat drenched his brow as he bent over, his hands on his knees, trying desperately to suck oxygen into his lungs. Fortunately, the guards were not in sight. After a few moments, he raised himself to a fully standing position and wiped blood from his hands onto his dove-colored djellaba. He looked up at the sky beseechingly. The setting sun was glorious: red, orange, bronze. The scene was somehow new and final: the first sunset and the last. The celestial canvas suddenly looked like an unfolding scroll and for one fleeting moment on that scroll he saw painted what he’d glimpsed in the hidden room. A golden rectangular chest with two winged lions with human heads on a peaked, shiny lid. Four gold rings were set into the bottom four feet, through which golden poles were placed for carrying. It was— No, it couldn’t be… Could it? It was almost impossible to believe, but what if it was? After all, it looked exactly as it was described in the Torah, though that source couldn’t entirely be trusted. But if there was even a chance that it was, no matter how small… At least, that’s what they’d told him. And in the end, that was all that really mattered: what they had told him. Because the money that would go to his family was more than he could ever make in a whole lifetime. With shaky hands, he fumbled for his cell phone and punched the #1 button. “Yes?” a voice said after one ring. “It’s as you feared.” “Now is the time,” the voice responded. “Allahu Akbar,” the man whispered and ended the call. He took a deep breath, the kind a long jumper takes just before the approach, then punched the code on his phone. He held his breath until the explosive detonated. Then there was nothing but blackness that stretched into forever. *** Excerpt from The Ignoble Lie by Matthew Peters. Copyright 2025 by Matthew Peters. Reproduced with permission from Matthew Peters. All rights reserved.
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About Author Matthew Peters:
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Matthew Peters has a B.A. from Vassar College and an M.A., and Ph.D. from Duke University. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and currently resides in North Carolina. He is passionate about exploring religious, political, and socioeconomic issues from a variety of different perspectives and especially values the views put forth by marginalized groups or people. His writing involves a good deal of research, and he is committed to writing plausible novels, in the hope of giving readers food for thought.
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THE FOREVER FACTOR: A SILICON VALLEY novel by Tom Hogan and Amanda Iles Category: Adult Fiction (18+), 410 pages Genre: genetic engineering science fiction, medial thrillers, hard science fiction Publisher: Laughing Dog Publishing LLC Release date: March 5, 2025 Content Rating: R for language
“You want to get a realistic view on how breakthrough technologies emerge from Silicon Valley? Hogan and Isles, with deft dramatic style, put you right there with characters who remind me of those I worked alongside over the past 40 years. Brilliant, yes; imperfect, unquestionably; conflicted, sometimes; ambitious, you bet. Well worth your time.” — 5-Star Review on Amazon
Book Description:
Silicon Valley’s relentless pursuit of innovation collides with the profound quest for longevity in this thrilling new novel.
When visionary inventor Petra Alexander stumbles upon a groundbreaking discovery that could radically extend the human lifespan, she’s catapulted into the high-stakes world of Silicon Valley startups. Armed with ambition and a deeply personal drive, Petra must navigate the cutthroat corridors of tech giants, venture capitalists, and biohackers—as well as threats from powerful forces dead set against the transformative technology she’s developing.
Funded by “The Hydras,” an elite group of tech moguls dedicated to biohacking and longevity, Petra pushes the boundaries of science, spurred by her quest to find a cure for the rapid-aging disease that killed her sister and now threatens her mother. Reluctantly assuming the mantle of biotech CEO, she faces impossible choices: Who will control access to a life-saving breakthrough? What sacrifices will she make in the name of progress? And how far is she willing to go when her own life is at risk?
Packed with gripping suspense and nuanced ethical dilemmas, The Forever Factor offers a rare glimpse into the startup culture that shapes our world. From clandestine yacht gatherings to high-stakes negotiations in Silicon Valley boardrooms, the novel intertwines scientific breakthroughs, corporate intrigue, and human drama in a narrative that will leave you questioning the very nature of life, mortality, and innovation.
Fans of Michael Crichton’s techno-thrillers and Blake Crouch’s speculative fiction will find themselves captivated by this smart, fast-paced tale that dares to ask: Should anyone be allowed to master immortality—or does the pursuit threaten the very future of humanity?
I came up with the idea for The Forever Factor, my fourth novel, delving into the intrigue of Silicon Valley startups combined with a longevity and biohacking theme. That meant the startup needed to be a biotech company, not a tech company — and I know very little about biology or biotech. Amanda Iles and I had worked together on Silicon Valley tech startup marketing before I retired, and she had been a ‘reader’ for my previous novels. Lucky for me, she also has a background in biology and biotech, among other things. So I brought her on as a co-author for this novel.
Are your characters based on real people?
No, they’re all fictional, though some are composites of people I’ve actually known. But I’m not naming names.
Many of the characters in your book are women. Was this intentional?
Maybe subconsciously. I’m surrounded by strong women in my life, so that might have something to do with it.
How important is a book’s cover?
It’s crucial, because it sets the tone for what readers should expect. We knew we wanted some form of a double helix (the signature shape of DNA molecules) on the cover. We looked at dozens of book covers in the suspense genre to get a feel for what those look like, then we worked with a graphic designer to put it all in place. It took a few revisions until we came up with the final cover, which we’re very happy with.
How would you describe the types of books you write?
Thoughtful suspense.
