(Always and Forever, #2)
Publication date: April 23rd 2024
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense, Time-Travel
In this gripping sequel to the award-winning novel, Through the Veneer of Time, echoes of Siena’s past life lure her into a shocking indiscretion that threatens to destroy her marriage. She alone can undo the damage, but this chilling revelation is only the beginning of her battle.
1564, ULSTER, IRELAND. After Aedan’s diplomatic visit to Queen Elizabeth’s court results in his compulsory divorce and arranged marriage, Neave’s violent unraveling drives her into another man’s arms. But in seeking revenge, Neave falls into a perfect trap set by Aedan’s enemy. By the time she learns the truth, it’s too late to undo the damage to Aedan, herself, and the hard-won peace in Ulster. When despair makes her reckless, the price will be a lifetime of infamy, confinement, and isolation from what Neave treasures most—Aedan and her son.
2011, WASHINGTON D.C./DALLAS, TX. It seems like a reasonable plan—Siena finishing her final mural in D.C. while Ryan starts his new job in Dallas. But when Siena meets Ryan’s new FBI partner, an inexplicable fit of jealousy sends her on a downward spiral. To make matters worse, the present mirrors the past when her visions take a startling turn. Consumed by insecurities, Siena takes a drastic step, which proves a catastrophic lapse in judgment. When her self-fulfilling prophecy unfolds in a devastating inversion of the past, Siena’s actions could cost her the two people she most fears to lose—Ryan and their baby.
Will Siena and Ryan beat their disastrous odds, or is their marriage foredoomed?
If you love time travel romance with dark undertones, as well as elements of domestic suspense, psychosexual thriller, and a touch of magic, don’t miss the second installment of the Always and Forever trilogy!
Everything—the floor, the walls, the air—fell away. Only this parchment in my hand remained.
Chimeric. Foretold.
Somewhere deep down, I knew I stood very still, calm, and mute, my eyes fixed on Aedan’s precise English hand. But I also hovered above, crumbling into bleeding bits. Watching my life’s blood drain out of me and wash the world in crimson, drop by drop by drop—
Kian said something, his voice familiar, ordinary. It cannot be. I shifted my gaze to the broken seal. An English forgery to foment strife. A cruel trickery to break our spirit. But there was yet a paragraph unread—
As I shall be returning soon after you take delivery of this dispatch, I trust that as my loyal subject, you will abide my expressed demand in the proper and expeditious fashion commensurate with the sensitivity of this matter. As well, it is my uttermost wish that you will, hitherto, regard me solely as your rightful ruler, and as such, would not seek my audience in any unseemly or unsuitable manner. Furthermore, shall you find yourself in my presence, I rely on your good sense and proper decorum to act toward me with such deference and regard as befits my rank.
Earl II of Tyrone, Lord Aedan O’Neal
This 5th Day of January, 1565
The hall swayed. The parchment slipped from my fingers. His handwriting. His name. His signature. What forgery?
Kian steadied me with his hands on my shoulders, eyes frozen with horror.
He bent to take the parchment, pinching it between his thumb and index finger like it was something vile to touch. Like it would sully anyone mad enough to lay a hand on it.
“Is…is h-he…dead?”
The dais stood wrapped in saffron and gold, awaiting the O’Neal’s return.
I came back to myself. My eyes burned with salt. My throat chafed with sand. My heart burst into icy, piercing shards. How determined he was to go to London, how callous to slam our chamber door.
Imagine doing Past Life Regression (PLR) for the first time and emerging with a crazy book idea! That was exactly how I came to write my award-wining debut, “Through the Veneer of Time,” Book One of the time-travel romance trilogy, “Always and Forever.” But while my PLR session was a vivid, impassioned encounter, bursting with colors, sounds, smells, textures, and a bizarrely visceral knowledge, it was incomplete. Yet despite trying to go back, I never could. So I wrote the continuation in my head until it became so extensive and detailed, I had to put it on paper.
Besides being a writer, I’m a wife to my high-school sweetheart, a mother to two teenagers and one fur baby, a former commercial artist and boutique owner, and a member of the Historical Novel Society and Romance Writers of America. My favorite place to write is on my porch, overlooking a pond lined with river birches and magnolias. The topics I never tire of are bygone eras, our universal human condition, and love that transcends time and space.
Want to be in the know? Join my mailing list at VeraBellAuthor dot com and follow me on Facebook @ReadingBells and on Instagram @VeraBellAuthor.
Get ready for a pulse-pounding journey through the darkest corridors of power in the Otis Thorne thriller series!
In the second Otis Thorne thriller, a malevolent alliance triggers a global pandemic, forcing Thorne and Noah into a race against time. Can they unravel the sinister plot?
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Black Dust
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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 2
by Arla Jones
Genre: Thriller, Suspense
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An action-packed thriller for fans of Clancy, Thor, and Flynn, Great for readers of political conspiracies and CIA counterterrorism missions.
In the gripping second installment of the Otis Thorne thriller series, the world is thrust into chaos as a malevolent alliance between Russia and North Korea unleashes a deadly biological weapon upon the United States. The insidious plan triggers a devastating global pandemic, pushing Otis Thorne and his trusted ally, Noah, into a perilous race against time. As they unravel the sinister plot, they find out who is behind the deadly biological attack against their country. With lives hanging in the balance and the fate of nations at stake, Thorne and Noah must navigate a treacherous web of deception, danger, and intrigue to uncover the truth and stop the relentless march of the pandemic.
This second book will leave you breathless and wanting more.
An underground research facility, North Korea, 2027
The underground facility was perfect for secret tests, including nuclear and chemical experiments that they did not want any of their enemies or neighboring countries to see on the satellite. The facility was dug deep underground into a volcanic mountain that hadn’t experienced any volcanic activity for years. Only the high-ranking members of the Worker’s Party knew about this facility.
The secret nuclear weapon and chemical weapon research in this facility created an environmental change in the bugs that had come in contact with the research area. The tiny insects that survived the chemical environmental change moved in the air like a cloud of black dust, looking for a living animal or person, and then attaching to the skin. The scientists called these bugs:
무는먼지 muneun meonji which meant the biting dust.
It was a new form of life, not exactly anything that had existed before, but they were tough and resilient, like cockroaches, and could survive almost anything. The only difference was that these bugs were microscopic and moved together, never individually.
The scientists were both surprised and horrified by what they had created. They knew that, for example, grasshoppers could change their behavior because of crowding, which is called density-dependent phenotypic plasticity and refers to the bugs changing behavior due to environmental factors. The North Korean scientists suspected that something similar had happened to these bugs that had survived the chemical and nuclear research area, and thus, this new form of black bugs appeared on Earth.
When the sun set and it became dark, these bugs searched for their next target, any warm-blooded living thing would do, and they started biting. For some reason, the bugs never moved or bit during the daytime.
The scientists first thought was that the reports of the biting bugs were just imagination or hallucination, but when they got a sample of the black dust under the microscope, the bug looked more like a blackish-green crystal than a normal bug except this crystallized bug was alive. It was a new form of life created by chemical weapons.
The researchers observed that these insects exhibited movement to locate their target specifically during cooler temperatures, typically after sunset. They hypothesized that each minuscule bug functioned like a vampire, extracting blood from the host, resulting in a sensation of biting and itching. This experience often gave the impression of something crawling on the skin, followed by a subsequent sting, with the intensity increasing based on the number of bugs present on the skin. The scientists studied the bugs some more and realized that and realized they could reproduce themselves.
The bugs displayed no distinction between males and females. The researchers observed that the life cycle of adult-sized insects spanned approximately five days, following a developmental period of one week to reach this stage.
At the end of the adult-sized bugs’ life cycle, the insect emitted a cloud of black dust, smaller than its original size and measuring approximately one-fifth of a millimeter. These entities, referred to by scientists as eggs, cracked open resembling a butterfly’s cocoon, revealing larvae inside. These juvenile bugs exhibited rapid growth, reaching the size of an adult, around half a millimeter, within a week. The most troubling discovery was that the scientists could not find any method to kill these bugs or their eggs. They tried all kinds of pesticides to no avail. They even tried to burn a building infested with these bugs, but the bugs survived.
They conceded that there was no established method for exterminating these nightcrawlers. However, the scientists soon recognized that they possessed an unparalleled weapon, unique in the world. It was now imperative to devise a strategy for employing these insects to their advantage against their adversaries.
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The next phase was to experiment with the labor camp prisoners. They chose a distant location in Hoeryong, where the notorious concentration camp was reportedly closed in 2012. However, in reality, it was still running state-supported secret experiments on the remaining political prisoners.
This infamous camp was in North Hamgyong province in northeast North Korea, close to China’s border and about 700 miles away from the Sea of Japan. Regardless of how close the camp was to the Chinese border, not many prisoners escaped.
It was heavily guarded, and the experiments and malnutrition made the prisoners weak and sick. Most of them were brought there in the back of a truck in the middle of the night, so they never saw the outside of the camp and where it was located. They had poor-quality shoes that were not made to walk long distances along the valleys and hills on uneven ground. If they escaped, their prison outfit would not keep them warm during the freezing nights when the temperature dropped below twenty Fahrenheit.
It was the perfect place for the new secret weapon experiment.
The prisoners were never told what the new experiment would be. They were just exposed to it. This time it was the bugs!
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Fathers and Sons
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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 1
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A High-Stake Conspiracy with Historical Roots. A Sci-Fi Political Thriller. Moral Dilemmas. Infiltration of Trusted Institutions. International Espionage. Blackmail and Personal Stakes. Race Against Time.
In ‘Fathers and Sons,’ a riveting thriller unfolds as a clandestine organization threatens to plunge the United States into chaos by undermining both its political stability and the integrity of President Andrew Burr.
