Posts Tagged ‘psychological thriller’

The Girl In The Maze By R.K. Jackson ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: September 18, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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THE GIRL IN THE MAZE by R. K. Jackson Banner

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THE GIRL IN THE MAZE
by R. K. Jackson
August 25 – September 19, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
USA TODAY BESTSELLER • Perfect for fans of Alice Feeney, Megan Miranda, and Tana French, R. K. Jackson’s lyrical, twisty psychological thriller follows an aspiring journalist as she uncovers dark truths in a seaswept Southern town—aided by a mysterious outcast and pursued by a ruthless killer.

 

Now available for the first time as an audiobook, this lyrical novel comes alive in a tour de force performance by narrator Hillary Huber.

When Martha Covington moves to Amberleen, Georgia, after her release from a psychiatric ward, she thinks her breakdown is behind her. A small town with a rich history, Amberleen feels like a fresh start. Taking a summer internship with the local historical society, Martha is tasked with gathering the stories of the Geechee residents of nearby Shell Heap Island, the descendants of slaves who have lived by their own traditions for the last three hundred years.

As Martha delves into her work, the voices she thought she left behind start whispering again, and she begins to doubt her recovery. When a grisly murder occurs, Martha finds herself at the center of a perfect storm—and she’s the perfect suspect. Without a soul to vouch for her innocence or her sanity, Martha disappears into the wilderness, battling the pull of madness and struggling to piece together a supernatural puzzle of age-old resentments, broken promises, and cold-blooded murder. She finds an unexpected ally in a handsome young man fighting his own battles. With his help, Martha journeys through a terrifying labyrinth—to find the truth and clear her name, if she can survive to tell the tale.

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Praise for THE GIRL IN THE MAZE:

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“A juicy, twisty literary thriller so captivating you might want to take the long way to your destination… Hillary Huber[‘s] mastery of accents from the melodious Geechee dialect to the broad vowel drawl of Southern aristocracy is on point and music to this Southerner’s ears.” ~ The Atlanta Journal Constitution

“A Southern Gothic thriller with a twisty plot and echoes of Tana French.” ~ Dianne Emley, bestselling author of Killing Secrets

“The Girl in the Maze has suspense, action, memorable characters and even a perfect storm.” ~ Savannah Morning News

“One of the best books I’ve read [this year] . . . The Girl in the Maze is a genre-crushing story that’s part mystery, part thriller, with elements of horror. The result is a terribly entertaining novel.” ~ Cemetery Dance

“Enthralling . . . a psycho-thriller of dark secrets in a small historic Georgian coastal town.” ~ Judith D. Collins, Must Read Books

“This scared the hell out of me.” ~ Laura Otis, MacArthur Fellow, author of Müller’s Lab

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Audio clip from The Girl in the Maze a psychological thriller narrated by Hillary Huber:

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Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Published by: Audiobook: Paradise Press in Association with Fright Night Audio; Print & eBook: Penguin Random House Audiobook Publication Date: August 5, 2025 Number of Print Pages: 300 Audiobook ISBN: 979-8-218-70529-9 eBook Links: Kindle | Goodreads | BN | Apple | Penguin

Audiobook Links: Audible | BN | Apple | LibroFM | Chirp | AudiobooksNow | Spotify

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Prologue

She wants to kill you.

Martha’s fingers tightened onto the Pentel No. 2 pencil, clutched in her lap like a secret talisman. Dr. Ellijay picked up the stack of test booklets, squared them on her desk with soft raps, and began handing them out. She walked slowly down the aisle, her heels popping on the linoleum.

Not today, Martha thought. Please, Lenny, not today.

Outside the casement windows, the campus was awash in gray, a silent movie, as it had been for days, suspended between fog and drizzle, the dull light suppressing shadows, flattening the neo-Gothic buildings of Ponce de Leon College like a plywood set. Only two o’clock, but outside looked more like dusk.

The quad was empty, except for a lone figure seated on a bench, a man in a tweed blazer taking notes in a composition book. He looked up in Martha’s direction, then down at the notebook, then toward her again. To escape his gaze, she looked elsewhere, beyond the campus buildings, above the crenellated rooflines. It was there again. She had seen it before, on bad days, and now it stretched across the buildings, high above the spires and turrets, gelatinous and nearly invisible except for a network of threadlike capillaries. It pulsed and it heaved, breathing, alive. Don’t look at it, Lovie. Lenny murmured in her ear, his voice moist and intimate. You know they don’t want you to see that, right? Just pretend you don’t see it. Today Lenny was only a voice, but on some days she could see him. He was tall and gaunt, his skin white and mottled, like the belly of a toad. Spiked hair. Blue jeans shiny with stains. Canvas sneakers, gray and frayed. Martha felt a touch on her shoulder, jerked around. “Relax, Martha.” Wade leaned forward in the desk behind her. “You look as tight as a piano wire. You’ll do great.” You won’t do great. You’ll die. Lenny hissed. S’truth. You’ll die if you even touch the paper. This was the first time Wade had spoken to her in months. In the early weeks of the semester, he had flirted with her, singled her out for special attention. For a while, the attraction had been mutual. She liked his pug nose, his subversive sense of humor. But that was before. Dr. Ellijay walked to the end of the next aisle, Martha’s aisle. Have a look out, Lovie. ’Ere it comes. Martha tried to concentrate, to review her mental notes. This was the final. Her grades had been floundering—that’s all part of the plan, innit?—but Martha had decided she would overcome the plan. She wouldn’t let them win. Don’t touch the paper, Lenny rasped. It’s printed with poison ink. It’s like them colorful frogs in Ecuador. We learned about that in Biology 101, remember? Beautiful, but lethal. If you touch the ink, you’ll die. Dr. Ellijay returned to her desk at the front of the room and glanced at her wristwatch. “All right, you have forty-five minutes,” she told the class. “You may begin now. Good luck.” Look at ’er. She’s watchin’ you. She wants to see you fail. Touch the frog poison, and you’ll die. Look out the window. The man on the bench, he’s watchin’, too. They’re all watchin’. They’ve all been waitin’ for this moment, doncha see? Martha stared at the page, paralyzed. She felt a drop of perspiration release from her armpit and crawl down her side. Around her, she heard the frantic scratching of her fellow students’ pens. They mingled with the sounds of the rats in the walls, the ones that chewed at the masonry with their sharp teeth, like yellow rice grains. The other students acted as if the rats weren’t there. She glanced at the clock. Six minutes gone already. She looked down at the paper and tried to focus, to form the answers in her mind. If you fall for it—don’t say I din’t warn you, Lovie. She wanted to cry, or to scream, but she was motionless except for the pounding of her heart. Don’t react. Don’t let ’em know. Don’t let ’em on to you, right? That’s the worst thing. She heard Dr. Ellijay’s footsteps approach and stop next to her desk. She didn’t look up. “Martha? It’s been ten minutes, and you haven’t even started. Are you all right?” A swarm of ghostly, amoeba shapes floated in front of Martha’s eyes, and she felt as if her head would explode. “Martha?” Dr. Ellijay placed a hand on her shoulder. Martha screamed and lunged out of her seat, pushing the desk over, causing books to tumble out. Run. It’s yer only chance—run like hellfire. She bounded up the aisle, reached the door, and flung it open with a bang. Run, Lovie. In the hallway, Martha collided with a student on his cellphone, texting. She turned the corner onto another hallway and spotted the door to the custodial closet. She tried the knob. It opened. She slipped inside, squeezed next to a plastic mop bucket with rubber wheels, pulled the door closed, and slid to the floor. In the darkness, she could smell ammonia. She heard the rats scurry around her. One brushed against her ankle, another along the back of her neck. Out in the hallway, footsteps approaching. Voices calling her name. But Martha remained silent, invisible. This is one thing we’re good at, hey, Lovie? Lenny said. We know how to vanish.

