Posts Tagged ‘thriller’

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I am thrilled to be hosting a spot
on the WHEN CICADAS CRY by Caroline Cleveland Blog Tour hosted by 
Rockstar Book Tours.

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

 

 

WHEN CICADAS CRY

by Caroline Cleveland

 

 

Pub. Date: May 7, 2024

Publisher: Union Square Co.

Formats: Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 336

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Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/WHEN-CICADAS-CRY 

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In this stunning debut by a South
Carolina attorney, Zach Stander, a lawyer with a past, and Addie Stone, his
indomitable detective and lover, find themselves entangled in secrets, lies,
and murder in a small Southern town.

A high-profile murder case—A white woman has been bludgeoned to death
with an altar cross in a rural church on Cicada Road in Walterboro, South
Carolina. Sam Jenkins, a Black man, is found covered in blood, kneeling over
the body. In a state already roiling with racial tension, this is not only a
murder case, but a powder keg.

A haunting cold case—Two young women are murdered on quiet Edisto Beach,
an hour southeast of Walterboro, and the killer disappears without a trace.
Thirty-four years later the mystery remains unsolved. Could there be a
connection to Stander’s case?

A killer who’s watching—Stander takes on Jenkins’s defense, but he’s up
against a formidable solicitor with powerful allies. Worse, his client is
hiding a bombshell secret. When Addie Stone reopens the cold case, she
discovers more long-buried secrets in this small town. Would someone kill again
to keep them?

Ideal for fans of mystery, suspense, and thrillers in the vein of Karin
Slaughter’s Pretty Girls and Stacy Willingham’s A
Flicker in the Dark
, as well as for readers who followed the high-profile
Murdaugh murder trial, held in the same small town as in When Cicadas
Cry
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MY REVIEW

There was so much that intrigued me about this book. The southern setting. The sensational murder case which created so much racial tension. A cold case that might tie into the recent one. And a killer watching as the small town imploded. It reminded me of the movie A Time To Kill.

The story is told from multiple points of view and I felt the author was right to do that. It helped me connect quickly with the characters and revealed why they had certain reactions and did what they did.

The story ebbed and flowed, kind of like the tide. There were moments where the excitement was palpable, and moments where the focus shifted to personal relationships and the past. I enjoyed all of it.

4 STARS

 

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About Author Caroline Cleveland:

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Caroline Cleveland is a labor and employment lawyer. A native South Carolinian, Caroline
grew up in the Lowcountry and earned her Juris Doctor degree from the
University of South Carolina School of Law in 1991. This is her first novel.

Website | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon 

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

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1 winner will receive a finished copy of WHEN CICADAS CRY, US Only.

Ends May 7th, midnight EST.

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

4/22/2024

@callistoscalling

IG Review

4/23/2024

Books and Zebras

IG Review

4/24/2024

@jaimes_mystical_library

IG Review

4/25/2024

Two Points of Interest

Review/IG Post

4/26/2024

Kim’s Book Reviews and Writing Aha’s

Review/IG Post

Week Two:

4/29/2024

The Book Critic

Review/IG Post

4/30/2024

Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post

5/1/2024

ENCHANTED EXCURSE

Review/IG Post

5/2/2024

One More Exclamation

Review/IG Post

5/3/2024

FUONLYKNEW

Review

 

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Some Kind of Truth by Westley Smith Banner

SOME KIND OF TRUTH
by Westley Smith
April 8 – May 3, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
A mysterious video. A cold case. A reporter hunting for answers to both.

Pittsburgh crime reporter, Steve James, returns home to find a mysterious package waiting outside his apartment door. At first, Steve fears the package could contain a deadly threat from a local mob boss pressuring him to retract his story, which helped put him behind bars. Instead, Steve finds a junior driver’s license belonging to Rebecca Ann Turner, a teenager who went missing from a party twenty-five years ago, and a USB flash drive containing a video of her murder. Horrified by the contents inside the package, Steve is determined to find out what happened to Rebecca and why someone dragged him into uncovering this mystery. But as Steve sifts through the clues and weaves his way around those trying to prevent him from exposing the truth, he continues to struggle with personal issues stemming from his time as a war correspondent in Afghanistan, where he was filmed being tortured and nearly executed by the Taliban, making what happened to Rebecca all the more personal.