Otis Thorne, a former CIA operative, becomes President Burr’s last hope as he unearths a sinister infiltration of the White House, leaving trust in short supply. With the United Nations General Assembly looming, Thorne races against time to expose the conspiracy, exacerbated by the coercive demand that President Burr deliver a specific pro-Russian speech. The stakes intensify as the blackmailers hold the life of the President’s son in the balance, with a series of demands that trace their origins back to the darkest days of WWII, Nazi Germany, and the Soviet Union.
Will Thorne untangle the web of deceit in time to save not only the President’s family but the entire nation from an insidious plot decades in the making?
On a cold, crisp night in the waning winter days of 2026, a lonely doorman stood in front of a dimly lit restaurant waiting for someone. It was past midnight. Most restaurants in the King Street area of Arlington, Virginia, closed at midnight or earlier. With the constant swarm of customers earlier that same evening, the bright lights and sounds of chatter and music gave way to soothing darkness. The night softened the sharp edges of the buildings and toned down the harsh bright colors of the restaurant signs.
If there had been an observer, he would have noticed a line of limousines arriving. In each one of the limousines was a single passenger. After the passengers got out of their luxurious limousines and walked up the few marble steps to the heavy iron door, the limousines drove quietly away. Each passenger showed his right wrist to the burly-looking doorman, who then opened the door and let the passenger inside after checking it.
An exclusive group of rich and powerful men had gathered for a clandestine meeting. This was their first gathering in person. The men had talked several times on the phone and held video conferences, but they had never met in person. Only Hydra, their leader, had met the participants individually on a few selected occasions. But those meetings had been kept discreet and in remote locations, like his well-guarded dacha, his luxury holiday country home by the Black Sea.
These men wanted to shape the global economy and international politics for the benefit of their homeland and themselves. Operation Pobeda had brought them together. Pobeda means a victory or a coup in the Russian language. The operation had started over seventy years ago and had required lots of money and time to prepare. But the most important thing was that they needed one man on their side who could fulfill their demands and get them what they wanted, namely the president of the United States.
The group called themselves Septem, the Seven. The name, Septem, referred to the number of participants in the group—seven—even though not all of them participated in person in the meetings. The Septem needed one day to start a successful execution of all the activities in Operation Pobeda that would change the world and threaten the stability of the world order.
The ages of the Septem ranged from mid-forties to seventies. Each man had a different tattoo on their right wrist: Phoenix, Hydra, Werewolf, Hippogriff, Cyborg, Nachtkrapp, and Basilisk. Each tattoo represented a mythical or a sci-fi creature. They used their tattoos both as an identity check as well as code names because they did not want to be heard communicating with each other by their real names and talking about their secret operation. Their faces and businesses were too familiar to everyone following the news. If their collaboration had been known, someone might have started asking questions. These men were too clever and too careful to let any outsiders know about Operation Pobeda. They knew that knowledge was both leverage and power. The stakes were high.
When the Septem group members entered the restaurant, they glanced around to ensure it was as private and secure as their leader, Hydra, had promised. The place was empty except for these men who had arrived.
The color scheme inside was of cool grays and blues, with metallic touches on the walls. The tiny lights on the ceiling bathed the room in a soft glow. The thick blue curtains were drawn over the windows so no one would see inside the restaurant. One wooden table was placed in the center of the room. A few flower arrangements of white Callas and purple anemones in tall vases on the pedestals were arranged around the dining room.
The table was set for seven men with as many tablet computers on it. In the middle of the table, a set of glasses and bottles of sparkling water, house wine, brandy, and vodka bottles were ready. However, none of the participants considered this visit a social one.
One seat was empty, but there was a tablet computer because this participant joined the meeting via video call. He had covered his face with a black bird mask called il dottore. The mask had glass openings in the eyes and a long, curved black beak. The bird mask was fitting because his tattoo represented a mythological bird—a Nachtkrapp, a scary night raven, inked inside his right wrist. Just like all the other participants, he showed his wrist to the others for identification purposes. He used voice-altering software that gave his voice a deep metallic sound to make sure that nobody recognized him.
They could have had all the meetings online via video conference call, but none wanted to do that because someone could still be listening, monitoring, and might discover their plans. The man with the Hippogriff tattoo on his wrist owned the restaurant, and no outsider could have planted listening devices there without him knowing it. He also provided limousines for the participants. The most important thing was to keep Operation Pobeda secret. The other reason was that if they had to make difficult decisions, it was always better to do it face-to-face, for example, if they had to sacrifice a member of this group to ensure the operation’s success.
“Is everyone in order?” Hydra, the spokesman, asked with a thick Russian accent. He glanced at the computer screen in front of him. They were all there. The operation was ready to launch.
Hydra was in his early seventies. He was a tall, slender, white-haired man with eyes as friendly as a shark’s. The many-headed serpentine monster, Hydra, was tattooed on the inside of his right wrist. He was one of the oligarchs that had emerged in Russia after its transition from socialism to capitalism, and he was well-connected to the Russian mob and the government. He knew how and who to bribe to get things done in the new Russia. His billions had come from owning media companies in Russia and transferring his investments to Swiss bank accounts before the economic sanctions sank the ruble.
“Yes, Hydra, Operation Pobeda will be set in motion today as agreed,” an elderly man with salt and pepper hair replied. “The doppelganger is ready to play his part.” He had a Basilisk tattoo, a legendary reptile that can kill with a single glance.
“Any new developments?” Hydra asked. His icy gaze went around the table. Some of the participants faced his stare with blank, brave looks, and some turned their eyes toward the tablets in front of them. Everyone feared Hydra, their government ally, their strategist, not just because of his fortune but because of his influence and his high-level allies in Russia.
“Everything is going as planned. No delays, no changes. My men are in place and ready to go to the airport,” a man wearing a black leather vest and pants replied. He had a huge, fiery-looking Werewolf with flaming eyes tattooed on his right wrist. He looked like a member of a motorcycle gang. He was in his mid-forties and had earned his fortune in drugs, sex, collecting debts, and later setting up legal shell companies to hide his more illicit businesses.
“Thank you for the update, Werewolf,” Hydra replied and asked the one person participating via video conference, “Do you have anything else to share with the rest of us, Nachtkrapp?”
“The President won’t have a clue what hit him,” Nachtkrapp replied with a metallic voice, but you could still hear a slight Bostonian accent.
“Everything seems to be in order. “If there is nothing else, then we will meet again after the first phase of Operation Pobeda is over,” Hydra said, ending the clandestine meeting.
It had started raining, and the raindrops glinted in the streetlights like silver silk. The doorman held a large umbrella for each man until they got into their limousines. Then he went back for the next one. Hydra was the first to leave, and Werewolf was the last. Each man left the same way they came, alone and in a dark limousine with tinted windows. The doorman closed the restaurant doors and turned off the lights.
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Enthusiastic about crafting high-octane thrillers packed with action and unexpected plot twists, Arla Jones, blends her personal experiences to create tales that will set your heart pounding. With each keystroke, she conjures compelling characters, some you’ll root for, and others you’ll love to despise. Beyond the keyboard, the author finds solace in gardening and draws inspiration from the vibrant world around her. Immerse yourself in her stories, where danger and desire collide, and be prepared for an unforgettable, exhilarating journey. Brace yourself, dear reader, as Arla Jones is poised to take you on a thrilling ride you won’t easily forget.
A Dubai balloon festival is attacked by the most lethal social engineering exploit the world has ever seen. Pilots die. Local politics crumble. Is AI to blame?
A prime moment to be working for Interpol. Manos Manu, Interpol data scientist, arrives in the United Arab Emirates to solve a series of murders that have shaken the Middle East. Interpol’s Singapore back office has proven world-class, with a machine learning team of the best engineers from around the globe – including Manos’ girlfriend Mei. Tested under pressure in the field, his custom system is nothing short of brilliant. But this time, his arch-nemesis is not simply a killer. Not even a web of determined developers, scattered across the world. His enemy is his very own nature.
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense
Published by: Publisto Publication Date: January 2024 Number of Pages: 284 ISBN: 979-8871582299 Series: The Machine Murders, 2 (stand alone novels)
We live in the age of what I call, “Tech Now.” We want more tech. Better tech. Sicfi Tech. When I read The Machine Murders was about using advanced AI to catch killers my imagination took flight. Isn’t that title perfect.
And I’ve always wanted to soar high in a hot air balloon. The author’s description almost put me there. Good thing I’m not afraid of heights. Might have experienced a touch of vertigo though.
The story presentation was spot on. Same for the characters and location. I fell right into the story. Might have stumbled a bit here and there as I’m not as tech savvy as I’d like to be. But that’s why I enjoy reading. I’m being taught something new while also becoming immersed in the author’s imagination.
This was an exciting thriller that taught me a thing or two and kept my attention on high alert.