Chapter 1

Ten months later
Martha sat on an iron bench in front of the Wash-and-Fold and watched a column of ants as they marched away carrying crumbs from the smashed corner of a ham sandwich. She had made the walk from the Pritchett House to Tobias Avenue in only fifteen minutes, strolling past dew-damp lawns and sprinklers, reaching the business district early. Nothing to do now but wait and watch the town slowly wake up. The morning was hazy, already humid. The rising sun painted sharp, expanding triangles of yellow on the buildings and storefronts. Martha opened her leather satchel and unfolded the advertisement, the one Vince found on the bulletin board at the Gateway Center. She reread it for the hundredth time. EDITORIAL ASSISTANT The Historical Society of Amberleen, Georgia, seeks a full-time intern to assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend. Assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend. She felt restless, considered moving to the local diner for a cup of coffee, then scrapped the idea. Like so many things, caffeine was no longer admissible. She wished she’d brought a book to read, or maybe a newspaper. Anything to take her mind off the fluttery feeling in her gut, a sensation that took hold yesterday when the Trailways bus crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and rolled past that sign in the grass median:
Welcome to Amberleen. Spacious Oaks, Friendly Folks.
Martha held the leather satchel close to her face and sniffed. The smell calmed her. It reminded her of her father, who kept it bulging with papers as he shuttled between their house and the university. She tilted the satchel and heard a faint rattle from within, a secret sound. The part of herself she would keep hidden. A Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the brick building across the street and parked. A tall woman with white hair and an old-fashioned, collared dress got out, unlocked the glass door to the building, and entered. Martha checked her watch—eight fifteen. She took out a mirror, freshened her lip gloss, and brushed a few strands of loose hair from her face. It was time. *** Excerpt from THE GIRL IN THE MAZE by R. K. Jackson. Copyright 2025 by R. K. Jackson. Reproduced with permission from R. K. Jackson. All rights reserved.

 

 

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About Author R.K. Jackson:

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R. K. Jackson

R.K. Jackson is a former CNN journalist who now works at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory. He is the author of two novels of psychological suspense: the USA Today bestseller The Girl in the Maze and its sequel, Kiss of the Sun, both originally published by Penguin Random House.

Catch Up With R. K. Jackson:

RandalJackson.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @RKJackson Instagram – @randal.jackson1 Threads – @randal.jackson1 Facebook – @rkjacksonAuthor  

Tour Participants:

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THE GIRL IN THE MAZE by R. K. Jackson

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Ashes And Echoes By Jo-Anne Van Gelder ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: August 26, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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Ashes and Echoes

by Jo-Anne Van Gelder

 

Publication date: August 22nd 2025
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

A missing friend. A locked estate. A note that says, I know what you did.

Three friends. One is missing. The truth won’t stay buried.

Mara hasn’t seen Elise in years—until a handwritten invitation pulls her back to the crumbling estate they swore they’d never return to.

But Elise isn’t there.
Her handbag is.
So is the daisy.
And a note that reads: I know what you did.

Now Mara and Jodie—the third in their fractured trio—are trapped. No cars. No signal. Nowhere to run.

The house is full of locked doors and old ghosts.
Every secret points back to that night.

Elise’s absence is only the beginning.

Some friendships end in silence.
Some secrets refuse to stay dead.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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PROLOGUE:

There were three rules.

One: Don’t ask questions.

Two: Don’t keep records.

Three: If something goes wrong, disappear.

Elise memorised them before she knew what they meant.

Before she understood what kind of house she lived in.

What kind of programme she had been born into.

What kind of silence the adults needed in order to survive.

They were never written down. Just repeated in whispers.

Embedded in routine. Hidden in the space between a closed

door and a too-long pause.

The files were kept in a box under Ian’s bed. Locked, of

course—but not well. She picked the clasp with a bobby pin

when she was twelve and didn’t breathe again until she was

fourteen.

Inside: incident reports, training forms, assessment notes.

Faces she didn’t know. Names she couldn’t place. Her own

wasn’t among them. That unsettled her more than if it had

been.

She never told Grace.

She told no one.

But she remembered.

Not everything. Just enough.

Just the names that seemed misfiled.

The dates that didn’t line up.

The symbols that kept reappearing—on files, in margins, on

lanyards and notebooks.

And once, scratched into the underside of a metal desk in the

old admin wing: a daisy. Faint, but deliberate.

She started drawing them, too.

On the inside of her sleeve. In the dust on her windowsill.

With steam on the bathroom mirror.

By the time she turned fifteen, she no longer trusted the

silence around her. She didn’t fear it, either. But she recognised

it for what it was—a tool.

On the night of her birthday, she wrote a single line inside

the fabric lining of her mattress, using the ink from a leaking

pen:

If something happens to me, it wasn’t random. And it wasn’t

right.

She drew a daisy beside it.

And smiled, like any other girl.

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About Author Jo-Anne Van Gelder:

Jo-Anne Van Gelder is the pen name of a Dutch novelist based in the Netherlands. Ashes and Echoes is Jo’s debut psychological thriller—a dark, emotionally layered novel about memory, guilt, and buried truths.

Jo lives with her partner, who is also an author, and their cat. She spends most days surrounded by books, coffee, and the quiet thrill of untold stories.

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Ashes and Echoes Blitz

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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They Came At Night By Westley Smith ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: August 7, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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They Came At Night by Westley Smith Banner

THEY CAME AT NIGHT
by Westley Smith
July 21 – August 15, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

In the five years since the fateful and horrific night that changed her life, Sandra Leigh has kept herself sequestered at the Compound, a trauma recovery/survival skill camp that helped her process her past and feel safe in the world again. Now, the time has come for her to face life outside the Compound, and that starts with a family road trip to rebuild the relationship she once had with her young niece. A weekend at a rented cabin in the woods sounds idyllic, but Sandra begins to notice that things are off. Strange sounds and shadows, combined with a less-than-welcoming atmosphere at the nearby small town, put Sandra quickly on edge. Is it all just her paranoia coming into play, or is there something truly dangerous happening? When her niece discovers a cryptic message hidden in the cabin’s guest book–THEY CAME AT NIGHT–Sandra realizes that her family is caught in the crosshairs of a heinously sinister plot, and she will need to call on all the skills she learned at the Compound to save them… if she can.

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Praise for They Came At Night:

“A gripping, action-packed psychological thriller about a troubled woman whose quiet family reunion in a strange small town suddenly turns into a deadly nightmare. You’ll be cheering on every page as Sandra Leigh goes from being a victim to a heroic killing machine who will do whatever it takes to protect the ones she loves. Author Westley Smith really turns up the tension and the twists and the thrills in this fast-paced read all the way to the shocking ending.” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mystery series

“They Came At Night raises a harrowing question: what happens when the only things worse than the demons inside you are the demons outside you? When a weekend getaway turns into a chilling bloodbath, Westley Smith’s heroine, Sandra Leigh, must battle her own familiar fears while facing unspeakable new ones. This is a thriller that lives up to the name: a tale that grips you and pulls you relentlessly from one page to the next as you race toward its nerve-shattering climax.” ~ Charles Philipp Martin, author of the Inspector Lok novels Rented Grave and Neon Panic

“Tense and violent, Smith shows us how far a woman will go to protect her own… Action-packed but filled with heart… Sandra Leigh is the best kind of kick-ass female lead. Smart, fearless, and not afraid to get dirty to protect those she loves.” ~ Elena Taylor, award-winning, best selling author

“Taut. Intriguing. Scary as hell… so be careful who you terrorize. Retribution is brutal.” ~ Tj O’Connor, award-winning author of The Whisper Legacy

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller/Action Hybrid

Published by: Watertower Hill Publishing Publication Date: May 27, 2025 Number of Pages: 336

Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Watertower Hill Publishing

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MY REVIEW

I’m a huge fan of horror. All kinds of horror. Cryptids? Oh yeah. Vampires and werewolves? You betcha. And the paranormal and supernatural? Scary good stuff. Anything that can have me anxious and fearing the next paragraph is my jam. Give me thrills and chills.

I sometimes read a book without reading the synopsis. What drew me to this one was three things. First, the title. They Came At Night.  I was wondering who or what They were. Then there’s the author. I’ve read other books by Westley Smith. He got some 5 star reviews from me. He writes what I like. Then there’s the cover. This one is simplistic. Two thirds of it is dark. Like you’re sitting in a room, staring into the darkness in front of you, wondering what could be in it. Is that a shadow? A shadow of someone holding a knife? A big knife?  Then there’s what looks a table with a journal opened up. The only thing written in it is the title. The words are in black ink but they appear to bleed.  All of that made this an easy pick to read.