Some Kind of Truth Trailer:

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Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Thriller

Published by: Wicked House Publishing Publication Date: February 2, 2024 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 9781959798309 (ISBN10: 1959798308)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

Steve James never thought that monsters would once again enter his life. He thought his capture and torture by the Taliban while working as a war correspondent in Afghanistan gave him a get out of jail free card from all that. But when he finds a package left at his door containing a drivers license and a USB drive with images of a teenage girl who’d been missing for twenty five years, he must once again go on the hunt. It’s more than just a story to him.

Do you believe in monsters? You should. They’re real. They might be someone you know. Or someone you pass on the street. They look human. They act human. But it’s a glamour they wear so you won’t see the ugliness that is them. Yes, they’re homo sapiens. But they have no right to be called human. I’m a tough cookie. Don’t normally feel sick to my stomach when reading about these kind of monsters. But, the author’s writing wouldn’t let me look away. And knowing monster’s like the ones in this book are real. Are doing horrific things to people and still getting a good night sleep had a strong effect on me.

Steve, along with Amy, a young reporter, dive into the fray. They’re the unsung heroes. They’re the kind of people who hear a gunshot and run towards it while everyone else runs away. What they discover while investigating Rebecca’s disappearance should have made them run away. But, they entered the fray and faced plenty of danger. Unable to quit, even knowing they might not survive the case. I feared for them. I cheered for them. I cared for them.

There was no sugar coating of events in the story. The author put it all out there. Yes, I felt sick sometimes. But that made me eager to see how it all came together. Whether the monsters got their just desserts. And whether the characters I cared about were still alive when the dust settled.