4 STARS
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Enjoy this peek inside:
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Manos Manu was running his fingertip along the spines of books, as if automatically scanning their contents. He knew his data would be crystal-clear seen below the Singapore sun which grew hotter every day, but for the moment it was as though he could hear it, the data echoing like the descending scales of a piano, every note feeding a neural network. From one shelf to the next, his query never wavered: What is the soul? “Bye, Baby! Planning on wasting much time there?” Blowing a kiss over her lovely shoulder, Mei was gone. Leaving what? Artificial intelligence has consciousness, even ingenuity. So what sets machines apart from humans besides the soul? He turned back to the books. There weren’t that many: Barber’s Bayesian Reasoning, works of Bishop and Hinton, Sutton’s Reinforcement Learning: An Introduction, and a few titles about neural nets. There was also an untouched Michael Crichton mystery, though not Jurassic Park. But such was Mei. If you want history, she’d say, read papers. If you want to learn, read code. If you need to know what people are saying about a piece of code, jump on X. Books were about as useful to AI as military theory was on the battlefield. What you need in the trenches is ammunition. In AI, just code. Just GitHub, the goings-on of which were too big for any conceivable library. He also couldn’t stop thinking of Lena Sideris. In the two months since his return from Greece he kept remembering her body, cut open on a marble table like a broken porcelain doll being sent back to the factory. Her eyes glassy orbs. Did they hold consciousness? Emotion? They didn’t. A soul? He didn’t trace the spines of books now, but grabbed one of Barber’s works, opened to a random page and ripped it out. He returned it to the shelf, moving on to Sutton and all the others, tearing out a page from each one till he had about fifty. Incomplete, these books would now confront anyone reading them with inconsistency. Making sure the books were replaced perfectly so that Mei would never notice, he shredded the pages in his hands till they looked like ticker-tape confetti and went back out onto the balcony. Different weather awaited him. Broad heavy clouds skittered across the sun’s rays, leaving traces as if from speeding aircraft. He threw some of the shreds over the glass railing, where the wind swept them past the ceiling, high overhead. He hurled the rest into the air and stared, mesmerized by their flight. Was this a gesture Artificial General Intelligence would choose to make? It wasn’t. An AGI would have carefully selected which pages to discard. He’d barely thought to read them. This was futile, illogical, diabolical. He’d destroyed books from his beloved’s library. And he felt wonderful. Was this having a soul? He’d committed a decidedly wicked act. This is what separates us from machines. Evil. Then he remembered what he’d been trying to forget: And murder.
2.
It was Sunday morning and the first time she’d left him alone at her place. Before long, he received a message to meet up for brunch at Marina Bay. Mei would also swing by the office for the latest build of Mei-Nu, which was the name of their custom-made dating platform. They’d sifted through the crawled data correlating user profiles from sites like Tinder, Bubble, Coffee Meets Bagel, and Lovoo, elaborating a few of their own layers beyond basic personality tests. But both knew Myers-Briggs would only get them so far. They needed more and better data: time to start seeing other people. He arrived at Jypsy, late as usual. Mei was already seated with a couple at a table overlooking the Marina. “And here’s Manos!” Mei called, with a cheerful smile. “Sorry. Traffic,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on his new date. Her name was Daria, a pretty twenty-seven year old maritime attorney. She was of average build with big Anime eyes. Her psychometrics had indicated she was the enfp type, matching well with Manos’ intj. Creative, funny, a communicator. A handful, like him. He glanced over at Mei’s match, who was clearly regretting he’d come at all. Mei launched their routine: “Thanks so much for meeting like this. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable by myself. Manos is a faithful friend.” “Of course!” gushed Daria. “I’m chicken too – on dates, I mean . . .” Bullshit. She’s fearless. “It’s a bit strange,” said the young man. “A blind double date. It’s a good idea, but . . .” His name was Marc, a banker from France. Type infp: diplomatic, introverted, yet apparently open-minded. Manos sensed he was very attracted to Mei and felt a pang of jealousy. Who wouldn’t be crazy about her? He would have to get used to it. Mei read his thoughts with a breezy smile before focusing on her date. They had work to do. For the next half hour, Manos and Mei worked through their mental checklist item by item to examine the people caught for them by the neural network they’d cast. This tête-à-tête had parameters culled from a somewhat small set of their respective right-swipes. Hidden biases lurked. For all. For example, if, as he claimed, Manos preferred the Chinese type to the Mediterranean – say, the actress Sun Li versus a Lena Sideris – then what the hell was Daria doing here, with her cascading black curls, fresh as lemon groves on the Amalfi coast? With well-preprocessed data, even half an algorithm nails you! Half an hour of small talk revealed where they were from, where they worked, their favorite movies, where they would love to travel, Like, if you could just leave tomorrow . . . . It also revealed to Manos they’d made a mistake. Sex was a mistake. Which made Daria a mistake. They had pulled profiles without timestamp-based clustering. This allowed data from hastily created profiles, like those made by married travelers looking for a quick hookup, which they hadn’t had time to isolate from the training datasets. Classic case of overfitting[1]. The algorithms worked, but with so much noisy data, spontaneity was redefined as fear. Fear’s not attractive. Fear degenerated into aggression and haste. Since we’re here, let’s do it right on the seafood bar, by the open oysters . . . Another possible issue was voiced by Marc, who was saying: “I’m not convinced double blind dates work.” But Mei knew the problem was Manos himself. Always botching things! Attempting to “eliminate system biases” he’d added a stupid line of code actually designed to test the weights of their own Asian-American romance: sorted_data = sorted(data, key=lambda x: x[‘Asian’]). Sweet of him, really. Daria and Marc, each suspicious of these two nutjobs giving each other flirtatious looks and running the conversation along some shared secret formula, suddenly got up to use the restrooms. Mei opened her laptop, steam practically coming out of her ears. “I saw it this morning! I can’t believe you!” “I don’t think it’s the command,” he murmured. “The data –” “Mei, it’s psychology, it’ not smooth world[2]. Anyway,” he smiled, cooling the tension. “I think Marc likes you.” “You know he’s not my type.” “Oh, but trust your data.” “Manos Manu, are you trying to get rid of me?” “No,” he said. “You’re my ground truth.” Ground truth. A tech term they’d appropriated, meaning she mattered more to Manos than anything. Mei flushed with a thrill as he pulled her close, kissing her. They were swept up in vertigo, their kisses wet in all the right places. The world disappeared, as if their neurons were drunk and brimming over. Until Daria reappeared. With Marc. Neither took their seats. Instead they stood staring. “I guess blind dates work out after all,” Marc teased. Daria gave a crooked smile, a few locks of her glossy hair spiraling out wildly. Something had apparently happened in the bathroom. “Noise!” cried Manos, triumphant. Mei’s smile was as funny as Daria’s as she tumbled back into Manos’ arms. In the confusion, Daria’s much-needed enfp leadership came to the rescue. “Ok, this started off wrong, but let’s make it right,” she said. “Marc and I want to hit a beach club in Sentosa.” They all looked at each other, and Daria added, “You guys are super-nerds, but . . . do you want to come?” ________________________________________ [1] Machine learning term. Manos means the models they used were overly complex, resulting in incorporating irrelevant data in order to achieve the desired outcome (“noise”), such as the profiles of married individuals, for example. [2] “Law of the smooth world” in machine learning refers to real-world data,e.g.audio/speech/images/video *** Excerpt from The Machine Murders by CJ Abazis. Copyright 2024 by CJ Abazis. Reproduced with permission from CJ Abazis. All rights reserved.
About Author CJ Abazis:
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CJ Abazis manages a software company in Athens, Greece.
The fragile line between life and death… Families that will never be the same…
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When a tragic hit-and-run takes the life of a hardworking family man, multi-millionaire Christopher Hillington becomes the prime suspect, and the whole city of New York alights with speculation as to what happened. But before the NYPD can establish Hillington’s guilt, he himself is brutally murdered in his own home. As he lays dying, he scrawls the name Casey Woods with his own blood, and the Forensic Instincts team is drawn into a complex mystery that has placed its president in the sights of a desperate killer. A millionaire’s life is full of secrets and suspects. So as the baffled NYPD investigates Casey for the murder, and the body-count ratchets up, Casey herself becomes another potential victim. The FI team’s hardcore investigation has them twisting and turning through suspects and secrets, where the stakes intensify―and so does the collateral damage. As Casey and the team get closer to finding the killer, the unthinkable happens, and the life of one of FI’s own hangs in the blood-stained balance. They say dead men tell no tales, but blood doesn’t lie. Peeling back layer after layer of deception, the team will cross whatever lines are necessary to solve the case, get justice for the families, and make their team whole again…unless the relentless killer gets to them first.
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing Publication Date: March 2024 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 9781682320631 (ISBN10: 1682320634) Series: Forensic Instincts (#10)
I admit that I’ve only read a couple of books in this series. And those weren’t in any order. I kept meaning to go back and start at the beginning and read my way through to this one, the 10th in the series. That didn’t happen. Still, I’m fascinated by the idea of this series. A PI team made up of the best of the best in their areas of expertise. A tight investigative team as much family as coworkers. Also, each book can stand alone but I saw how the character’s lives had changed and relationships were formed. It made me more curious to read how each of their stories began. I’m a fan of character growth.
There’s two crimes to solve, and so many clues to unravel. The author’s talent in making it complex and not easily seen was impressive. I was fascinated by even the little things that came up, wondering how important they would be in solving the crimes.
A strong beginning, suspenseful and twisting road in the middle, and a nice curve ball at the satisfying conclusion. Now, I’m planning that leap back to the beginning so I can get to know the characters as they are introduced. I’m sure each book will bring that character growth I love along with new characters and some complex cases. Can’t wait!
5 STARS
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Enjoy this peek inside:
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Offices of Forensic Instincts Tribeca, New York Main conference room Monday, 9:40 a.m.