I started reading and what did I get?  Some great characters. They were so genuine and sure did respond to situations in believable ways. A couple of them became very important to me. That kept me invested in finding out if they survived.  I also got so many feels. I expected to get creeped out. That was a given. And I did. In some instances I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something else I got that surprised me was frustration and sadness. The frustration was caused by a certain character that got on my last nerve. The writer wrote that character really good. And then there was sadness. In lots of horror books not all of the characters survive. In fact, I love that. But when someone I was pulling for doesn’t make it, I feel sad. Wish I could change the outcome. Making me feel that is powerful stuff.

What else can I share.  A famous quote from R.L. Stine, “Beware. You’re In For A Scare.” That sums it up.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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CHAPTER ONE

Sandra Leigh hadn’t felt the phantom pain for several years—the perception of discomfort in a limb that was no longer there. But after receiving a phone call from her sister two weeks ago, the ghostly ache of her severed left ring finger had returned.

Hey, Sissy. William and I are renting a house with Emalyn for the weekend. We’d love for you to join us, Carrie had said in her normal chipper tone.

Was the pain telling her something? Perhaps a warning that she wasn’t ready for a weekend excursion with her family just yet. Should she have declined the invitation and stayed hidden in the mountains of West Virginia, at the Compound, where she was safe from… well, everything since the attack?

Now, sitting in the rear seat of her brother-in-law’s Toyota Sequoia, heading to the rental home Carrie had booked for their weekend gathering, these questions floated through her mind as she tried soothing the tingling sensation away from what remained of her finger. Her brother-in-law, William, was driving, and Carrie, her elder sister of ten years, sat in the passenger seat. Beside Sandra, her fifteen-year-old niece, Emalyn, scrolled through her phone. What were you thinking, Sandra? You’re not ready for this. The suture scar across the tip of her nub wiggled like a worm on a hook as if confirming her thoughts. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Sissy,” Carrie said, turning in the passenger seat, her Carolina-blue eyes twinkling with excitement, looking forward to their weekend. This was the first time they had done anything together as a family since he attacked her while on the way to Carrie’s house. West Chester University, where she was studying music education, focusing on piano, had ordered all students and staff to return home in March 2020, fearing the threat of spreading COVID-19. Nearly an hour into her two-hour drive, the driver’s-side rear tire of her Toyota Corolla blew, leaving Sandra stranded in the middle of nowhere. Not knowing how to change a tire, she contacted AAA on her cell phone, feeling lucky to have gotten a signal at least. The operator told her they were sending someone out to make the repairs. Five minutes later, the swirling yellow lights of an approaching tow truck cut the night. Relieved, knowing the tire would be fixed and she’d soon be on her way, Sandra had gotten out to greet the repairman. But when the tow truck door opened with a rusty reeeek, and his snake-skin boots hit the frozen ground, Sandra felt a shift in the air that raised the gooseflesh from her toes to her scalp and caused a fear-hardening of her nipples. Something wasn’t right. “You the one who called about the flat tire?” “Me too,” Sandra replied unenthusiastically, trying to suppress the horrible memory of that night unfolding in her mind. Carrie smiled reassuringly as if she understood Sandra’s hesitation to participate in the family trip. You don’t. The sunlight breaking through the dense forest canopy caught Carrie’s gold wedding band and cast a circulating light that made Sandra squint. The tingling sensation intensified as if a thousand tiny needles were simultaneously jabbing the tip of a finger that was no longer there—a memento of their night together. Mixed feelings of irritation, envy, and sadness tightened her chest. She’d never be able to wear a wedding ring—not like an ordinary wife with all ten fingers, not like Carrie could. Averting her gaze to the Mudmaster GG1000-1A5 watch strapped to her left wrist, Sandra saw it was almost noon. They had been in the car for about two hours. The watch’s compass told her they were heading northwest to Little Hope, Pennsylvania. The ride had been uneventful and quiet, which Sandra was thankful for. She didn’t want to discuss what had happened, and she especially didn’t want to discuss her life over the last five years living and working at the Compound. But you’re going to have to. You know that. She did. The subject would come up this weekend. How could it not? It was the elephant in the room. “Mom.” Emalyn spoke for the first time in over an hour. Sitting forward, she pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose and fidgeted in her seat. “How much longer until we get there?” “Five more minutes, hon,” Carrie replied in a teasing, breathy mom tone. She winked at Sandra playfully. Emalyn rolled her dark eyes and sat back in the seat with a sigh, blowing a tuft of her curly brown hair out of her face. She scrolled through her phone several times before tiring of whatever had held her undivided attention for most of the ride and shifting her bored gaze to the passing forest. Emalyn appeared very attached to her phone. Sandra wondered why Carrie, an elementary school teacher, wasn’t putting a stop to it. She had to know phone addiction was a real thing, something Sandra had learned from experience once she gave up using one herself. In Sandra’s five-year absence, Emalyn had turned from a chubby-cheek ten-year-old child who loved drawing and coloring, chicken nuggets with ketchup, and Percy Jackson into a budding young woman she didn’t recognize and no longer knew. Her niece had spoken little during the drive, and the space between them had filled with an uncomfortable heaviness, like sitting next to a stranger on a tour bus. Hell, you are practically strangers at this point. This bothered Sandra. She had been close with her niece, nearly inseparable, before leaving everything—family, friends, school, her life, what was left post-attack—behind to join the Compound. According to Carrie, Emalyn’s recollection of the loving, caring, always-there Aunt Sonnie—a nickname given to her when Emalyn was learning to say Aunt Sandy—was vague. To expect Emalyn to welcome Sandra back into her life as if nothing had changed between them was unrealistic. And everything had changed. Sandra knew that happy, fun-loving, liberal college girl who was so optimistic about her future, looking forward to maybe playing piano for a symphony (if she was lucky) or teaching in a classroom like Carrie (if she wasn’t), had died that cold March night along the side of the road. Can’t play or teach piano with only nine fingers. She took a deep breath that rattled in her throat and looked out the window, hoping to quell the thoughts from her mind along with the irritating phantom pains. A metal For Sale sign at the mouth of a stone driveway caught her attention. A magnetic SOLD! was stuck across the front. The colonial house sat partially hidden in dense woods about fifty feet from the main highway. The home wasn’t quite dilapidated, but it needed serious rehab. She wondered how much the buyer had paid for it, knowing the work needed to make it livable. Twenty-five yards further up the road, she saw another For Sale sign with another magnetic SOLD! across the front. This home was a double-wide trailer about to fold in on itself. Then, across the road, she saw yet another For Sale sign by a dirt driveway. This property was also marked SOLD!, though the house, a rancher, appeared in better shape than the previous two. Why were so many properties sold on this stretch of the highway? Had the pandemic hit the area hard? It was possible. Many people had lost their homes while the world was shut down. “You said this place was outside of a town called Little Hope, but you never said how you found it,” Sandra said, looking away from the rancher as they passed. “Online,” Carrie replied, sweeping a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “A website called R&R.” “R&R?” “Rest and Relax,” Carrie said. “It’s like Airbnb, but the site focuses on families looking for houses big enough to vacation together.” Hearing that Carrie had used a website to rent the house gave Sandra the heebie-jeebies. Corporations couldn’t be trusted to keep personal information from falling into the wrong hands. “William chose the house. I can’t wait for you to see it, Sissy.” Carrie’s blue eyes flicked to her husband with tender admiration. Even after fifteen years of marriage, her sister still swooned over William. Carrie’s wedding ring caught the sunlight again, pulling Sandra’s eyes back to it. The tip of her ghost finger twitched. She rubbed the nub, reminding her of its absence… of everything he had taken from her. “I thought if there were any chance of getting you to come along this weekend, it would have to be somewhere remote, private,” William said, shifting his dark brown eyes onto Sandra in the rearview mirror. At forty-seven, he was strikingly handsome, with short gray hair and a stubble of matching beard growth that she wasn’t used to seeing him with. “We’ll be alone up there, surrounded by woods with hiking trails.” He glanced at her in the mirror again and smiled. Was he looking for her approval? A pat on the back for thinking of her and her growing distrust of civilization since the attack? Not knowing how to respond, Sandra just nodded. A ding on William’s cell phone caused him to shift his gaze to the center console, where his mobile rested in the cup holder. The GPS map was open on the screen, leading the way to their rental home. “Can you check that?” William asked. “I am happy you decided to join us, Sissy,” Carrie said again, picking William’s phone up. How Carrie kept saying Sissy rubbed Sandra the wrong way. There wasn’t necessarily a fakeness in her cadence—it was what Carrie had always called her, but now it felt forced, like her sister was tiptoeing around something. Is she wondering if I’m… mentally stable? By the fall of 2020, while the rest of the world was worrying if they were next on the virus’s hitlist, Sandra had grown increasingly paranoid, convinced he was coming for her. He was still out there, free to roam the desolate highways looking for other stranded females. His essence had invaded her like a malignant organism—a constant presence in her mind, leaving her to wonder why she’d been chosen to be his victim as if she were picked from some fucked-up lottery drawn by the devil. She had quit college in the spring and had gone completely dark by that summer, deleting her social media accounts, closing her emails, and dropping her phone carrier so he couldn’t track her down using the phone’s GPS. She didn’t know if he had the skills to hack into her digital life, but she couldn’t take that chance, and she didn’t trust Facebook, Google, or Verizon to keep her personal information safe from a savvy and determined psychopath looking to hunt her down. She even considered changing her name for an extra measure of protection. This consuming obsession, which had caused her to lock herself away in the guest room of her sister’s house with the shades drawn, had finally led Sandra to seek professional help to deal with the emotional fallout of the attack. She couldn’t deal with the mental torment and the fear of him for the rest of her life. Using Carrie’s laptop (so she didn’t leave a digital footprint of her own), she started an online search for therapy centers. That’s when Sandra had stumbled across what she knew immediately was her salvation. The Compound—an unconventional rehabilitation center in the hills of West Virginia operated by ex-Navy SEAL Joel Conrad. When she told her family of her plans to join the Compound, they objected to what they considered her rash decision. Janis, her mother, was certain the Compound was some militia group looking to overthrow the government to keep then-President Trump in power, which Sandra found asinine but something her faux-liberal-minded, CNN-watching mother would say and believe. Carrie and William begged her not to leave, offering to let her live with them and pay for therapy for as long as needed. But she couldn’t stay. If she did, she risked herself, and more importantly, her family’s lives, positive that when he found her, he’d kill all of them. Carrie dropped the phone into the cup holder, snapping Sandra back to reality. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably and felt the Smith &Wesson Model 442 revolver tucked into the rear of her pants press against her spine. She’d never be helpless to defend herself again. “Everything okay?” William asked with a concerned glance. “It was Devin.” Carrie shook her head, frustrated. “He said they got hung up but are on their way.” William had a twenty-three-year-old son from a previous marriage. From her chat with Carrie about the trip, Sandra knew that Devin and his girlfriend were also joining them for the weekend. She didn’t know the girlfriend’s name and didn’t care enough to ask. She wasn’t planning on spending time with them anyway. She had other priorities this weekend, like rekindling her relationship with her sister. And especially with Emalyn. It was why Sandra had decided to come along, despite her fears, the anxiety running the gamut, and the persistent phantom pains. The attack hadn’t just affected her life but the lives of those around her, too. Well, except for maybe her mother, who didn’t seem too bothered by the whole ordeal. Then again, she never made that much of a fuss over anything that happened in her second daughter’s life, including when it was almost taken. “It’s already noon. That means they won’t get here until…” Carrie trailed off. William shook his head but didn’t say anything—the silence of a disappointed father. Carrie took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Sandra looked out the window and saw another SOLD property, though there was no house in sight, and again found it weird that so much land had been sold off. “Mom, I have to pee.” “Five more—” “Mom, I really have to go,” Emalyn whined. “Well, you’re in luck, kiddo,” William said. “We just arrived in Little Hope.” A one-way stone bridge was quickly approaching. Beyond it, Sandra saw a town tucked into the forest hills. A small sign on the bridge’s right side read: WELCOME TO LITTLE HOPE. As they crossed the bridge, Sandra glanced into the creek gully. Four scruffy-looking boys stood on the bank, watching the Sequoia enter the town with stares so unwelcoming that her nub began to thump as if it were a warning. *** Excerpt from They Came At Night by Westley Smith. Copyright 2025 by Westley Smith. Reproduced with permission from Westley Smith. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Westley Smith:

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Westley Smith

Westley Smith had his first short story, “Off to War,” published when he was just sixteen. He is, more recently, the author of two horror novels, Along Came the Tricksters and All Hallows Eve, as well as the crime thrillers Some Kind of Truth and In The Pale Light. His short fiction has been published in various magazines and websites. Wes lives with his wife and two dogs in the beautiful woodlands of southern Pennsylvania–the perfect place to hide a body.

Catch Up With Westley Smith:

WestleySmithBooks.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @wssmith100 Instagram – @wsmithbooks Facebook – @westleysmith100 Watertower Hill Publishing

 

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THEY CAME AT NIGHT by Westley Smith {Gift Card}

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Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ Whispers By J. Herman Kleiger

Posted: July 21, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mystery, suspense
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Whispers by J. Herman Kleiger Banner

WHISPERS
by J. Herman Kleiger
July 14 – August 8, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
A Tale of Madness, Betrayal, and Revenge

 

What if one phone call could change your entire life?

With the page-turning suspense of Ava Strong’s FBI thriller Not Like He Seemed and gritty realism of Douglas and Olshaker’s New York Times Bestseller MindHunter, Whispers promises readers a nail-biting journey into the search for a serial killer and a window into the troubled mind of the agent who pursues him. “They’re killing all the shrinks!” cries Nicola Kitts, now a special agent with the FBI’s storied Behavioral Assessment Unit. But why are prominent psychiatrists being targeted, and what secrets did they share?

In this sequel to Tears Are Only Water, Special Agent Kitts leads the hunt for a serial killer who leaves obscure mathematical formulas and twisted poems of retribution by the bodies. The FBI thinks they’ve figured it out, pointing to Raevyn Nevenmoore, a former gymnastic champion with a history of mania and delusions. But Raevyn hints that her twin brother Finch is involved in the killings. The only problem is, Finch died years earlier. Is Raevyn clinically insane or a clever psychopath? Haunted by her own traumas and hidden scars, Kitts struggles to piece together the clues and separate Raevyn’s madness from an even more troubling reality. Can she silence her own demons long enough to find the killer … and save herself?

Are you ready to uncover the truth? Dive into the chilling world of Whispers and experience a psychological thriller that intertwines madness, betrayal, and relentless suspense.

Grab your copy of Whispers today and join Special Agent Kitts in a race against time to piece together a puzzle that bridges the gap between madness and reality.