A dark, disturbing story written just the way it should have been.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:
CHAPTER ONE
The package was marked…
ATT: STEVE JAMES of the PITTSBURGH TRIBUNE
…and wrapped in brown butcher’s paper as if it were a poor-man’s version of a Christmas present. Steve had received anonymous packages before, some with leads to run down, others with incriminating evidence from a source he was working with. However, this package had not been delivered to the Pittsburgh Tribune like it should have been. It was left outside his apartment door. Perplexed, Steve lifted the package, gingerly, from the floor. It was light and about six inches long by four inches wide. He shook it, but nothing moved inside. He had not been expecting a delivery, certainly not one to his home by an anonymous person. His guts tightened into an uncomfortable, disconcerting knot. Turning, he looked down the hallway, to where the back stairwell led out to the rear entrance of the apartment building. Sunlight shone through the single window at the end of the hall and cut a sharp blade-like angle of light onto the floor. Dust particles floated in the air as if recently disturbed – maybe by the deliverer of the package. Someone could have gotten into the building by the rear entrance, made their way up to Steve’s apartment, dropped the package by his door, and slipped back out before anyone noticed. He did not live in one of the new high-rises being built around Pittsburgh – apartments that came with all the security bells and whistles – but rather an old turn of the century building on the lower east side of Pittsburgh. The rent was cheap, and the landlord damn-near nonexistent, especially when it came to the safety and upkeep of the building. It was what Steve could afford on a reporter’s salary. He looked back at the parcel in his hands. The sense of unease continued to coil his stomach. Was he being targeted like reporters after 9/11, with anthrax-sealed packages delivered to their homes and offices? Possibly. The fact that his article “MOB IN PITTSBURGH” had helped put Anthony Palazzo, a local money launderer affiliated with the New York-based DeLuca Crime Organization, behind bars could have something to do with the mysterious package outside his door that afternoon. Again, he wondered what was inside and cautiously shook it, like a kid trying to figure out the present under the wrapping on their birthday. Nothing moved, nothing rattled inside. Steve knew he should leave the package alone; place it back on the floor where he found it, call the police, and have them look at it first. That was the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. There could be anything inside meant to bring him harm, especially nowadays, when reporters were being unfairly besieged for spreading false information to the public. Against his better judgment, Steve forced the apprehension away like a fly at a picnic, tucked the bundle under his left arm, fished his keys from his jacket pocket, and opened the apartment door. Once inside, he closed the door and peered through the peephole to the hallway. Still, the hall was empty, and no one passed by. Again, he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle, and the hairs stand on end with nervousness. Why was the package left and what was inside? Steve wondered. Turning away from the door, he moved into the kitchen. He placed his laptop bag on the counter beside his keys, then removed a Zippo lighter and a pack of cigarettes and placed them beside the laptop bag. He put the brown package beside his things. It looked odd on the countertop, as if it were some evil present that had been left at his home – a gift from Satan himself. There was nothing out of the ordinary with its appearance. Other than the handwritten address, there were no other identifiable words or labels on the outside. Gooseflesh rose across Steve’s body. Whoever delivered the package knew who he was, where he worked, and where he lived. Normally, Steve had all large packages sent to the Tribune’s mailroom. He didn’t trust his landlord, Horace Baker. The slimeball charged an extra ten dollars a month to hold deliveries larger than what could fit into the small gold mailboxes in the lobby. He called it a ‘holding charge.’ Steve was sure it was illegal, a scheme to get more money from the tenants. Steve was not about to pay the extra money. He had heard stories from others in the building that when they received their packages some were opened, searched, and sometimes things were missing. Of course, Baker claimed it was how the parcels arrived. This particular package, sitting ominously on his countertop, should never have made it to his floor. Or maybe it IS from Palazzo, Steve thought. It could have been a scare tactic to get Steve to retract his story, setting Palazzo free from prison, while simultaneously clearing the DeLuca Family of any wrongdoing. For all Steve knew, there could be a small explosive inside the box, just big enough to rattle his cage but not kill him. Or, if they wanted to get the job over with, they could have laced it with anthrax, just like reporters received after 9/11. Yet, he wasn’t so sure Palazzo or the DeLuca Family were ready to make that kind of move against him. At the moment, Palazzo and the DeLuca Family were letting their mob lawyers handle the process through the courts with a defamation and source exposure lawsuit on Steve and the Pittsburgh Tribune. No, Steve was confident it was delivered by someone else. But who? And more importantly, why? He pulled a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the cupboard along with a small glass and poured himself a healthy snort. Just to quiet the demons, Steve thought bitterly, taking a swig. Just to quiet the demons. He studied the package while swirling the brown liquor around in the glass, knowing he should leave it alone and call the police. But intrigue was sinking its fangs into his mind, poisoning his thoughts with fantasies of what dwelled inside its dark recesses. Someone knew Steve well enough to know he could never leave a mystery alone. He thumbed one of the cigarettes out of the box, popped it into his mouth and lit it with the Zippo lighter. He inhaled deeply. Smoke filled his lungs. Calmed his nerves. Helped him think straight – so he thought. What’s inside? a shadowy voice spoke from the alcoves of Steve’s mind, pulling him from his reverie. He could not argue with this strange, archaic voice. He desperately wanted to know what was inside the package. Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he let the smoke out slowly between his teeth with a low sssss. What to do? What to do? There was only one thing to do. Setting the cigarette in the ashtray, Steve picked the package up. He felt that familiar chill of disquiet crawl over him, like cold skeleton fingers walking up his spine, vertebra by vertebra. “Enough of this guessing-game shit,” Steve said and tore the heavy brown paper away, exposing a white box underneath which resembled something a pastry would come in. The lid was sealed shut with a single piece of Scotch Tape. Steve knew no one would send him sweets – maybe anthrax, maybe a bomb, but certainly not sweets. In a career that spanned more than twenty years as a crime reporter for the Tribune, Steve had made more enemies, like Anthony Palazzo, than friends. Such was the life, he supposed. He peeled the Scotch Tape from the box and then lifted the lid slowly, as if a venomous snake were about to spring out and bury its sharp fangs into his face. With the box lid cracked, he peered inside. Instead of finding something harmful, the box contained a USB Flash Drive secured in white tissue paper. Two words were handwritten on the front of the flash drive in black magic marker:/p>
PLAY ME!
Steve frowned. Why would someone send him a flash drive anonymously? Did it have something to do with the Palazzo story he’d spent the better part of two years working on? Some missing information that would, without a shadow of a doubt, ensure that Palazzo stayed behind bars for the rest of his life? Or was it something unrelated? Steve didn’t know. Then he noticed the USB was not the only item inside the box. Tucked beside the flash drive was a small piece of white plastic. Removing the plastic from the box, Steve found it was about the size of a credit card and coated with a reddish-brown dirt. He rubbed his fingertips together feeling a gritty dust, like a fine sand. Turning the card over revealed it was a Pennsylvania Junior Driver’s License issued to a Rebecca Ann Turner of 428 Water Street, Abbottstown Pennsylvania. Her birthdate was 10/02/1982. The issue date on the card was 11/23/1998 — twenty-six years ago. The top right-hand corner, where the expiration date should have been, was broken, the plastic chipped away, forever lost to time, leaving a jagged edge that looked sharp enough to slice through flesh. The driver’s license photo of Rebecca Turner showed an attractive sixteen-year-old girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled with life. Her face was long, narrow, and innocent, holding the optimism of youth. Her beaming smile radiated from the picture, enhancing her natural beauty and charm. According to the driver’s license, Rebecca was born in 1982, which would make her forty-two years old now. But Steve got the sickening feeling that Rebecca did not live to see her forty-second birthday. He looked back to the flash drive resting inside the box. He was unsure how the driver’s license and the USB were connected, but he was certain they were, or they would not have been delivered together. What’s on the flash drive? Steve wondered anxiously. His heart began to race, and his palms grew moist with sweat. A horrible notion rushed through his mind that something awful had happened to Rebecca Turner, something the USB would ultimately reveal. “H-holy shit,” he said aloud; the shudder in his voice surprised him. Someone wants you to find out what happened to this young lady, Steve ol’ Boy, and expose the truth. Reaching for the cigarette in the ashtray, he brought it to his lips and inhaled. The smoke settled on his lungs with a comfortable bite that he relished. He looked back to the box; his eyes lingered on its contents. Possible scenarios played across his mind as to why someone would want him involved. But none of these thoughts made much sense at the moment. Steve took another drag and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. He had smoked it down to the filter as he often did; a haze of heavy, thick smoke hovered around the ceiling. He picked up the glass of whiskey and finished it in one swallow, and then poured himself another – three fingers worth this time. His mouth had gone bone dry, but he wasn’t sure another shot – even three fingers worth – would wet his whistle. The demons inside were growing, and Steve needed to calm them. Or, at least, he continued to tell himself that on a nightly basis. Warily, he lifted the USB from the box. Dare he view whatever was on it, or call the police and let them handle the situation? He shook the thought off. His reporter instinct had taken over. He needed to know what was on the USB, how it connected with the girl on the junior driver’s license, and why he was chosen to unravel this mystery before going to the police. *** Excerpt from Some Kind of Truth by Westley Smith. Copyright 2024 by Westley Smith. Reproduced with permission from Westley Smith. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Westley Smith:

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Westley Smith

Westley Smith had his first short story, Off to War, published when he was just sixteen. Recently, he has had short stories featured in On the Premise, Unveiling Nightmares, and Crystal Lake Entertainment. He was the runner-up contestant in the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine’s “Mysterious Photograph Contest,” where his name was featured in the magazine. He sold his debut thriller, Some Kind of Truth, to Wicked House Publishing, it was released on February 2nd, 2024.

Catch Up With Westley Smith: Goodreads Instagram – @wsmithbooks Facebook – @westleysmith100

 

 

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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Never trouble Trouble, ‘til Trouble troubles you,

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for if you trouble Trouble, Trouble’s sure to trouble you.

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Hidden in the Shadows

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by A.D. Vancise

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Genre: Thriller, Suspense, Mystery

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“All I can ever think about is murdering her.” -C.B.

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Twenty-three-year-old Evie Day never dreamt she’d be back in Woodsville Arkansas, a small town in the

middle of nowhere, after having left five years earlier, but the death of her grandfather called for her

return. After discovering a photo from 1933 of a mysterious woman standing next to a tiny wooden box, a

strange vial of blood wrapped up in a handkerchief in the pocket of her grandfather’s overalls, and a key

hidden in his desk drawer that belongs to a secret safety deposit box, Evie is unwittingly thrown into a

world of evil where those closest to her are the ones to be the most feared and danger lurks around every

corner.


Hidden in the Shadows by A.D. Vancise shines a light on the darkness and reveals the underlying players

that have been hunting in plain sight.

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IMPORTANT NOTICE

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The survivors of satanic rituals and child trafficking inspired this book, along with a photo I found in my

grandfather’s family photos of a mysterious woman standing beside a tiny box. My grandfather died with

the real story of what happened. He was a police officer.

I knew I had to take this story down a dark path once I heard the victims’ stories and those who never

believed them. The killer’s POV is based on true testimonials of survivors. These horrific acts

happened and continue to happen to kids worldwide.