Casey Woods, the president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the oval table, her jaw having dropped. She pressed her iPhone closer to her ear, and tried to reconcile herself, both to who the caller was, and the reason for her call. She certainly didn’t sound like the Angela King that Casey knew. And why in the name of heaven was she reaching out to Casey, of all people? Angela repeated her original demand: “I need you to meet me now—as in drop everything and get over here.” This time her voice was commanding but shaken. Shaken? Angela King? Casey’s mind raced. Angela was a high-powered and aggressive criminal defense attorney at Harris, Porter, & Donnelly. A virtual barracuda. Rumor had it that she was next up to make partner. No surprise. She successfully defended the richest of the rich, from corporate executives, to wealthy entrepreneurs, to “businessmen” with rumored links to Organized Crime—a fact she chose to overlook since they were affluent enough to pay her fees. She and Forensic Instincts were on opposite sides of law enforcement. They’d battled it out more than once the criminals that FI had helped catch becoming the very criminals Angela would defend. Needless to say, the FI team and Angela weren’t friends. And yet, here she was, calling Casey on an urgent, time-is-of-the-essence matter—one she seemed incredibly high-strung about. “Casey?” Angela repeated. “Did you hear me?” Casey lowered herself into a chair. “I heard you. What is this about? And why me, of all people?” “You’ll see for yourself,” Angela replied. She rattled off the address of a luxury skyscraper on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “Hurry. I’m jeopardizing my career by waiting to call 9-1-1. I can’t wait much longer. But you have to view the scene first and later provide me with some answers. No more questions. Just come. I have a key to the building’s back door. I’ll let you in. We’ll use the freight elevator.” Casey’s common sense was urging her to refuse. 9-1-1 meant a crime scene, and questions meant involving her. Both those things were screaming for her to stay away. She pushed aside that inner voice. She was too intrigued to refuse. “I’m on my way.” She shrugged into her wool winter coat as she called John Nickels, Forensic Instincts’ number one on their security team. Then, she blew out the front door, not waiting to fill the FI team in on where she was going. There was no time. Plus, they’d only try to talk her out of it. Holiday decorations were glistening everywhere, and tiny snowflakes danced in the air. Casey didn’t notice any of it. John pulled around a few minutes later, and Casey hopped into the car, gave him the address, and urged him to hurry. With a brief nod, John was on his way, navigating the FDR Drive in record time. He got Casey to her destination in thirteen minutes. He dropped her off around back, far from the doorman’s view. Then, he waited to return her to the brownstone once her meeting was over, as per her instructions. Angela was pacing inside the building, and opened the door to let Casey in the moment she saw her. No matter how dire the occasion, Angela always looked stunning. An Armani cobalt blue pants suit that set off her dark skin, matching four-inch Louboutin heels, and long wavy black hair styled at the highest end salon. She carried herself like a queen. In short, she was a knock-out. Now she looked more rattled than Casey had ever seen her. “Let’s go,” she said. She led the way to the freight elevator, where she and Casey rode up. “Tell me what’s going on,” Casey stated flatly. Angela didn’t answer. She glanced at her Apple Watch, her gaze snapping up as the elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor. The doors slid open. Angela paused only long enough to ensure that Casey was right behind her. Then, she strode down the hall, made a turn, and halted in front of Apartment Twenty-One B. She unlocked the door, pulled Casey inside, and faced her to offer the first few words of an explanation. “This is the home of my client, Christopher Hillington. We had a nine-thirty AM meeting scheduled to be held here.” Casey’s brows rose. Christopher Hillington was a renowned and phenomenally wealthy managing director of the private equity firm YNE. He was also a major suspect in a vehicular homicide, and Casey knew through various news sources that he’d been questioned several times by the NYPD and was on the verge of arrest. “I see you know of him,” Angela said. “Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised.” She gestured toward a breathtaking sunken living room. “In here.” Casey bit back her question about what Angela had just said. She sensed she was about to get her answers. So she remained silent. The two women stepped down and Angela stood to a side and waited. Casey got the full view immediately. Christopher Hillington’s body was crumpled on the Oriental carpet beside his desk, blood pooling out around him. His head was bashed in, clearly having been struck multiple times by a heavy object. The bloodied sledge hammer lying next to the body was obviously the murder weapon. Judging from the damage done, the killer had been, not only determined, but brutal. Casey eyeballed the scene, feeling sickened as well as confused. She was about to ask Angela what this horrific scene had to do with her when she spotted the letters, written in blood, on the lower edge of the desk, right beside Hillington’s outstretched arm. She walked over, careful not to touch anything, squatted down, and squinted. The two words were completely legible, and they made Casey’s blood run cold. Casey Woods. *** Excerpt from Struck Dead by Andrea Kane. Copyright 2024 by Andrea Kane. Reproduced with permission from Andrea Kane. All rights reserved.
About Author Andrea Kane:
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Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-two novels, including eighteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night. Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller. She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood. Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Struck Dead, showcases the dynamic, eclectic team of investigators as they hunt down a desperate killer who’s threatened one of their own. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, and Struck Dead. Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind. With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages. Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Author Hometown – Warren, New Jersey
Landry Hutton has spent three years rebuilding her life behind the secure gates of The Haven, an exclusive resort on the outskirts of Gossamer Falls, North Carolina. As the artist-in-residence, and with her pottery prized by The Haven’s guests, Landry is finally ready to settle in permanently. She wants to give her daughter, Eliza, a safe home to grow up in and hires former Marine Callum Shaw to handle the construction. Cal grew up in Gossamer Falls and always knew he would someday join his family’s business. He longs for a family of his own but has almost given up on that ever happening. Landry is funny, gifted, and everything Cal could ever want in a partner, but he vows to keep his distance. Landry has a daughter and a past. Cal has been down that road before and barely survived when the woman he loved left, taking her two sons with her. He can’t bear to lose like that again. Before construction on the house can begin, Landry’s pottery is destroyed in a suspicious fire. It soon becomes clear that Landry and Eliza are in grave danger–but because of whom? But, after losing one relationship, he is hesitant to try again.
Praise for Never Fall Again:
“What a fabulous story with characters who will live in your head–and heart–long after the last word.” ~ Lynette Eason, award-winning, bestselling author of the Lake City Heroes series “Lynn Blackburn’s voice is unrivaled! A must-read.” ~ Elizabeth Goddard, bestselling author of Cold Light of Day “This book had it all–a delicious romance, obsession, found family, redemption and reconciliation, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and the kind of ending we all root for!” ~ Susan May Warren, USA Today bestselling and RITA Award-winning author
Book Details:
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Revell Publication Date: March 12, 2024 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 9780800745363 (ISBN10: 0800745361) Series: Gossamer Falls, Book 1
Landry and her daughter, Eliza, are setting into their new life in Gossamer Falls, North Carolina. It’s a chance to start over and leave their tragic past behind. She has a job as an art instructor at a prestigious resort and meets many influential people. She finds hope there and decides to stay. Enter former marine Cal Shaw, the man she hires to build her new home. The attraction is powerful but they’re both damaged and fear taking it to the next level. Will they find happiness? Will their past stop haunting them?
Many books I read pull me in right from the start. That didn’t happen here and that’s okay .I enjoy character driven stories and there were a lot to sort out. Some of them were very endearing. Even a four legged one. The more I read the more familiar they felt and I really got into the book. The mystery unraveled slowly until I neared the end. Then the suspense ramped up and I couldn’t wait for all to be revealed. I’m invested in these characters now and I’ll be watching for the next book to see how they are faring.
4 STARS
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Enjoy this peek inside:
They passed several offices before they reached an open door. “Maisy. Stay.” That same deep voice from the intercom floated to the hallway. “Oooh! A dog!” Eliza dashed into the room. Her little sprite was fast and already halfway across the office before Landry realized what was happening. “Eliza, wait!” Fortunately, she stopped at Landry’s words. “I know, Mommy. Never touch a dog without permission. I just want to see.” Eliza turned her big brown eyes toward the man who had come around his desk and knelt beside a dog now quivering with excitement. The man—Callum Shaw, she assumed—met her daughter’s eyes and said, “Your mom’s right. You can’t ever rush at a dog, even dogs as gentle as this big baby. But if it’s okay with your mom . . .” His eyes, which were as blue as the Carolina sky, now met hers. There was humor and gentleness. And shadows. Something dark flitted across his gaze. But then he blinked and it was gone. Landry nodded her permission, and he turned all his attention back to her daughter. “This is Maisy. She’s a golden retriever. She’s three years old. She loves long walks in the woods, sunbathing, peanut butter, and belly rubs.” He demonstrated the belly rub. Maisy melted under his touch, and Eliza crept closer. “You can pet her. Maisy doesn’t bite my friends.” Eliza dropped to her knees beside Callum and held out her hand toward Maisy’s nose. Maisy took a quick sniff and rewarded Eliza’s good behavior with a lick. Callum stayed where he was until it was clear to everyone that Eliza and Maisy were set, then he rose to his feet and extended a hand. “Ms. Hutton.” “Landry. Please.” “Landry. A pleasure.” Landry kept the contact brief. “Sorry, my hands are rough.” She turned them palms up. “Hazards of the job.” Why had she said that? What did it matter if her hands were a bit on the crispy side? She didn’t have to prove anything to this man. Embarrassment crept across her and burst through her pores, heating her neck and face, and now she had no idea what to do with her hands. Should she put them down? Tuck them behind her back? Callum glanced at her hands and turned his own up. “Same here.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s to my eternal despair that I’ll never land that hand modeling contract I’ve always hoped for.” His easy humor made it automatic to tease him back. “Well, there’s always ditch digging.” “Good point. If this construction gig doesn’t work out, I’ll have something to fall back on.” Callum turned his attention to Eliza. “And I gather your name is Eliza?” She giggled with the abandon unique to happy children. “That’s right, but sometimes Mommy calls me Liza or ZaZa, but never Lizzy because that’s too close to Landry, and it gets confusing.” Landry tried to keep a straight face as Eliza parroted what she’d heard Landry say too many times to count. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Eliza.” Callum pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m Cal Shaw. I’ll answer to Callum, but not LumLum because”— he dropped his voice to a stage whisper—“that’s just not dignified.” Eliza’s laughter filled the room. Bronwyn hadn’t been wrong about Cal Shaw. He was very good with children. Even now, he kept his attention on Eliza. “Are you good here with Maisy while your mom and I talk?” “Yes, sir.” Cal grabbed a legal pad and pen from his desk and took the chair opposite the one he directed Landry to sit in. From their seats, they could both see Eliza and Maisy. She waited for him to start the conversation, but maybe she was supposed to go first? “She’s a beau—” “Land—” They both stopped talking, and his smile seemed genuine as he nodded to her. “Please. Go ahead.” “I was going to say your dog is beautiful.” She willed her body to stop flushing scarlet, but it refused to cooperate. She didn’t have to see herself to know that her face, neck, chest, and even her feet were on fire. This was why she did best behind the walls of The Haven. She could interact with the patrons there with minimal difficulty. But put her out in public, and she became a tongue-tied, socially inept disaster. Cal’s grin held mischief, and he leaned toward her. “If all goes as planned, she’ll be pregnant soon. I bet Eliza would love a puppy for Christmas.” His voice was cajoling and teasing, but at least he had the good sense to keep it too low for Eliza to hear. He winked in a way that was friendly and not flirtatious, and Landry understood why Bronwyn liked him so much. He leaned back and in a normal voice said, “I gathered from your conversation with Carla that you’re going to build nearby.” “Yes. I have three acres on the edge of Pierce land.” She watched him carefully as she spoke and was unsurprised when his grip tightened on the pen at her words. “How long have you lived in Gossamer Falls?” “Long enough to know the Pierce and Quinn families don’t get along.” *** Excerpt from Never Fall Again by Lynn H Blackburn. Copyright 2024 by Lynn H Blackburn. Reproduced with permission from Lynn H Blackburn. All rights reserved.