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Praise for Whispers:

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“J. Herman Kleiger’s new novel is equally gripping, moving along at a fast pace, as Kleiger’s sophisticated understanding of human psychology is on full display.” ~ Richard M. Waugaman, M.D., Let’s Re-Vere the Works of Shakespeare

“An expert on the diagnosis and treatment of bipolar disorder as well as on the Rorschach test, J. Herman Kleiger is also a fiction writer, author of the acclaimed novels The 11th Inkblot and Tears Are Only Water. His riveting new novel, Whispers, is a psychological whodunit that will maintain the reader’s interest from beginning to end. Readers will learn much about bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, conversion therapy, malignant parenting, and the lifelong impact of shame while trying to figure out the serial killer or killers responsible for the deaths of four psychiatrists. Just when readers believe that the diabolical murders have been solved, they are forced to think again. As with his other novels, Whispers instructs as it entertains, reminding readers that ‘Hope is important for all of us who have walked in the shadows.” ~ Jeffrey Berman, Distinguished Teaching Professor, University at Albany, and author of Clinical Fictions: Psychoanalytic Novels and Short Stories

“With Whispers, J. Herman Kleiger makes it a trifecta of his fine, psychologically astute novels. Picking up on several very interesting characters from his second book “Tears Are Only Water,” as well as introducing a host of fascinating new ones, Kleiger takes us behind the scenes of the FBI Behavioral Science Unit delving into a series of confounding murders. The writing is taught and there are no easy answers in unravelling the mystery.” ~ F. Barton Evans author of Harry Stack Sullivan (Marker of Modern Psychiatry)

“Kleiger’s third novel, Whispers, re-introduces us to Nicola Kitts, who we know well from his outstanding previous book, Tears Are Only Water. In this excellent new novel Kitts joins an elite FBI profiling team trying to solve a series of brutal murders of well known psychiatrists. Not a sequel, Whispers is a stand alone, gripping psychological drama that builds intensity and urgency as it flows inexorably towards its dramatic conclusion. With Kleiger’s deep knowledge of psychological theory, and interpersonal relationships, the book comes alive as the team of experts collaborate and compete to refine a workable theory about who the murderer might be, what might motivate him or her, and what hidden meaning the cryptic notes left at each crime scene might hold. We come to admire Kitt’s personal struggles and her ability to challenge her own demons even as she struggles to help solve these mysterious serial killings..” ~ Stephen Lerner, Filmmaker, Strangers in Town

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Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Mystery and Suspense, Serial Killer Crime Drama

Published by: Indie Publication Date: May 5, 2025 Number of Pages: 270 ISBN: 978-1960299697 (pbk)

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle Unlimited | Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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PART ONE
Comes the Whisperer

In the quiet of the night, Silence prickles the skin and murmuring voices speak, Telling stories in hushed tones of private lives and Secrets buried so deeply that no one can hear, Comes the Whisperer. Tell me your secrets, Speak to me of sin and shame, And trust me with your soul.

—Anonymous

Chapter 1

They’re Killing All the Shrinks
The sirens were deafening, drowning out the heart-wrenching screams of frightened women and children. Around her lay the dead bodies of men from her platoon. Suddenly she was holding the limp body of her little brother Blue. The blaring sirens became the sound of her own scream. She awoke in a panic to the shrieking of her work phone. Quickly orienting herself, she answered, “This is Kitts.” “Wakey, wakey Kitts. Rise and shine. Hope you’re up. Doesn’t matter because we’ve got another dead shrink. It’s time to bring you in on this.” Special Agent Nicola Kitts immediately recognized the brassy voice of her boss, Executive Assistant Director Giancarlo Bozzio Baldazzar. Boz headed the FBI’s Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Service Branch. Among his countless other jobs, he liked mentoring new agents. As a former Marine Captain, Boz had taken a shine to ex-gunnery sergeant Kitts. At 5’3,” he chewed out anyone who looked down when talking to him. Although he downplayed their Marine Corps connection, Kitts felt the strength of their invisible Semper Fi bond. She glanced at her clock: 4:30 a.m. With a rush of adrenalin, she sat up straight and said, “Yes, Sir. Copy that.” “Kitts, enough with the military, cop-speak bullshit. I’ve told you, we don’t talk like that around here. But listen . . . we’ve got another one. This makes three––Tamerlane, Fortunato, and now this guy in his Georgetown office. Same MO and signature as the others. Also left another calling card––the same wacky quote and a bunch of those crazy equations, like before. Looks like we have a serial killer who loves math as much as he does butchering shrinks. Anyway, this will be your first rodeo, kid. BAU-4 is staffing this in two days, so you have time to get up to speed. They’re a bunch of eggheaded profilers with egos to match, except for Sidd. He’s good people. So, Kitts, you’ll be there primarily to listen and learn. Their job is to profile. Yours is to keep a low profile.” “You said this is just like the other two? Same MO?” “Yeah, Kitts, that’s what I said. This last one was in DC. No suspects yet, but the local PD is working on this as a single homicide. They apparently don’t know about the others. The vic’s name is Linus Prokop. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” “Yes, Sir. Isn’t he the guy on the cable news? I remember that name. Didn’t he do some kind of study on male adolescents?” “That’s right. He’s a doozy. Been on the talk show circuit hawking his book about teenage boys and their hard-ons.” Kitts smiled at his raw and uncensored expressions. Suddenly, she felt as if she were back in bootcamp with Boz as her drill sergeant. “DC Metro is still working the crime scene. Probably won’t be too happy when we show up, but nothing new with that. So, get your rear in gear pronto and look at the files so you won’t seem like Doby the village idiot when you meet with BAU Number 4. Got it?” “Copy––I mean yes, Boz Sir. I’ll be there by 7:00.” “Make it 6:30. Oh, and Kitts, leave your damn bird at home this time. Now fuck off.” She blushed as she remembered bringing Langston, her hyacinth macaw, to her office. He was not a hit since he wandered around, marked his territory, and chewed phone cords. Langston had been her sidekick for more than 15 years. If it hadn’t been for Langston, her old boss, Sheriff Oliver Burwinkle, would have killed her too after he shot an agent point blank in her living room. Nicola microwaved a cup of day-old coffee while scarfing down a banana. She pulled Langston’s breakfast bowl out of the fridge, mixed in fresh fruit and vegetables, and topped it with large-shelled nuts. The bird began to chatter and squawk to get her attention. “Damn, cool it. Not in the mood this morning.” She noticed he was picking at the feathers on his chest again. “Stop picking at yourself. I ain’t got time for this shit now.” She reached for the spray the vet had given her and gave him a couple of squirts. Kitts rummaged through a pile of clothes on her chair and grabbed a wrinkled jacket from the floor. Life had been this way since moving to DC two years ago. “Alexa, play some . . . Tracie Chapman music. No, cancel that. Play––” Alexa cut her off and said, “Here is some music by Tracie Chapman on Amazon Music.” “Dammit, girl. Alexa, cancel that. Play music by Libba Cotton and turn up the volume by two.” She felt there was something enchanting about Cotton, an obscure left-handed folk and blues musician who taught herself to play upside down on a right-handed guitar. That Cotton didn’t begin recording until her 60s and won a Grammy at age 90 gave Kitts hope that people could successfully reinvent themselves in midlife. She turned on the shower as Libba sang Ain’t Got No Honey Baby Now. The water was cold, but she didn’t have time for it to warm up. The chill jolted her senses. She threw on her clothes and hurried past Langston––still picking his chest feathers. “Langs! Stop that shit! I gotta cruise now. Won’t be back until dark ’cause this is a big one. You got plenty to eat, so be cool and STOP doing that to yourself.” The thought of another dead therapist put her on full alert, especially with this last one being so close to home. On the way out the door, she stopped and reached out to Langston. “Damn boy, it looks like they’re killing all the shrinks…. Betcha, you’re glad I left shrink school, huh?” *** It was still dark when she exited onto South Washington St. She opened the window, welcoming the chill of cool air on her face. She tried to focus on the killing of yet another psychiatrist, but the hangover from her nightmare was still taunting her. Her VA counselor told her that dreams about the war would never disappear entirely. He said she could learn to reprocess them to make them less frequent, vivid, and painful, but they would never disappear. Fucking nightmares. In the darkness, surrounded by the hum of the tires, Kitts thought about the regular cast of characters who haunted her sleep. Her dreams were typically set in Afghanistan where her brother Blue, Burwinkle, or Pei would suddenly appear, always trying to speak to her in muffled voices. Desperate, she couldn’t move. Her counselors told her she’d be dealing with the long reach of PTSD for the rest of her life. She should expect early and subsequent losses to merge with nightmares of her final bloody firefight in the Musa Qala District. At times, she dreamed only of Blue and his death when they were kids. No matter how much Nicola tried to come to terms with what happened, the guilt never wore off. Paradoxically, there was something oddly comforting about her nighttime visits from Blue, as if he were trying to tell her something. She hated how the traitorous bastard Oliver Burwinkle forced himself into her dreams. Her former boss and mentor back in Colorado continued to stalk her in her sleep after his final deceit. Now, Professor Omar Pei had become the latest cast member to appear uninvited in her dreams, whispering lustfully to her about their forbidden affair at Smith College. Kitts checked her speed as a highway patrolman passed her on the right. Cops. The cruiser reminded her of the Ford Interceptor she used to drive when she was the only deputy of color in the sheriff’s department in Colorado. She left law enforcement in 2014 after Burwinkle tried to kill her. Nicola’s stomach churned when she thought of the impostor. Burwinkle turned out to be a serious bad guy. Fortunately, thanks to Langston’s attacking him, Burwinkle dropped dead of a heart attack before pulling the trigger of the gun he had aimed at her head. Fucking Burwinkle. Though she had long thought about leaving police work, the catastrophic events of 2014 and her subsequent treatment at the VA convinced her it was time to make a clean break and try something new, like becoming a social worker. Her decision to leave law enforcement always made her think of her quirky friend Carmine or “Books” as she called him. Nicola still felt embarrassed by his generous financial gift, which made it possible for her to go to Smith College of Social Work. She recalled their awkward conversation five years ago when she received a check from an anonymous donor that covered her tuition at Smith. “I know it was you, Books. You’re always up to something sneaky like this. I will pay you back. Got that? Been saving up my money.” But she hadn’t paid him back. She had been a rising star at Smith, earning her MSW in just under two years. Nicola had begun working on a PhD when she suddenly became the headliner in the campus rumor mill. She mistakenly thought her involvement with one of her professors was a private affair. Thoughts about Pei always reminded Kitts of her misplaced trust in Burwinkle whose words she couldn’t forget. “Goddammit, Cole. You were like a daughter to me, girl.” Then he tried to kill her. The relationship with Professor Omar Pei began innocently enough. He was struck by her intelligence, fascinating resume, dogged curiosity, and innate insight, and mentioned in passing her striking good looks. Looking her up and down, he’d intoned, “You’re special Nicola Kitts. I’ve had my eye on you. You have the intellectual gifts and instincts that most students can only dream of. I’ve taken a special interest in your academic development. Dine with me tonight so we can discuss your thesis.” And she did. Kitts’s internal signals told her she was straying into dangerous territory, but she ignored the warning lights. It felt good to be special. Man, gotta figure out this shit with mentors, girl. Their affair lasted less than three months but unleashed the hungry tabloid hounds within the small college community. Ultimately, the professor was dismissed, and his student branded with a scarlet letter. It didn’t matter that no one formally blamed Nicola for her mammoth lapse in judgment. She heard the whispers and saw the looks wherever she went. It became too much to bear. One morning, she decided she’d had enough. She packed everything that would fit into her car and left with Langston. Nicola knew that even before the Pei affair, she’d been questioning whether social work was her true calling. Maybe her embarrassment at Smith was just an excuse to leave social work. Part of her wanted to be done with policing but it wasn’t done with her. Law enforcement was in her DNA. Her father and gramps had been Marines and then cops in the Wichita PD. Having no desire to return to the sheriff’s department in Colorado, Kitts applied and was accepted to the FBI Academy. The traffic was light. Can’t keep Boz waiting. The final stretch of Richmond Highway reminded her of how she felt the first time she drove to Quantico. She had been filled with hopes about combining law enforcement with her curiosity about the workings of the mind. Even then, she aspired to someday become a profiler. After completing the FBI Academy, Kitts worked as a junior agent before snagging an appointment to the BAU (Behavioral Assessment Unit). Only a year into her role as a special agent, Kitts felt she’d found a home where she could pursue criminals and discover the deep-seated pathologies that had turned them into killers and predators. She knew about the storied BAU-4 and its predecessor, the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit, popularized in one of her favorite books, Mindhunter. That someone at Boz’s level would select her to shadow this celebrated team of profilers and analysts was a pulse-quickening honor. She thought of his words several months back. “Kitts, I’ve been watching you. I think you got what it takes to work with the BAU. When the time is right, I’m going to bring you in. I got faith in you. Just don’t try to act too much like a cop.” Kitts checked her watch as she flashed her ID to the Marine at the gate. Six twenty-seven––three minutes to spare. She sprinted to the building; Boz would be watching the clock. Kitts wanted to impress him but knew he would quickly pick up her efforts to curry favor. Boz had apparently seen something in her that she was not aware of. But hadn’t Burwinkle and Pei? She was grateful that Boz was giving her a chance but determined not to make the same mistakes as before. All she needed to do was trust his judgment and not lose sight of hers. Just be yourself, whoever that is, and steer clear of whatever’s going on with mentors. She speed-walked into his office and reminded herself not to speak like a cop and never look down at the top of his head. *** Excerpt from Whispers by J. Herman Kleiger. Copyright 2025 by J. Herman Kleiger. Reproduced with permission from J. Herman Kleiger. All rights reserved.