 

Having said that, I feel the importance of noting a trigger warning for intense graphic material such

as child trafficking, sadism, occult rituals, sexual and physical abuse, violence, and murder. If reading

this material evokes memories of or PTSD from abuse, please contact professionals or a safe person

immediately. This novel is in no way meant to sensualize or exploit these serious events. It requires

courage to read this story meant to bring awareness to these heinous acts and give a voice to the

children who no longer have one. It’s to shed light on a darkness that has plagued this world for far

too long. I am awed by all those who can receive this information and want to help the children. We

all need to give them a voice. Thank you for being brave enough to read this story.

 

Sincerely,

 

A.D. Vancise

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Reviews for Hidden In the Shadows

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“Writing with crisp efficiency, mordant wit, and bursts of searing terror, Vancise whets the novel’s escalating puzzles and portents with an edge of queasy uncertainty.” -Editors Pick, Booklife.

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“If you’re looking for a spine-tingling read that will leave you wondering who to trust, what dangers are lurking beneath the surface and when the next twist will come, then Hidden in the Shadows is the book for you.”-Booktrib.

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“Hidden in the Shadows by A. D. Vancise is a thrilling mystery that keeps readers in suspense from the first clue until the end.” – Five Stars. Literary Titan.

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“A.D. Vancise excels in crafting a dark, atmospheric story.” -D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

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“If you are a reader who is tired of reading the same old books that are lackluster and forgettable, then take a chance with this one…you will not be disappointed.” -The Red-Headed Book Lover.

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“The author vividly informs your mind’s eye.” – Five Stars. Readers’ Favorite.

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Dark, disturbing, and gripping.” -Five Stars. Bookview Review.

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A grim but exciting and compelling mystery even in its most disconcerting moments.” Kirkus Review.

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Amazon * B&N * Bookshop.org * Bookbub * Goodreads

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What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book? 

Research into a story depends on the type of story being written. My first book, for instance, didn’t require much research due to it being a semi-autobiography. I knew the story, the characters, the plot etc. I may have had to research medical terms or areas that my brother and his partner had visited as well as speak to Brad, my brother’s partner, about their experiences but that was the minimal research done for that book. This book, however, consisted of close to six months of straight research if not more.

 

Do you see writing as a career? 

I want to see writing as a career, I take it very seriously. Having said that though, my reason for writing is for the love of writing, first and foremost.

 

What do you think about the current publishing market? 

The current publishing market is difficult on many levels. I much prefer the hybrid model. This model isn’t a vanity press, there is quite a difference between the two. A hybrid publisher you still must pitch, and they do not accept all manuscripts for publishing. When your manuscript is accepted the author pays the publisher for structural editing, cover design, copy editing, interior design, and some promotion.

 

Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre? 

I read and read and read again. This I believe should be the pattern of all writers. I learn a great deal from other authors both bad and good or what I like or dislike. Some paragraphs, I’ll read two or three times when they are exceptional. I’ll jot it down in a notebook as well making sure to mark it as someone else’s work because I also jot down ideas or sentences that come to me randomly or conversations between strangers and I don’t want to plagiarize. I read reviews of books I’ve read as well, good, and bad as this also provides great feedback as to what readers want or look for in a book. My favorite genre is and always has been thriller/mystery.

 

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why? 

I cannot write if it’s too silent around me. I know other authors isolate themselves, but I realized at university that I couldn’t concentrate when it was quiet. I need something to block out in order to focus, so the noisier the better. I often put on music or plant myself in the middle of a room with others watching TV.

 

Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?

I never saw myself writing two books at once but here I am doing it now. I’m working on the sequel to Hidden in the Shadows and Memoirs from a Killer.

 

Pen or type writer or computer?

When I’m working on the story, I use a program called Scrivener on my computer. I find it’s the quickest way to get the words out. When they flow, they flow rapidly. I still enjoy pen to paper as I came from the era just before computers. We hand-wrote papers or typed them on a typewriter so I will keep a journal or notebooks that I prefer to handwrite.

 

Do you have any advice to offer for new authors? 

Advice to new authors read, read, read, and then read some more and in the genre, you’d like to write in. I hear people often say they want to write a book, but they don’t read. How do you expect to know what sells or what flows, works, or doesn’t work if you don’t read? I would also advise taking some writing courses to gain confidence. And write for the love of writing not because you want to get published. One more thing, you CAN do it, your story is important, WRITE it.

 

Describe your writing style. 