About Author Lynn H. Blackburn:
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Lynn H. Blackburn is the award-winning author of Unknown Threat, Malicious Intent, and Under Fire, as well as the Dive Team Investigations series. She loves writing swoon-worthy Southern suspense because her childhood fantasy was to become a spy, but her grown-up reality is that she’s a huge chicken and would have been caught on her first mission. She prefers to live vicariously through her characters by putting them into terrifying situations while she sits at home in her pajamas. She lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina, with her true love, Brian, and their three children.
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Book Details: Book Title: Keeping Janie
Southport Series, Book 2
by S.R. Fabrico
Category: Adult Fiction (18+), 320 pages Genre: Romantic Suspense Publisher: S.R. Fabrico Release date: Feb, 2024 Content Rating: PG-13+M for a few sex scenes, some bad language and a murder.
Book Description:
Embark on an exhilarating reunion with Lizzie Levine, Southport, North Carolina’s newest resident, who first graced our hearts in the award-winning novel Call Her Janie. In this eagerly awaited sequel by S.R. Fabrico, the stakes are higher, the twists more exhilarating, and the drama more enthralling.
Reuniting with her daughter, Janie, should be the start of Lizzie’s picture-perfect life. Behind the scenes, however, is a different matter. The happiness of having her daughter back is overshadowed by the fear ad distrust of her ex-boyfriend, billionaire Gray Stone.
Amidst the tapestry of wedding preparations, the custody fight looms. The story unfolds in a battleground of secrets, lies, and deception. In this gripping narrative, love and lies entwine, danger lurks in the shadows, and the courage to confront one’s past becomes paramount. Can Lizzie gain custody of her daughter, marry the man she loves, and have her happily-ever-after, or will the mistakes of their past destroy them all?
I knew going into this that it was the second in the series. That said, I had no trouble picking up on past events. The author smoothly filled in those for me and I was able to get the gist of things.
I’m big on suspense and there was plenty of that. And I do enjoy some romance. There was some of that too. Josh and Lizzie were so good for each other. And Janie. She was exceptionally shown to me. All three of these characters felt genuine and getting each of their POVs made that even better.
This was what a call an emotional roller coaster of a read. There’s a whole lot to feel and that kept me turning the pages. Read this in two sittings and felt it all.
I plan to go back and read the first book and prepare myself for the third one. This one had a whopper of an ending.
4 STARS
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Meet Author S.R. Fabrico:
S.R. Fabrico is an award-winning author whose literary talents have captivated readers worldwide. With her debut novel, The Secrets We Conceal, and her second novel, Call Her Janie, she has emerged as a rising star in the literary realm.
With a remarkable 25-plus-year career in business, marketing, and sports, S.R. Fabrico brings a unique perspective to her writing. As a World Champion Dance Coach and esteemed speaker, she infuses her stories with passion and insight.
Residing in Tennessee with her husband and children, S.R. Fabrico continues to create captivating narratives that will transport you to new and extraordinary worlds. Prepare to be enchanted by her exceptional storytelling prowess.
In addition to her passion for writing novels, she has published a series of sports journals and a journal for women. She believes that journaling is good for the soul.
This chilling but hysterically sardonic thrill-ride is hard to put down. Smart, sexy, and deeply revelatory, it will send you on an enthralling emotional journey you won’t forget.
Fiona Turner, CEO of Fiona’s Flowers floral shop, hasn’t the time nor inclination to bother with men until she finally meets the face on the other end of the phone. Having remained friends, she never suspected her ex-husband, Quade, would morph into a terrifying, controlling, law-bending monster. When Fiona exhibits the first signs of wanting to move on in life, he threatens to take everything from her. A long weekend at a conference answers all of Fiona’s questions about floral supplier, Bo Thompson, except how she can possibly have him. She’ll never know what she’s missing unless she risks everything for love.
By the time I was released from this afternoon’s harrowing therapy session, I felt so bedraggled that I almost forgot about my looming phone date with the master of orchids. There’s something about Bo’s down-home personality that calms me to no end, and I can hardly contain a slight, crooked smile as I dial the all-hours order line he gave me. “Big Bo here,” he answers in his deep, husky voice. “Fiona Turner here,” I respond with a hint of tease. “Well…hello there Fiona Turner. I was about startin to wonder when my favorite midwestern gal was gonna call me up for some orchid action this spring.” I don’t realize that I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, until I happen to wheel my chair around and catch a glimpse of my grinning reflection in the ornately framed mirror hanging above my grandmother’s turn-of-the-century English bureau. “I guess I just couldn’t resist any longer.” No sooner than the words leave my lips, I hear the thunderous rumble of Bo’s bassey chuckle welling up on the other end of the line. “Rumor has it I’m pretty hard to resist,” he grinds out in his best bedroom voice, which may be the very best there is. Anywhere. I’m a busy woman, too busy according to everyone I know, and I really have no time for this ridiculous song and dance every time I order from Bo. But then, I don’t do it often…and it humors me at some primal level of simmering womanhood I haven’t felt in decades. Well, barring those few weekends I spent with The Beast. But that doesn’t count…in the eyes of the Lord. “So,” I clear my throat in an attempt to redirect our conversation toward productivity, “what have you got for me this time?” Did I just say something suggestive, again? “Well now, lemme tell you all about that. I have got the biggest…most impressive…most gigantic…most unbelievable…blossom selection I’ve ever had to date.” I’m almost doubled over in hysterics as Bo continues. “I mean I’ve got more different colors of everything than you can shake a stick at this year. Whatta you want darlin? Anything you want, I’ve got it for you. Right here right now.” I notice that I’m fixating on a vision of what Bo might look like. I truly believe I’ve never met any human being like him in my life, and it’s impossible not to wonder. “For now, I’ll take ten flats of the purple orchids and twenty flats of the white,” I reply, once I manage to reinstate minimal composure. “Aw, this time of year…those’ll sell out in no time.” “You’re probably right, but if they do…I’ll just have to call you up and order some more.” I know I’m flirting now, against my better judgment, but I don’t see any other way out of this situation. And anyway, what harm could it do with a guy I’ve never met and never will?
~~~~~
About Author Roxy Blue:
Raised in the South and transplanted to a midwestern New Age community, Roxy Blue writes about the types of down-to-earth characters that dispel the notion of romance being rubbish. After thirteen years as an exotic dancer, she developed a rare autoimmune arthritis that gave her an excuse to settle down and focus more on writing, although she still hoopdances and hikes on the good days. Roxy lives in Asheville, NC with the kind of hunk she likes to read about, and their two ridiculous cats.
Twenty years ago, several people were murdered in Des Moines, and the only evidence left behind was a snowman ornament hanging ominously on a tree in the victims’ front lawns. With a suspect behind bars, the killings have come to an end–or so everyone thought. But now crimes with a similar MO are happening in a small Iowa town, and a local detective believes the killer is back and ready to strike again. With little time left on the clock before they have another murder on their hands, private investigators River Ryland and Tony St. Clair must work alongside Tony’s detective father to find evidence that will uncover an evil that has survived far too long. As the danger mounts and the suspect closes in, it will take all they have to catch a killer–before he catches one of them.