 

 

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About Author J. Herman Kleiger:

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J. Herman Kleiger

J. Herman Kleiger (Dr. James H. Kleiger) is a board certified clinical psychologist and trained psychoanalyst living in Maryland. Born and raised in Colorado, he received a BA from Harvard University and a doctorate in clinical psychology from the University of Denver. He served as a staff psychologist in the Navy and received postdoctoral training at the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, KS, where he became Training Director of the Postdoctoral Fellowship Program. He completed his psychoanalytic training at the Topeka Institute for Psychoanalysis and later relocated to Maryland. Dr. Kleiger opened a private practice and served as President of the Washington-Baltimore Society for Psychoanalysis in 2010. He lives with his wife and is blessed with wonderful children and grandchildren.

Writing about people and their struggles has been integral to his professional life. Dr. Kleiger has authored six professional books – Disordered Thinking and The Rorschach, 1999, followed by Assessing Psychosis, 2015, 2024 (coauthored with Ali Khadivi), Rorschach Assessment of Psychotic Phenomena, 2017, Psychological Assessment of Disordered Thinking & Perception, 2021, and Psychological Assessment of Bipolar Spectrum Disorders, 2023 (coedited with Irving Weiner).

Unable to resist the play of imagination, J. Herman Kleiger published his debut novel, The 11th Inkblot in 2020, followed by Tears Are Only Water in 2023, and Whispers in 2025.

People and their stories amaze and inspire. As a psychologist and psychoanalyst, his passion for listening to people tell their stories ripens with time.

Catch Up With J. Herman Kleiger:

JHermanKleiger.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads Substack Instagram – @jhermankleiger Threads – @jhermankleiger LinkedIn – @JamesKleiger Facebook – @JHermanKleigerAuthor

 

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

. Whispers by J. Herman Kleiger

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

A Table Rock Mystery By Tom Wood ~ Spotlight And Giveaway

Posted: July 17, 2025 in giveaways, thriller
Tags: ,
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Book Details:

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?

Buy the Book:
Amazon
add to Goodreads
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Meet Author Tom Wood:

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.

connect with the author:  goodreads 

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A TABLE ROCK MYSTERY Book Tour Giveaway

 

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Tangled Darkness By MM Desch ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: July 14, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mystery, thriller, Trailer
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Tangled Darkness by MM Desch Banner

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TANGLED DARKNESS
by MM Desch
June 30 – July 25, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
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

Book Links: Amazon | Kobo | Apple | BookBub | Goodreads | Books2Read

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Chapter 1
Tangled Darkness

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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MM Desch

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.

Catch Up With MM Desch: MaryDesch.com Amazon Author Goodreads BookBub – @MMDesch Instagram – @m.m.desch Threads – @m.m.desch Facebook LinkedIn

 

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All The Silent Bones By Gregory Funaro ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: June 6, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, horror, thriller
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All the Silent Bones

by Gregory Funaro

 

 

Publication date: June 9th 2025
Genres: Adult, Horror, Psychological Thriller

When they were boys, Ray Dawley, Eddie Sayers, and Matthew Kauffman were the best of friends. Then new kid Bobby “Bones” Bonetti fell through the ice at Blackamore Pond. The other boys saved Bobby from drowning, but something else came out of the water that day, something dangerous that would tear their friendship apart and set one of them on a dark path.