I would describe my writing style as atmospheric. I am a visual artist and I feel that helps in my creation of a scene but it’s a fine line, too much description and you lose the reader, not enough and you lose the reader I try to set the tone of the scene through atmosphere, smells, touch, and tastes. I want my readers to feel embedded in the scene as if they are right there in it.

 

What makes a good story? 

That depends on who is reading it. For me, a good story takes me on a journey. One with smells, textures, tastes, and with well-formed characters. What do I mean by well-formed characters? I want to know how they grew up, what friends they have or had and why, and what are their greatest fears, wants, or dislikes. A character doesn’t just enter a story at age 30 and has no background. For me, this is one of the most important things in a book. If I don’t care about a character, (good or bad) I’m not going to care what happens to them.

 

What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first? 

Outlines, oh the one question that every writer gets asked. I do not work from one. I find them restrictive like I can’t sway from the outline. My creative process I would describe as a gypsy going wherever the wind blows. Haha. Not quite that carefree but I do like to be free to write what comes next. I typically know the beginning and the ending, but everything in between is yet to be seen. I live my life the same way.

Chapters? In my first book, I just wrote not worrying about the chapter breaks but in the second I did write in chapters. Sometimes the chapters merge or rearrange but the Scrivener program is great for editing as each chapter is isolated and can be moved by clicking and dragging. It’s a great program.

 

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

I would say that I try to be original without trying to reinvent the wheel. My goal is to always give the reader what I think they want with some surprises. Truth or feeling real seems to be the most important trait for readers.

 

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

If I could tell my younger writing self something, it would be to stop worrying about what others think, stop doubting yourself, and write anyway.

 

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

How long it takes to write a book depends on the writer, research, and desire. My latest book took six months to write but was well over a year before being published. The current books have been over two years and still are not even halfway completed. Sometimes the words flow so quickly that you can’t type fast enough and sometimes it’s an empty canvas. I’ve heard of some writers taking ten years to complete something and some never do.  I find writer’s block to be a very real thing and when it happens, I just let it be. I’ll read and write in my journal or sometimes choose a topic so far removed from my current writing topic just to spark some ideas or flow.

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A D Vancise lives in Canada. When she’s not writing, she’s taking care of her three dogs, her cat, two ducks and some chickens. Her daughter is her inspiration for all things wonderful in the world.

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Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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The South’s wealthiest, most dysfunctional family is back,

with old scores to settle and a surprising houseguest.

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Red Pines

Trapnell Thriller Book 3

by Jill Hand

Genre: Thriller

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

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

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

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

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

What readers are saying:

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

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Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Black Willows

Trapnell Thriller Book 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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White Oaks

Trapnell Thriller Book 1

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

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

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

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

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Chapter 31 – What Peewee Pelletier Found

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rich people,” he muttered shaking his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Get ready for a pulse-pounding journey through the darkest corridors of power in the Otis Thorne thriller series!

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

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Black Dust

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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 2

by Arla Jones

Genre: Thriller, Suspense

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

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

This second book will leave you breathless and wanting more.

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 1 The Biting Dust

 

 An underground research facility, North Korea, 2027

 

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

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

무는 먼지 muneun meonji which meant the biting dust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Fathers and Sons

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The Otis Thorne Thriller Series Book 1

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

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

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

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

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Chapter 1 The Secret Meeting

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Struck Dead by Andrea Kane Banner

Struck Dead

by Andrea Kane

March 4 – 29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

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

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

 

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense Thriller

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

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

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MY REVIEW

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

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

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

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

1

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

 

 

About Author Andrea Kane:

.

Andrea Kane

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

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

 

 

Tour Participants:

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Objects of Desire by Valerie Webster Banner

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

 

 

Synopsis:

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

 

 

 

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller

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

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

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

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

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

4 STARS

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

 

 

About Author Valerie Webster:

.

Valerie Webster

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

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

 

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

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

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

 

THE NIGHTMARE MACHINE

 by Tim White

 

 

Pub. Date: February 20, 2024

Publisher: Ocean Scribe Publishing

Formats:  Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 600

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Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/THE-NIGHTMARE-MACHINE

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

MY REVIEW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5  STARS

 

.

 

About Author Tim White:

.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Website | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub

 

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Giveaway Details: (there are 2 giveaways)

Bargain Booksy Giveaway:

.

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

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

Rockstar Book Tours Giveaway:

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

Ends March 5th, midnight EST.