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense
Published by: Bethany House Publishers Publication Date: January 2024 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 978-0764240461 (ISBN10: 0764240463) Series: Ryland & St. Clair, 2
I watched as fire devoured the house as if it were a living, breathing monster, ravenous for death and destruction. It took effort not to smile as I observed the fire department desperately trying to quench the ferocious flames, the firefighters slipping and sliding on the snow and ice. But winter is no match for me. They would lose this fight. The nightmare has just begun. Inside they will find my Christmas offering. Those whom I’d judged and executed. The beast was at my command and would destroy any evidence that could lead to me. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “I love it.” I smiled at her. “It was a long time coming.” “But you did it. I’m so proud of you.” I had to blink away the sudden tears that filled my eyes. “Shouldn’t we leave?” I nodded. She was right. At some point, the police would arrive and would most certainly look through the people gathered across the street since many times those who set fires like to watch their creations dance and light up the night. They might even take pictures. This was the only time I felt comfortable hanging around for a few minutes—before anyone had time to scan the crowd. This was important. The first. My debut performance. I’d just turned to leave when a couple of police cars pulled up, lights flashing, their blue-and-red beams cutting through the night and the falling snow. I walked down the street, hidden behind a curtain of white. I stopped to watch as they exited their vehicles. The sight only added to my excitement. Two officers approached the fire department chief. As they talked, another officer stood on the sidewalk, staring at the structure that was being consumed. Suddenly, he shouted and pointed up toward the second floor. I had to walk back to see why. I stood behind a tree, trying not to look suspicious. That was when I saw it. A face peering through one of the windows. “Oh no,” she said, her voice breaking. “How did you miss her?” The officer who’d spotted the unthinkable began to run toward the front door, but two firefighters grabbed him and held him back while another one grabbed a ladder and put it up against the house. It was clearly a child staring at them, her eyes wide with fear. They tried to climb toward her, but it was impossible. The flames from the first floor blocked their way. I felt a wave of anger. She had defiled my righteous mission. I fought to push back my rage. I had no desire to hurt a child. She shouldn’t have hidden from me. I would have kept her safe. I sighed in frustration. This was her fault. Now all of us would have to watch as she died. There wasn’t anything I could do. I felt the urge to leave, but the police were concentrating on her. No one was focused on the crowd, so I risked staying a minute or two longer. Suddenly I heard a shout and saw the police officer who’d tried to enter earlier suddenly run toward the compromised house and through the front door before anyone could stop him. What a fool. The monster I’d created was too strong. Now there would be two additional lives sacrificed. This wasn’t my mission. Only the guilty were supposed to die. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the blame was theirs. Not mine. “Maybe he’ll get her out,” she said quietly. I didn’t respond. I knew she was upset. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that it was too late for both of them. Part of the house collapsed on the other side, away from the window where the child still stood. Everyone watched in horror. Two firefighters started to follow the officer into the house, but their chief called them back. It was clear they were frustrated, yet the chief obviously thought it was too dangerous for them to enter. He’d probably already written off the officer and the child. “It’s not your fault.” “I know,” I said. I waited for the rest of the structure to fall, but as we all watched, the unbelievable happened. The police officer ran out of the house, something in his arms wrapped up in a blanket. A firefighter ran over to take the bundle from him as the rest of the building collapsed. The officer fell to the ground. I could see his burns from here. It looked as if the cloth from his shirt had melted to his skin and part of his dark hair had burned away. Now he would always remember this night. I felt no anger toward him. Truthfully, I was relieved that the child had a chance. I’d still accomplished my mission. This was a lesson learned. I had checked out the couple carefully, and I’d watched the house. Hadn’t seen any evidence of a child. Still, I’d missed something important. I would never make this mistake again. She sighed with relief. “I’m so glad she’s okay.” A thought suddenly struck me. I hadn’t seen the child, but had she seen me? Was she now a liability to my mission? As soon as the thought came, I dismissed it. She’d been hiding. Trying to make sure I couldn’t find her. She would have been too afraid to look at me knowing I might see her too. Besides, she was so young no one would take her seriously anyway. Even if she had caught a glimpse of me, soon I would look very different. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I was safe. The firefighters began treating the girl and the officer until an ambulance roared up. It was time to leave. I pulled my jacket tighter and let the darkness and the dancing flakes shroud me as I slipped away, but not before I glanced at the snowman ornament hanging on the tree planted near the sidewalk. As I walked away, I couldn’t help but sing softly, “Frosty the snowman . . .”
CHAPTER ONE
DECEMBER, PRESENT DAY
River Ryland stared at her phone, willing it to ring. Unfortunately, it seemed it didn’t respond well to mental telepathy. The pastor at the church she’d started attending with Tony had taught on faith yesterday. He’d brought up Mark 11:24 and Philippians 4:6. From what she could understand, faith was something you needed before your prayers were answered. As a child, she’d listened to her father preach, but he’d never mentioned anything like that. His sermons had been about sin and judgment. How to stay pure. Which was laughable since he ran off with the church’s secretary and left his daughter, son, and wife behind, humiliated and without any way to survive financially. As she continued to eye her phone, she wondered if she should start believing that God would bring more clients to Watson Investigations. Was it okay to have faith for something like that? It was clear that faith was important to God, but she didn’t want to treat Him like some kind of genie in a lamp who would bring her whatever she asked for. What was His will, and what was selfishness? She sighed quietly. Life with God was proving to be interesting. She glanced over at her partner, Tony St. Clair, and asked herself the question she’d posed so many times. What was he doing here? She’d had to leave the FBI. Severe PTSD had made it impossible for her to continue working as a behavioral analyst. Tony had been shot by the Salt River Strangler, the serial killer who’d tried to kill her, and was still dealing with some of the aftereffects. Even so, he could have gone back to work. Instead, he talked her into starting this detective agency. They’d only had two cases so far. The results had been positive. One case had to do with teachers at a local high school selling drugs—something they stumbled across. The teachers were arrested, and the drug trade shut down. No paying client with that one. The other case had been pro bono. They’d solved that too. Thankfully, someone connected with the case—not their client—had given them a generous stipend. But how long would that last without some new cases? Was asking herself that question a lack of faith? She really didn’t know the answer. Tony’s long legs were crossed, his feet up on his desk. He was leaning back in his chair, writing in a notebook. He reminded her of Benedict Cumberbatch. His curly dark hair was longer than most FBI agents had worn their hair. His long eyelashes sheltered eyes that sometimes looked blue and other times appeared to be gray. Tony was an enigma. A handsome man who never dated. He used to. Before the shooting. There were definitely some women at church who had him in their sights, but he clearly wasn’t interested. Of course, she wasn’t dating either. Didn’t want to. Right now, she just wanted to figure out who God wanted her to be. It was hard to believe He needed a private investigator. She didn’t see that among the gifts listed in the Bible. “Okay, God,” River whispered. “I’m asking You to make this agency successful. I thank You for hearing me. And . . .” She gulped. “And I thank You for our new cases.” There. She shook her head. Weird, but Pastor Mason would be proud of her. She jumped when Tony’s phone rang. River listened closely. If this was a case . . . Well, Pastor Mason also said something about patience. Surely answers to prayer didn’t happen this quickly. If so, she should have started praying this way a long time ago. “Slow down, Dad,” Tony said. “I’m not sure I understand.” River was almost relieved that it was Tony’s father. If it actually had been a new case . . . well, it would have freaked her out a little. She began to straighten her desk again, only slightly listening to Tony’s conversation. It seemed to be a little one-sided. Finally, Tony said, “I’ve got to call you back, Dad. Let me talk to River and see what she thinks. You know her mother is ill.” Pause. “All in all, doing pretty good. She has full-time help now.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll phone you in a bit.” After he hung up, he pulled his feet off his desk and sat up straight in his chair. His blue sweater was the same color as his eyes . . . when they were blue. Why was she paying attention to his eyes? She gave herself a virtual kick in the pants and realized that Tony looked upset. “Everything okay?” she asked. “No, not really.” “Is your dad all right? Your mom?” “No,” he said, cutting her off. “They’re fine. And before you ask, my sister’s good too.” He looked away and cleared his throat. Something he did when he was troubled or thinking. Finally, his eyes met hers. “I told you that when my dad was a rookie police officer, before he was promoted to detective, he was badly burned in a fire?” She nodded. She remembered the story. It was hard to forget. “He saved a little girl’s life.” “Yes. Well, they found two bodies in the house after the fire was put out. The little girl was the granddaughter of the couple. Thank God, Dad got her out in time.” “Yeah. Your father’s a hero.” Tony smiled. “Don’t say that to him. He won’t put up with it. I also told you that they never found the person responsible?” She nodded again, then waited for him to finish. It was obvious what was coming next. She swallowed. Was this just coincidence? Of course, this was Tony’s dad. They couldn’t charge him anything for their services. River should have mentioned in her prayer that they needed a paying case. She didn’t realize God was so literal. Trust Me. Although she hadn’t heard an audible voice, it was so clear it made her jump. Trust Me. She swallowed hard. “Uh, he wants us to help him solve a twenty-year-old crime?” she said. Why was her voice squeaky? “Why now? I mean, I assume he tried to close this case himself. From what you told me, he’s an excellent detective.” “He is, but he’s retiring.” “And he wants this solved before he leaves?” Tony nodded. “In a way. You see, there were two other similar murders with the same MOs in Des Moines not long after that one. The police arrested someone. Charged him with all three. Dad was never sure they got the right person.” “You never told me that.” “I never went into details because I thought it was a closed case.” “So, your father wants to make certain the case is truly closed before he leaves? It’s still a really cold case. You know how tough they are to solve after so long.” “Well, except he says it’s happened again.” “In Des Moines?” Tony shook his head. “No, up in Burlington, Iowa, where they are now. They moved there years ago because Dad felt it was a better place to live. He was convinced that Des Moines was getting too big. Too dangerous. He wanted a slower-paced life. A safer place for Mom. Truthfully, I think he had a tough time working in Des Moines. He couldn’t get anyone he worked with to believe they’d arrested the wrong person for those murders.” “Wait a minute. So, your dad thinks the killer followed him?” He shrugged. “He doesn’t know, although I agree that it seems strange. Look, I know you have questions. I do too. Can you come to Burlington with me so we can write a profile? He wants to see if we can add something to what he has so far.” River hesitated a moment. “I know you’re thinking about your mom. Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I can go alone. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot.” River shook her head. “You’re not. Now that we have Mrs. Weyland, I may be able to come with you.” Hannah, the young woman who had come in to help River’s mother during the day, had quit after finding out she was pregnant. She’d recommended her aunt, who had recently lost her husband. Agatha Weyland was sixty-three years old and had nursed her husband through Alzheimer’s. When Hannah told her she was pregnant and had to leave her job, Mrs. Weyland had begged her to set up an interview with River. At first, she wasn’t sure if it would work since Mrs. Weyland wanted to move in. “I just can’t stay in my house anymore,” she’d told River when they talked. “Too many ghosts. Hannah and her husband love the house and they’ve offered to buy it. I was goin’ to move into an apartment, but if you have a spare room . . .” Her hazel eyes had filled with tears, and River had been touched by her. But would she change her mind and quit once she was stronger? She didn’t want Rose to get used to someone and then have her leave. River’s mother was still dealing with Hannah’s quitting. She had loved and trusted the young woman. “I’m not lookin’ for anything temporary,” Mrs. Weyland had said as if reading River’s mind. “I intend to take care of your mother until . . . well, until she no longer needs me.” This time it was River’s turn for tears. “Oh, honey,” the older woman had said, taking River’s hand. “I know what Alzheimer’s is like. I know how to take care of your precious mama. My Harold was a happy man until the day he died. I learned how to go with him wherever he was . . . and how to be whoever he needed me to be. We were happy, and your mother will be happy too. You have my word.” River had really wanted to hire Mrs. Weyland, but she was certain Rose wouldn’t give up another one of her rooms. She’d gotten upset when River and Tony had moved her original sewing space to another room even though they set it up exactly the same. They’d moved things around so River could be closer to her mother in case she needed help during the night. Now she’d have to give up her sewing room completely, even though she never used it. River was prepared for a meltdown. But after spending a couple of hours getting to know Mrs. Weyland, Rose had said, “Can’t we just move the things in the sewing room down to the basement, River? Either Agatha could move in there, or you could move into that room, and Agatha could be right next to me.” Although she was more than surprised by her mother’s request, she quickly agreed. River moved into the old sewing room, and Mrs. Weyland set herself up next to Rose. “Let me talk to Mrs. Weyland,” she told Tony. “She’s barely had time to get to know my mother. She might feel uncomfortable with me leaving town so soon. How long do you think we’ll be gone?” “Why don’t we say the rest of the week?” he said. “I think that’s enough time to create a profile. My father’s already put together a murder book, although I’m not sure how much information he’s been able to get his hands on. Hopefully, we’ll at least have some pictures and reports.” “Okay, but if Mrs. Weyland or my mother is uncomfortable . . .” “I’ll go alone and bring everything back with me.” He frowned. “I’d really like you to talk to my dad. See if he can convince you the cases are related. I know that’s not what we do when we write a profile, so we’ll be using our ace deductive skills as well.” River laughed. “I’ll call Mom now, but you might as well plan on going alone. My mother will probably have a conniption fit.” “A conniption fit? Where do you get these expressions? I truly think an old lady lives somewhere down deep inside you.” River picked up her phone, stuck her tongue out at Tony, and dialed Mrs. Weyland. *** Excerpt from Cold Threat by Nancy Mehl. Copyright 2024 by Nancy Mehl. Reproduced with permission from Bethany House Publishers. All rights reserved.