Forty years after the incident on the ice, Ray, a retired college professor, has moved back into his childhood home. Eddie is a retired homicide detective, and Matthew is a successful investment banker. Bobby, who is on disability from his job as a corrections officer at a juvenile detention center, has a secret: the darkness that found him under the ice when he was a kid has made him do terrible things.

Following a reunion at Ray’s house, Matthew is found murdered in his car beside the old pond. The killer includes a chilling message that only the three remaining friends would recognize. Could one of their own be a murderer?

All the Silent Bones, a tense and disturbing thriller told from alternating perspectives of morally complex characters, explores the lasting impact of childhood trauma and its influence on adult relationships.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

Only $2.99 pre-order price! Grab yours today!

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Ronnie Matarese felt a darkness descend upon him, even as he understood that it had always been there, pouring out from those eyes behind the sunglasses and into his apartment. A darkness as indifferent and as cold as the one that had greeted him when he’d returned home. A darkness that feared no light and could not be reasoned with. A darkness that was neither happy nor sad but just was.

Bobby “The Machete” Bonetti had not visited Ronnie to warn him or give him a beating. He had come to kill him. Ronnie suddenly knew this as surely as he was sitting there, and he was both terrified and furious that he hadn’t realized it sooner, when he still might have had a chance to escape. More than anything, though, Ronnie was sad. He wasn’t ready to die—he wasn’t even thirty—but there was no turning back from the elves at the bottom of these stairs. That was what this crazy SOB was trying to tell him.

Ronnie began to cry, softly at first then harder as Bobby finished his story.

“So my mother, she lets me go, but I just held on to the door- frame and didn’t dare look back. She was still there. I could hear her breathing. And in my mind, I watched her, mouth open and eyes blinking as she looked around like she usually did when she came out of one of her episodes. A minute later, I hear the sofa springs in the parlor. She’d been sleeping in there for weeks because the elves hid under her bed, she sometimes thought. But still, I didn’t move. I just stood there, staring down at the darkness in silence.”

Ronnie searched Bobby Bonetti’s sunglasses but saw only murder in the smudge of his reflection, light and shadows on a face that looked like a skull. This was not the way he was supposed to go out, sniveling on his bed like a pussy and not knowing why. And thatwas the hardest part. Not knowing why. Not knowing what he had done—no, not had done but would do. And just as quickly as the darkness had descended, Ronnie saw a light. It was faint at first but coming fast, like when he was speeding through the cross-harbor tunnel up in Boston.

“You said you were here because of something I would do,” Ron- nie said, making no attempt to hide the desperate, trembling hope in his voice. “Not because of something I did but because of something I would do. That’s what you said, right? What is it? Tell me what you think I’m gonna do, and I swear on the souls of my dead parents that I won’t do it. Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Bonetti. You have my word.”

“I would give anything to have that kind of silence again,” Bobby said. “A silence so precious that, when it’s broken, it stings you like a box of bees.”

Then Bobby shot him.

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About Author Gregory Funaro:

Gregory Funaro is the NY Times best selling author of Disney-Hyperion’s ALISTAIR GRIM’S ODDITORIUM (an Amazon Best Book of the Month for January, 2015) and ALISTAIR GRIM’S ODD AQUATICUM (2016), which received a Kirkus starred review. WATCH HOLLOW (HarperCollins, 2019) received starred reviews from School Library Journal and ALA Booklist, and was a Junior Library Guild Gold Standard Selection. The exciting sequel, WATCH HOLLOW: THE ALCHEMIST’S SHADOW, was published in February of 2020. He has also written two thrillers, THE SCULPTOR and THE IMPALER, for Kensington/Pinnacle. Gregory is a professor emeritus and lives with his family in Rhode Island, where he is busy working on his next novel. Please visit his official web site at www.gregoryfunaro.com.

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Blood Lasts Forever By Jeff Gunhus ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: February 7, 2025 in Author Interview, giveaways, reviews, thriller
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Book Details:

 Blood Lasts Forever by Jeff Gunhus
Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 256 pages
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Publisher:  Seven Guns Press
Release date:   November 2024
Content Rating:  R. Blood Lasts Forever is a psychological thriller with supernatural elements and similar to a Stephen King novel. While not gratuitous, the story centers on an act of violence that could be disturbing to some. Could be PG-13 + M or R.

Book Description:

Not every death is a tragedy.

When fifteen-year-old Wyatt Bucks is found dead in the Sagasett River, the small town of Chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief. Wyatt was a troubled youth, feared and despised by many. But his death, deemed an accident by the local sheriff, leaves a chilling legacy that will haunt the town for decades.

Twenty years later, Mitch Ansel, now a middle school teacher, receives a call that resurrects the nightmares of his past. Alongside his old friends, the Fab Five, Mitch is forced to confront the dark secret they’ve buried for years—a secret that ties them to Wyatt’s death.

​As the friends reunite at a remote cabin, they must navigate a web of deceit, fear, and violence. Each carries scars from the past, but none are prepared for the revelations that await them. Mitch’s terrifying visions of Wyatt and the relentless pull of their shared guilt threaten to unravel their lives and sanity.

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MY REVIEW

Psychological thrillers are one of my favorite blends of genres. And so is isolating a group of people who think they know each other and have a big shared secret. What could be more thrilling.

In this book, something that was thought to be buried in the past is in danger of coming to light. A blood oath is about to be broken. Which of the five friends, known as the Fab Five in their youth, is wanting to spill their guts. And will the others convince him to be quiet or silence him forever.

The synopsis grabbed me right away. Take some close friends. Put them in an isolated place. Then drop a bomb and see who’s still standing when the dust settles. I particularly like that in group dynamics. I try to guess who will stay strong and who will cave. I’m right some of the time. But this is written by Jeff Gunhus and he’s a master at writing unpredictable characters. Outcomes too.

You’re taken from the present to the past to learn what the big secret is and what the main players have been up to. That worked really well. The pace stayed fast and exciting.

Jeff also doesn’t shy away from writing about the dark side of events and actions. It sure makes for an intense experience.

There was never a dull or awkward moment as I powered through this book. I loved every minute of it.

5 STARS

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Interview With Author Jeff Gunhus:
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How long have you been writing?

I’ve always enjoyed writing—it’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I wrote my first ‘book’ at age 12, a 35-page story called The Amulet that actually won an award in Colorado. In college, I wrote a couple of novels too, though those are still hidden away. For me, writing has always been more than just a hobby; it’s an outlet, a way to process ideas and tell the stories that won’t leave me alone.

Do you have another profession?

Yes, I run a national home improvement company called Home Genius Exteriors, which has about 1,000 employees. It’s a big operation, and I love the challenges that come with it. My team thinks my books are crazy, though! I guess running a company and writing thrillers makes for an interesting combination.

There are many books out there about….What makes yours different?

There are a lot of books out there about dark and thrilling stories, but what sets mine apart is the balance I try to strike between edge-of-your-seat suspense and deeper, emotional undercurrents. I love crafting complex, flawed characters who feel real and throwing them into extraordinary situations. My goal is always to give readers a gripping story that keeps them turning pages but also leaves them thinking long after they’ve finished. Whether it’s a supernatural twist or a psychological battle, I always aim to bring something unique to the table.

Do you snack while writing? Favorite snack?

I definitely snack while writing—salty snacks like popcorn or nuts are my go-to. But when I finish a tough scene or hit a big milestone in the book, I celebrate with ice cream. It’s the perfect reward after a long writing session!

What is your favorite travel spot?

My favorite travel spots are places where I can climb around the ruins of ancient civilizations. I’ve climbed Mayan and Egyptian pyramids, explored Greek and Roman ruins, wandered through the incredible historical sites in Istanbul, and visited castles in England and Scotland. There’s something inspiring about standing in places with so much history and imagining the lives of the people who built them.

What’s the most courageous thing you’ve ever done?

The most courageous thing I’ve ever done? Hands down, being the father of five. Forget climbing pyramids or running a company—trying to negotiate bedtime with five kids is where the real bravery comes in. It’s like herding cats, but the cats are hopped up on sugar and bedtime stories!