Do you have any advice for aspiring novelists?
Read as voraciously as you can. Spend time understanding the tried-and-true story arcs for fictional stories, but don’t be a slave to particular plot points and beats. Before you start writing, establish your overall plot and main characters: who they are, what they look like, their habits and backstories. Then, most importantly, get input along the way and be willing to “kill your darlings” — meaning, remove or change any scene, plot point, or character that doesn’t work. Then, at the end, hire a really good editor to polish your final product.
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Meet the Authors:
Amanda Iles: Amanda Iles is a writer who creates prose on behalf of Silicon Valley executives and companies, from Steve Jobs to the latest hot startups. Before writing professionally, she earned a biology/philosophy degree and worked in a developmental neurobiology lab at UC San Diego, followed by a graduate degree from the prestigious UC Santa Cruz science writing program.
Tom Hogan: Tom Hogan is an author and screenwriter based in Austin, TX. Left for Alive is his first novel. He is also the screenwriter for The Devil’s Breath, a noir thriller set in Auschwitz. It was a finalist at the Napa Valley Film Festival and semi-finalist at the Austin Film Festival.
Tom’s past writing experience has been on the non-fiction side. He is the co-author (with Carol Broadbent) of The Ultimate Startup Guide: Marketing Lessons, War Stories, and Hard-Won Advice from Leading Venture Capitalists and Angel Investors. The book highlights the lessons Tom and Carol learned as principals at Crowded Ocean, a marketing firm that has launched over 50 Silicon Valley startups. He has also written extensively for travel books, political journals, and Newsweek.
Professionally, Tom has split his career between academia and technology marketing. He was a lecturer in Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Santa Clara University and UC Santa Cruz. He joined Silicon Valley in its infancy, where he was the original creative director at Oracle. Moving into the VC (Venture Capital) world, he was a co-founder of Crowded Ocean and now advises startups in Silicon Valley and Austin.
The Iris Code: A Tracker Novel Crime Thriller Series: A Stand-Alone Story – Part of the FBI Tracker novels Setting – Fredericksburg, Texas Publisher : Mystic Circle Books (June 20, 2024) Hardcover : 318 pages ISBN-10 : 1958464066 ISBN-13 : 978-1958464069 Paperback: 318 pages ISBN-10 : 1958464058 ISBN-13 : 978-1958464052 Digital ASIN : B0CW13NLFS
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Local reporter and photographer Riley Phillips stumbles upon the unthinkable during a routine Human Remains Detection canine training session at an abandoned farm near Fredericksburg, Texas. When her cadaver dog, Milo, unexpectedly alerts, she makes a chilling discovery—a corpse with a bullet hole in the skull.
Riley’s nose for news is already twitching, but when the unidentified body is stolen, her journalistic instincts ignite. Who is determined to keep the victim’s identity a secret—and why?
Could her crime scene photos hold the key? What her camera captured propels the elite FBI Tracker Unit into action and places her squarely in the crosshairs of a killer. Learning the identity of the mystery man takes on an ominous urgency.
Can Riley and FBI Tracker Cody Lightfoot uncover the truth before a deadly plot unfolds—or will they become the next targets?
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About Anita Dickason
Award-winning author Anita Dickason writes about what she knows, cops and crime. After twenty-two years with the Dallas Police Department, Anita has an unending source of inspiration for her plots. Many incidents and characters are based on her experiences. During her tenure, she served as a patrol officer, undercover narcotics officer, advanced accident investigator, tactical officer and the first female sniper on the Dallas SWAT team.
A high-profile homicide of a former ambassador’s son in the nightlife district of the nation’s capital gets connected to an assassination market on the dark web. When political elites panic upon finding their names listed on the online dead pool, entrepreneurial siblings Karen and Yemi Uzunma see a business opportunity for their DC area-based executive protection firm, RAPTOR. Their first major client becomes the ex-diplomat himself, Chiedu Attah, but to guarantee his safety, they realize they are going to have to go to war in the streets with an inventive contract killer who will not stop attacking until Attah suffers the same fate as his son.
Praise for Bazaar:
“Bazaar is not just about action; it unfolds layer by layer, offering more than just a high-stakes thriller.” ~ Priya Bhasin, The Bibliophilic World “Truly an interesting book with a perspective rarely seen in fiction” ~ Jeff Sexton, Head Librarian for Hardcover.app “A fast-paced book that caught me off guard more than once.” ~ The Mystery Review Crew “If you like complex, suspenseful, thrills, chills, hidden agenda type books, then I recommend giving Bazaar by Miles Joyner a try.” ~ Susan Blogs About Books “Saying that I was awestruck by Miles Joyner’s character development and knowledge of subject matter would be an understatement. I highly enjoyed this novel.” ~ J.M. Clark, Author of Palace Program series of novels.
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BAZAAR Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Technothriller
Published by: World Castle Publishing Publication Date: March 24, 2025 Number of Pages: 355 ISBN: 9798305201901 (HC) 9798891263369 (PB)
A lifelong fiction writer, Miles turned to penning novels after nearly a decade of holding various producer/editor roles in the D.C. area media industry. He still pursues filmmaking in between books and finds that writing in the thriller genre only enhances that passion even more. Miles is an active member of International Thriller Writers where his novel, Bazaar, was selected for ITW’s Debut Authors Program. He also attends monthly meetings for Novels in Progress DC.
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