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MY REVIEW
It’s always a sign you’re in for a good read when the Prologue hooks you before you even get to the heart of the story. It all began twenty years ago. Several murders, a missing child and a snowman ornament.
Fast forward twenty years. The killer, The Salt River Strangler, was caught and is behind bars. But it appears he had a partner who’s come calling and the residents of Burlington, Iowa are living in fear. River and Tony are no longer with the FBI. They have their own private investigation firm. Business has been slow and River is praying for a case. When Tony’s father calls asking for help in wrapping up the twenty year old case, they can’t ignore the request for help. That old saying, “Be careful what you wish for,” comes to mind.
This is a favorite trope of mine. Cold case and new case. Both connected. It makes the mystery that much harder to figure out. The list of suspects, new and old is large. The clues are stale and fresh. The characters tasked with solving the case have matured. Moved on. And now they’re dragged back in. But with more experience now. And an immediate urgency to wrap the case up once and for all.
Cold Threat was every bit as good as the first book in the trilogy, Cold Pursuit. River’s stalker is still out there and I’ll be there to find out how the author wraps up her series.
4 STARS
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About Author Nancy Mehl:
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Nancy Mehl is the author of more than fifty books, a Parable and ECPA bestseller, and the winner of an ACFW Book of the Year Award, a Carol Award, and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She has also been a finalist for the Christy Award. Nancy writes from her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband, Norman, and their puggle, Watson.
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If you’re like me, you have a pile of books beckoning to you from your lists. Carole hosts this fun feature where you can share some of those older books and perhaps nudge you to finally read them. If you want to join in on the fun, head over to Carole’s Random Life In Books and leave a link to your post.
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Burning Ridge
A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery #4
by Margaret Mizushima
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Genre: Mystery / Suspense
Synopsis
Featuring Mattie Cobb and her K-9 partner Robo, Burning Ridge by critically acclaimed author Margaret Mizushima is just the treat for fans of Alex Kava.
On a rugged Colorado mountain ridge, Mattie Cobb and her police dog partner Robo make a grisly discovery—and become the targets of a ruthless killer.
Colorado’s Redstone Ridge is a place of extraordinary beauty, but this rugged mountain wilderness harbors a horrifying secret. When a charred body is discovered in a shallow grave on the ridge, officer Mattie Cobb and her K-9 partner Robo are called in to spearhead the investigation. But this is no ordinary crime—and it soon becomes clear that Mattie has a close personal connection to the dead man.
Joined by local veterinarian Cole Walker, the pair scours the mountaintop for evidence and makes another gruesome discovery: the skeletonized remains of two adults and a child. And then, the unthinkable happens. Could Mattie become the next victim in the murderer’s deadly game?
A deranged killer torments Mattie with a litany of dark secrets that call into question her very identity. As a towering blaze races across the ridge, Cole and Robo search desperately for her—but time is running out in Margaret Mizushima’s fourth spine-tingling Timber Creek K-9 mystery, Burning Ridge.
For the past five years, FBI Special Agent Risa Jacobs has worked in the violent crimes against children division of the Houston FBI. She’s never had reason to believe there’s a target on her back . . . until now.
When the long-awaited reunion between Risa and her brother, Trenton, ends in tragedy, Risa is riddled with guilt, unable to cope with the responsibility she feels over his death. On leave from the FBI, Risa returns to her former career as an English teacher at a local college, only to see her past and present collide when one of her students, Carson Mercury, turns in an assignment that reads like an eyewitness account of her brother’s murder, with details never revealed publicly. Alarmed by Carson’s inside knowledge of Trenton’s death, Risa reaches out to her former partner at the FBI. Special Agent Gage Patterson has been working a string of baby kidnappings, but he agrees to help look into Carson’s background. Risa and Gage soon discover their cases might be connected as a string of high-value thefts have occurred at properties where security systems were installed by Carson’s stepfather and children have gone missing. There’s a far more sinister plot at play than they ever imagined, and innocent lives are in danger.
DiAnn Mills delivers romantic suspense fans a heart-pounding thriller about loss, betrayal, and finding the strength to trust again!
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MY REVIEW
I’ve been wanting to try one of DiAnn’s books and finally got around to doing that. Facing The Enemy was a twisting turning mystery that kept me turning the pages.
Risa was a compelling main character. She lost her brother to a hit and run driver and discovered it wasn’t an accident. It was intentional. But the target was her. I felt so sad for her. The guilt must have been eating her up. It had her questioning her faith and I was glad she sought help for that.
In her determination to find out who was behind her brother’s murder, she comes up with a plan that might help. Knowing she needs help, she enlists the aid of Gage, her old partner at the FBI. Together they begin to put the pieces together. The closer they get, the more their lives are in danger.
I enjoyed the blush of romance between Risa and Gage. Felt like they were a good match. In their line of work they see some horrific things, brush shoulders with despicable people. Finding a partner who understands you and supports you, isn’t easy. No one should go through that alone.
I felt the suspense building and building. While I read, I became so immersed in the story. Paid close attention to everything I read. Didn’t notice anything around me. And when I reached the ending I was able to finally relax, relieving the tension in my neck and shoulders.