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Meet  Author Jeff Gunhus:

Jeff Gunhus is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists, Kirkus Top 100 Indie Books, and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of Old Fox Books in Annapolis, working on his next novel, or on JeffGunhus.com.

connect with the author:  website  ~  X/twitter  ~  facebook ~ instagram ~ goodreads ~ bookbub

 
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BLOOD LASTS FOREVER by Jeff Gunhus Book Tour Giveaway

 

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Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ How Well Do You Know Your Husband? By M. Q. Webb

Posted: November 28, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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How Well Do You Know Your Husband?

by M.Q. Webb

 

Publication date: November 15th 2024
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

Aria’s seemingly perfect life begins to unravel when she suspects her husband, Ethan, is having an affair.

As she navigates her feelings of betrayal, Aria starts to notice someone is following her. When her best friend Isla is murdered in a dark bar bathroom, Aria is left grappling with the chilling possibility that Isla’s death was meant for her.

Amidst the police investigation, rising paranoia, and Ethan’s increasingly suspicious behavior, Aria is forced to question everyone around her, including herself.

In this gripping psychological thriller, the lines between trust and deceit blur, leaving you wondering: how well do you really know the people closest to you?

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

I’ve been watching her for three weeks now. She hasn’t noticed, perpetually focused on herself, lost in her thoughts. Not for the first time, I struggle to understand what he loves about her. I suppose it could be the obvious things. Anyone can see she’s beautiful, but so are a million other women in New York City. She’s caring, but everyone cares about something. What makes her so special?

Her gray knit dress moves with her as she walks, accentuating the way her slim waist curves into round hips. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but I think he has. She was supposed to be temporary, a fleeting chapter in his life, but she has become a permanent fixture.

I watch her as she lines up at a street vendor and orders a pretzel, refusing the change offered by the mustached man who delivers the freshly baked knot with a smile that reaches his eyes. She doesn’t appreciate the life she has been given. She spends his money as if it’s hers to waste, buying new things for their home. Treating herself to expensive clothing.

People who do bad things shouldn’t get away with it. There are meant to be repercussions. I’m not superstitious enough to expect justice, but she did what she did, and now there should be consequences. Order maintained. Rules followed.

Tonight may be the night I end her life, like she ended mine.

I slip a hand into my pocket and feel the smooth metal, imagining what it would be like to sink it into her side. I would leave her there for everyone to see who she really is instead of the perfect avatar of a loving wife she’s created. She’s hiding her true self now, but all she needs is a nudge for her real nature to surface. He won’t love her once he sees that.

The smell of unemptied trash in the alleyway fills my nostrils, growing more pungent, but I press on. I curl my fingers around the knife and increase my pace to catch up. She’s fast, but I’m taller, lengthening my strides so I don’t lose her.

I’m close now. Much closer, and I risk being noticed. I promised myself that if that happens, my choice will be made, and I will kill her.

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About Author M. Q. Webb:

M. Q. Webb writes psychological thrillers and suspense novels, including the Oscar de la Nuit series. Her books have hit the Amazon best seller chart in the US. She studied psychology and business.

How Well Do You Know Your Husband is a stand alone psychological thriller, and her third release.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X / Instagram

 

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Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ The Button Collector by M.M. Cochran

Posted: September 18, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
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6

 

The Button Collector

by M.M. Cochran

 

Publication date: September 17th 2024
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

When Chicago journalist Jessica Knight is linked to a string of odd murders happening across the country, her life takes a turn for the worse.

She is left wondering why her relatives are the ones dropping like flies under the signature mark of a serial killer . . . why she can’t stop thinking about Michael Bradley, the appealing detective assigned to protect her . . . and most of all, why, despite being the Button Collector’s prime target, she’s still alive at all. One thing she knows for certain: the killer is always watching. As the line between truth and deception begins to blur, Jessica crumbles under the dense web of lies she’s trying to keep straight–especially once the police start questioning more than just her sanity. With pressure mounting, Jessica must navigate being under the watchful eye of the police–and the killer–while risking it all in a dangerous game to make up for the mistakes of her past.

Her days are numbered…one way or the other.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter 1

The first thing I feel when I step outside my apartment building is his eyes on me.

They burn. They haunt. They’re always there, somehow finding me almost every day since the first murder.

Long shadows stretch over the brown patch of grass before my building. They’re soft on my boots and heavy on the winter flowers that need sun. Rain pelts down the petals, but I’m too cold to get my fingers wet and shake the water off the weak flowers.

The thick weather clouds the feeling of his surveillance, but I still close my eyes to escape it.

Count backwards from ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Okay, it’s gone.

Now open your eyes, I instruct myself.

It’s time to catch a cab. “Time to catch a cab,” I say.

Leave me alone. “Leave me alone,” I say.

The office buzzes with fluorescent lights over rickety desks made for half-hearted journalists. I slide between their narrow spaces and make my way to the associate editor’s desk. The editor in chief smokes in his office, and Della can tell me everything he knows, so I avoid him and his stench. It’s not something I can handle this morning, though on a good morning, I’d crave the smell of his cigarettes.

“Della, John wanted to see me? Why?” The tip of my umbrella taps the ground, sprinkling cold drops of leftover rain onto my pant leg.

She doesn’t even look at me, doesn’t even jump at the opportunity to comment on my red lipstick that’s too dark or my unshapely long coat. “He’s in his office.”

“But—”

“Jessica.”

The smoke in John’s office rolls onto me in waves of foggy white. My automatic response is to cough, clear my throat, but it would be nothing more than for show. He knows I’m used to it.

“Knight. Come here, I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He fingers me in and motions for me to take a seat. The dark leather on the chair does everything but absorb the moisture from my wet thighs.

He nudges a stack of papers in my direction. “Here’re some stories for the week that I came across over the weekend. Fire and Crime section looks like it’ll be good and full next issue, but I’d like you to start on this Button story. A profile about him to follow-up his murder we reported on last week. It’ll take some research, so I want your time and attention on this one. All week.” He taps the folder with his index and middle finger, keeping his cigarette in place between them. “Make it good. If you need me to get some intern on the other stuff, you just let me know, Knight. Let’s focus on this Button profile, and make sure to really center it around the freakshow killer more than the victims.”

John takes a long, focused drag off the cigarette. Blows it in a thin streak over his shoulder. Eyes me with a glare that’s crimped with sixty-year-old crow’s feet.

“You alright, Knight?”

“Fine. But why do you want me for this? I’m not investigative, just—”

“A hard crime reporter. I know. But you really proved yourself with investigative journalism skills after you covered that murder trial last month. I want to spread your wings a little more. Cover this Button story, Knight. It’s going to sell a lot of papers. Keep it up, and we’ll change your title to Investigative instead of just Crime Journalist.”

“Thanks, John, but I’m comfortable with my position.”

“I’ll give you a little raise, dear.” He wraps his lips around his cigarette and blows the smoke over his shoulder again. “And I’ll hire one of those interns to take over hard crime. Okay?”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Well, we’ll see how this Button story goes.”

I nod.

“You sure you’re okay, Knight?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Then shake that look off your face and get to work. I’d like to have that story by Thursday; I want the designers to arrange A1 layout around it. This’ll generate a lot of attention, you know. People are all over this Button Collector thing.”

“The word count?” I ask. I usually don’t have to talk word counts with him, but with big stories like this—like that trial—he always has some requirements to meet.

“Give me nine-hundred, no less.”

A knock on the door diverts his attention to behind me. “John,” the receptionist says, “a young lady would like to speak with you about advertisement.”

John pushes back his chair and stands, surrendering his cigarette to the dusty ash tray. “Stay here, Knight. I’ll be right back.”

My next breath is stifled by the smoke that folds into my face when he walks by. He leaves the door cracked behind him.

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About Author M.M. Cochran:

As both a self-published and traditionally published author of YA fiction and a thriller, I know how vulnerable and scary handing your manuscript to an editor can be. . . But it is my job to take care of my clients and their stories, cherishing them as my own.
My novel, Between the Ocean the Stars, was ranked #2 at the worldwide distributors center upon publication and later named a finalist in the National Indie Excellence Awards. My next novel, The Button Collector, releases in 2024.

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