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Tour Schedule:

Week One:

2/19/2024

@darkfantasyreviews

IG Post

2/19/2024

Kountry Girl Bookaholic

Excerpt/IG Post

2/20/2024

jlreadstoperpetuity

IG Post

2/20/2024

Writer of Wrongs

Excerpt

2/21/2024

The Melting Plot

IG Post

2/21/2024

A Dream Within A Dream

Excerpt

2/22/2024

Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt/IG Post

2/22/2024

GryffindorBookishnerd

IG Review

2/23/2024

Kim’s Book Reviews and Writing Aha’s

Review/IG Post

2/23/2024

@books.mo.reads

IG Review

 Week Two:

2/26/2024

Books and Zebras

IG Review

2/26/2024

@stargirls.magical.tale

IG Review

2/27/2024

@dana.loves.books

IG Review/TikTok Post

2/27/2024

Review Thick And Thin

Review/IG Post

2/28/2024

FUONLYKNEW

Review

2/28/2024

The Momma Spot

Review

2/29/2024

One More Exclamation

Review/IG Post

2/29/2024

Ramblings of a Coffee Addicted Writer

Review/IG Post

3/1/2024

Confessions of the Perfect Mom

Review/IG Post

3/1/2024

Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

 

The Master of Midnight

by William Michael Davidson

 

Publication date: May 10th 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Finding bodies is part of the job for Detective Otto Haines, but when a victim’s limbs are found in two public parks miles apart from each other, he is utterly confused. Most speculate that it must be some sadistic killer, bent on mutilating his victims and leaving his “calling cards” behind in the ghostly hours of the night.

And there are problems along the way. As Detective Haines tries to hunt down this killer, he must also deal with his rookie partner, Serena Grimm, while trying to keep a secret from his past out of the spotlight. As the trail to the killer becomes a labyrinthine search with shifting suspects and no end in sight, the impossibly horrific nature of these crimes forces Otto to reconsider everything he has known about good and evil.

Goodreads / Amazon

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

Otto Haines climbed out of his black Dodge Charger and noted the time. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning. The crime scene tape had already been set up and blocked off a section of Marina Vista Park. Crime scene technicians worked beneath the ocher-colored glow of streetlights and the briny ocean mist that rolled in from Marine Stadium, only a stone’s throw away.

Officer Dave Hemelrick of the LBPD greeted Otto as he strode toward the perimeter.

“Finally made it, huh?” Dave asked. “And no partner tonight? Already scared off the rookie?”

“She’s on another call,” Otto said without telling him the full story: two incidents had been called in, nearly back-to-back. The other was a few miles away, in front of Wilson High School. It was unusual, for sure. Two homicides called in minutes apart from each other was an aberration. Otto couldn’t remember another instance of it.

“Any witnesses here?” he asked, and Hemelrick’s expression darkened as he cleared his throat.

“We got two. One homeless, probably on drugs. We have a young woman too. She’s the one who called it in. Finishing up questioning now.”

“Good. I’d like to speak with both—especially the woman. Have them wait.”

“Will do.”

“Any ID on the victim?”

A similar, grave expression passed over Hemelrick’s face. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles reflected in his large, dark eyes.

“No, no ID. Not much of a body either.”

Otto understood what Officer Hemelrick meant only a few moments after showing his badge to several officers along the perimeter and ducking below the crime scene tape. Where Otto normally would have found a body—shot, stabbed, or strangled—there was only an arm on the sidewalk, mere inches from the grass. Nothing more. For a moment, it didn’t look real. While a technician snapped photographs of the scene, Otto bent down to examine the grotesque sight.

There was a very small splatter of blood on the sidewalk near where the arm had been severed, which was just below the elbow. It appeared to be a grisly, jagged dismemberment; if this were a horror movie and not a crime scene, Otto might have guessed the arm to have been bitten off and spat onto the grass by some foul creature.

He was able to determine a few things. This appeared to be a male. Thick arm. Dark hair. Caucasian. It took him a moment to note by position of the thumb that this was the left arm. The fingers were ringless.

“Where’s the rest of him?” Otto asked without turning around. When Hemelrick didn’t respond, Otto turned to him.

“That’s what I’m saying. That’s all we’ve got.”

 

About Author William Michael Davidson:

William Michael Davidson lives in Long Beach, California. A believer that “good living produces good writing,” Davidson writes early in the morning so he can get outside, exercise, spend time with people, and experience as much as possible. He is a writer of suspense and speculative fiction. If he’s not writing, he’s probably at the beach.