4 STARS
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Praise for Facing The Enemy:
“Riveting! In her signature style, Diann Mills expertly weaves a gripping tale of ever-increasing danger. Captivating, authentic characters along with surprising twists and turns drew me deeper into this engrossing thriller and kept me on the edge of my seat until the last page. I still can’t stop thinking about it!” ~ Elizabeth Goddard, bestselling author of COLD LIGHT OF DAY
“I’m a longtime reader of suspense thrillers, but DiAnn Mills’ latest, FACING THE ENEMY, made me gasp with surprise. The issues involved in the story—adoption and the families who long to love children—are close to my heart, and that emotional connection held me by the heartstrings. Not to be missed! ” ~ Angela Hunt, author of WHAT A WAVE MUST BE
Facing The Enemy Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 2023 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 9781496451941 (ISBN10: 1496451945)
Twelve years ago, my younger brother fell into an abyss of drugs and alcohol. He chose his addictions over Mom and Dad—and me. Prayers for healing fell flat, but none of us gave up, proving our belief in unconditional love. Then yesterday he called, and my hopes skyrocketed. Trenton said he missed me and wanted to make amends with his family, beginning with his older sis. We chose to meet at a popular restaurant for a late dinner within walking distance of my apartment. A knock on my cubicle jolted me back to reality. Gage, my work partner, towered in the entryway and grinned. “Hey, what’s going on?” The sound of his voice caused me to tingle to my toes. “Thinking.” “Obviously, you were a million miles away.” His blue-gray eyes bore into mine, the intensity nearly distracting me. I leaned back in my comfy, ergonomic chair. “My brother called.” “Trenton? The guy you haven’t seen in years?” “The same.” “And?” “He wants to meet tonight for dinner, to talk about making amends.” Gage shook his head. “Risa, he has a record a mile long. He’s planning on manipulating you, squeezing every penny he can get.” I picked up an old photo of Trenton and me as kids. Dad had snapped it while we were in our tree house. I swiped at a piece of dust, then replaced it beside my photo of Mom and Dad. “I must give him a chance. He’s my brother.” “What if he’s gotten himself in over his head and needs his FBI agent sis to bail him out?” I bit into my lower lip. Gage’s words had a level of truth, even if I didn’t want to admit it. “I want to hear him out.” Gage stepped closer. “I don’t want to see you hurt. Remember three years ago when he called you from a bar demanding money, cursed you until you hung up?” The soft gentleness in his whispered tone said more than friend to friend. “Think about canceling the dinner or let me go with you.” Emotion rose thick in my throat. “You mean well, and I—” Catching myself, I nearly said love. “I appreciate your concern. But I’ll be fine. Want me to call you afterward?” He nodded. “I can run by if you need to talk.” I peered into the face of the man I adored. “I will. Promise.” # I arrived early at the restaurant to meet Trenton, anticipating his contagious smile perfected by an overpaid orthodontist. The phone attempted to keep my attention, but my mind swirled with how I wanted tonight to move forward against the reality of what had happened in the past. The host approached me. Trenton walked behind him, towering several inches above the short man. I held my breath and stood, not feeling my legs, only my pulse speeding at the sight of my brother. Trenton chuckled low, the familiar, dazzling, heart-crunching expression that had always touched me with sibling love. Clear brown eyes captured mine. Gone were the dilated pupils and bone-thin body. My brother held out his buff arms, and I rushed into them. “Risa, you look amazing,” he whispered. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” “Nothing could have kept me away.” I stepped back, noting the miracle before me. Telling Mom and Dad wasn’t a part of tonight’s plan, but I wished they were here. We’d all be blubbering. I swiped at a tear and feared a humiliating sob would replace my already-fragile composure. “I want to remember this moment forever.” Please stay strong this time. “Me too, Sis.” He gestured to the booth. “Sit, and let’s talk and eat.” I slid in and he took the opposite side of the table. A server presented us with menus and asked for our drink order. “We’ll have two Dr Peppers,” Trenton said. He remembered my favorite drink. No mention of alcohol. I breathed in deeply to steady myself. I wanted our reunion to be special, not me a weeping mess. “I’ve missed you.” Trenton cocked his head, and the mischievous brother from days gone by appeared. “I’ve been clean for four months. Working steady and enrolled in night school for the next college term.” He took my hands, and his features grew serious. “But before I say another word, I’m sorry. I promise you, I’ll never hurt you, Mom, or Dad again. Please forgive me for the mess I made of my life and dragging my family through the stench of it.” I’d heard this before, from his teen years into his twenties. Dare I believe our prayers had been answered? “I forgave you years ago. All we ever wanted for you is a healthy body and mind.” “Thanks, Sis. I know you’ve heard this ‘I’m sorry’ junk before, but I’m well on my way.” His words warmed me like a quilt on a chilly night. “I can see it, feel it. Why tell me first instead of Mom and Dad?” “Great times with you growing up that never left me.” Memories rushed over me . . . The time we went camping by ourselves and it snowed. Birthdays. Christmases. All the treasured times I believed had vanished into the chasm of addiction. The server returned with our drinks, and Trenton released my hands. “Have you decided on your order?” the server said. Neither of us had picked up our menus, but I often frequented the restaurant and ordered a vegan dish. Trenton opted for their pork chop and fixings. “And I’ll take the bill.” He pointed at me. “No arguments.” “My treat when we have dinner again.” “Got it.” “You were about to tell me something about us.” He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Two things stand out. The first one happened when I was four, so that made you ten. You were watching me trying to climb an oak tree in the back yard. I was crying because my short legs couldn’t swing high enough. Then I felt your hand on my shoulder. You boosted me up onto the branch. Climbed up with me. No long after that, Dad built us a tree house.” “I loved that tree house. You had your space and I had mine.” “What I’ll always remember is what you said to me. ‘Trenton, I’m your big sis. I’ll always help you. I promise.’” I blinked back the ocean of hopeful tears. “Thanks. I remember our times in the tree house, our private little world.” “One more reason I contacted you. I was six and you were twelve. For three summers, Mom and Dad put me in swimming lessons, but I couldn’t put my head underwater. Not sure why. You convinced Mom and Dad that you could teach me how to swim. So every day we went to the neighborhood pool, and at the end of two weeks, I was swimming. I trusted you.” I took a deep breath. Be aware of manipulation, Risa. “Thanks.” I raised a finger. “I remember being a high school junior and this jerk of a guy followed me home. Wouldn’t leave me alone. You punched him in the nose.” Trenton laughed. “My voice hadn’t changed yet, but I wasn’t going to let him bother you.” “That’s love, Brother.” Oh, Trenton, let this be for keeps. I’m afraid to believe the nightmare is over. “And we’ll make many more crazy times together. Do you have plans for Saturday morning? I volunteer at a community center for kids at risk. We have a mixed basketball team, and I could use some help with the girls.” I shivered. What a blessing to have my brother back. “All I need is a time and place.” “You never fail me, Sis.” He took a long drink of his Dr Pepper. “Are you writing?” I grinned. “Dabbling here and there.” “I never understood why you left a safe job as a college prof and writer to the dangers of the FBI?” He shrugged. “Other than your wild side that you kept more in check than I did.” “Teaching and writing short stories with a few successful publications failed to fill my adventure deficit. Every time I read about a crime, I wanted to be the one working the case. Dad said I couldn’t create a crime and solve it—I had to be actively involved.” “Your personality better fits law enforcement. Still married to the FBI?” I wiggled my shoulders. “Of course. Five years ago, I moved to the Violent Crime Division, specifically Crimes Against Children. It’s stressful and emotional, but protecting children suits me.” He frowned. “Because of me?” I blinked. “A little. My main reason is what happened to the little girl who lived across the street from us.” “Right.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry her death still bothers you. Isn’t there a special team for finding missing kids?” “Child Abduction Rapid Deployment or CARD. They’re an elite, specialized team, and that’s all they do. That’s not my role, but we often work together.” “What do you investigate?” Trenton seemed interested in my job, another first. “My partner and I investigate kidnappings, pedophiles, pornography, online predators, human trafficking, involuntary servitude, parental kidnapping, and any other situation that fell into the ‘violent crimes against children’ bucket.” “I remember you were the neighborhood babysitter.” He gave me his unforgettable impish grin. “And I also remember how much fun you had learning how to handle a car at high speeds.” I couldn’t conceal my laughter. “Guess I’m part daredevil. Blame Dad for that. I remember loving to watch him race cars.” “He’d still be at it if Mom hadn’t insisted his speed-loving days were over.” “When he taught me to drive, I learned a lot of tricks,” I said. “He already knew I was danger on wheels and asked Mom to teach me.” He laughed. “Any potential brothers-in-law?” I waved off his remark. My thoughts swept to Gage. Maybe I had found him, but that was a future conversation. “Nope. My job scares them off. I had more dates during my stint as a dull college professor.” “You dull? Never. You just haven’t found the right guy. Pray about it, and if there’s a guy good enough for my sis, he’ll appear.” I startled. “Did you say pray?” “Think about it. Who but God could have turned me around? Helped me walk away from drugs, alcohol, and so-called friends?” Even in his good days, Trenton had steered away from mentions of faith. Maybe he had changed. “I don’t know what to say.” “That’s a first.” He chuckled. “You always had more words in one day than I had in a week. But honestly, no more jail. No more being tossed out of an apartment because I couldn’t pay the rent. No more waking up and not remembering the night before.” Wow. A true miracle. I swiped at happy tears. “I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad.” He leaned over the table as though to tell me a secret. “I’ll do the honors very soon.” When our food arrived, he asked to say grace. I was so glad our eyes were closed, or he’d have seen a leaky faucet. We chatted through dinner. Laughed about some of the goofy things we’d done as kids. Time seemingly stopped, and my half-full cup of blessings spilled over with joy. “Will you tell me about your healing journey?” I said. “You can hear for yourself when I talk to Mom and Dad.” He moistened his lips. “Do you trust me enough to walk you back to your apartment and call them from there? I mean, does your building have a lobby area with a little privacy?” “It does, but you can call from my apartment. Trenton, they will be incredibly happy.” “I hope so.” I was so focused on our conversation that I didn’t think I tasted my favorite dish. We finished and he paid the bill. Outside the restaurant, a few people mingled, and the night sky hosted a half-moon, alerting me to how long Trenton and I had talked. I breathed in thankfulness and expectations for a positive tomorrow. At the crosswalk, we waited for the pedestrian sign to signal our turn. “How long have you lived in this fancy high-rise?” he said as we ambled across the street. “Two years. I like the busyness and excitement.” “It must be in your DNA. One day, I want a small place in the country where it’s quiet.” “Never for me. I’ll visit you though.” The humid heat mixed with exhaust fumes spiraled around us. “What are you taking in college?” “Psychology. See if I can’t help a few kids understand life and avoid pitfalls.” “Incredible. I’m so pro—” Trenton grabbed my shoulders and thrust me several feet ahead next to the curb. I landed on my side and rolled over. What—? A horrible thud. A woman screamed. Tires squealed. Horns blew. Stinging pain radiated up my leg, side, arm, and head. In agony, I managed to roll over and glance at the street. My brother’s body lay in the intersection, a twisted mass of flesh and blood. *** Excerpt from FACING THE ENEMY by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2023 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.
About Author DiAnn Mills:
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DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She is a storyteller and creates action-packed, suspense-filled novels to thrill readers. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure? Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests. DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers, Jerry Jennings Writers Guild, Mystery Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.
DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.