 

 

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Gary L. Stuart will be awarding a print copy of Hide and Be and its immediate sequel, My Brother, Myself to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

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

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Hide And Be

by Gary L. Stuart

 

 

Genre: Thriller

Synopsis

Twin brothers Arthur and Martin suffered horrible abuse as children, forcing them to survive by seamlessly assuming each other’s identities. Living each other’s lives provides protection from the trauma of their past. But when tragedy strikes, one of the brothers plummets into a dissociative crisis that leads him down a murderous path.

As the body count rises, two cases end up in the courtroom, where judges, lawyers, and psychiatrists try to piece together which twin is the suspect and which is the victim. Everyone in the courtroom strives to bring the victims to justice–but how can justice be served when no one is sure who the defendant truly is?

Enjoy this peek inside:

Like I said, me and Marty were from Maine. Born, bred, and fed. By foster parents mostly. Always hated the cold. We lived in drafty houses in winter, wore cheap coats in spring and fall, but not knowing any better, just accepted it. Lived our lives wherever the caseworkers said. You know, go here, stay there, new doctors, and interchangeable houses.

A general practitioner, whose first name was Doctor, talked to our first foster mother, but not us.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Greyson,” the doctor said.

That’s what he always called her—Missus—she didn’t have a first name, and he didn’t have a last. He was Doctor and she was Mrs. Us? We were just two little jellybeans sitting in one chair. Doctor had three chairs in his office. One for her, one for him, and the third for us. I remember liking that—same chair, same us.

“Autonomous language is common, harmless, really. It’ll go away in time,” he told her. Not us. He never said anything to us. We don’t remember the exact words, but who cares? Fumbuck, he knew. You? How can you tell? Autonomous, dummy. Marty told me.

“They will always be hard to tell apart. Dress them differently. They will want to be together, with their family gone and all, but treat them like regular brothers, even if they are identical twins.”

~~~~~

About Author Gary L. Stuart

I am a retiring lawyer, a working author, and a preserving blogger. I was a full-time trial lawyer for thirty-two years in a large Phoenix firm. I was a part-time law professor for the last twenty-nine years. As of summer, 2023, I am writing, publishing, and blogging full time. My first book was a textbook published by the Arizona State Bar Association. My first novel was published by the University of New Mexico Press. I’ve written ten novels and eight nonfiction titles as of July 2023.

From the day I entered law school, I’ve been reading cases, statutory law and writing about legal conundrums and flaws in our criminal and civil justice systems. I’ve always read novels, nonfiction, and historical fiction by great authors who were never corrupted by the staid habits of trial lawyers. I write long-form, interspersed with the occasional blog, op-ed, or essay. One of the unexpected benefits of reading the law is learning how to write about it. Somewhere along the trajectory from a baby lawyer to a senior one, I became intoxicated with blending nonfiction with fiction in books, rather than legal documents. After spending thirty years in courtrooms trying cases, I started writing about them. That led to writing novels while borrowing from famous historical settings and lesser-known characters. My courtroom days were chock full of ideas, notions, and hopes about ultimately becoming an author. I organized and memorized critical information for judges, juries, and clients. Now I use that experience to write vivid fiction and immersive nonfiction. I moved away from trial practice to teaching law students how to use creative writing techniques to tell their client’s stories, in short form.

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.” The same could be said of my transition from trying cases to writing crime fiction. I’ve been holding my breath for twenty years waiting for galley proofs and book reviews. Anais Nin spoke for all of us when she said, “We write to taste life twice.”

My first novel, The Gallup 14, won a coveted starred review from Publishers Weekly. I won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America in 2004 for my first nonfiction book (“Miranda, The Story of America’s Right to Remain Silent”). I won the 2010 Arizona Book of the Year Award, The Glyph Award, and a Southwest Publishing Top Twenty award in 2010, for “Innocent Until Interrogated—The Story of the Buddhist Temple Massacre.” My third nonfiction title (“Anatomy of a Confession—The Debra Milke Case”) was highly acclaimed. My nonfiction title “CALL HIM MAC—Ernest W. McFarland—The Arizona Years” was widely and favorably reviewed. My latest nonfiction crime book, “Nobody Did Anything Wrong But Me, was published by Twelve Tables Press, one of America’s most distinguished publisher of law books about important legal issues. No New York Times bestsellers, yet.

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